The corner office on the top floor of the glass skyscraper felt colder than usual, even with the morning sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Manhattan skyline stretched out like a mosaic of ambition and greed, but inside the room, tension hung as thick as smoke.
Justin Ross stood by his desk, his tailored navy suit as sharp and unyielding as his expression. His dark eyes, framed by the faintest hint of a crow's feet, swept over the gathered team. They shifted uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze.
"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Justin's voice was low, but the undercurrent of irritation was unmistakable. "This patent is not just another acquisition. It's the future of our energy division. And unless one of you miraculously becomes competent overnight, I'll lose it to someone with half your resources."
A heavy silence followed. The team—composed of the brightest minds and most ambitious climbers in the business world—seemed to shrink under his scrutiny.
"Bill," Justin barked suddenly, and a middle-aged man with a receding hairline flinched.
"Yes, sir," Bill replied, his voice tight.
"What's our status with Sawyer?"
Bill fumbled with his tablet, scrolling frantically. "Uh, we're still tracking her location. She left her Denver office two weeks ago, and her staff has been tight-lipped. But we—"
"Stop." Justin raised a hand, silencing him. His jaw tightened. "You mean to tell me that in two weeks, with all the tools at your disposal, you can't locate one woman?"
Bill opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.
"That's what I thought," Justin snapped. He turned away, pacing to the window. The sunlight caught the silver streaks in his otherwise dark hair, making him look every bit the calculating tycoon that tabloids loved to paint him as.
"Maybe if you let the legal team take a softer approach," someone began, but Justin spun around, cutting them off mid-sentence.
"No. No soft approaches," he said, his voice like ice. "This isn't a negotiation. It's a race. And I don't intend to come in second."
In the back of the room, Pete sat at the long conference table, his knee bouncing under the polished wood. His freshly printed research packet lay untouched in front of him. He knew better than to speak out of turn in these meetings, especially when Justin was on edge.
As the others scrambled to placate their boss with half-baked suggestions, Pete's phone vibrated in his pocket. He discreetly checked the screen.
The message was short but promising: Saint Martin. Beachfront villa. Verified.
Pete's heart skipped a beat. He glanced up, trying to mask his excitement. Timing was everything with Justin, and blurting out the information in the middle of his tirade would be a mistake.
"Pete!" Justin's sharp voice startled him.
"Yes, Mr. Ross?" he said quickly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
"Do you have something useful to contribute, or are you just here for the free coffee?"
Pete swallowed, feeling the weight of a dozen stares. "Actually, I do," he said, keeping his voice steady. "We've confirmed Katrina Sawyer's location. She's staying at a villa in Saint Martin."
The room went still. Justin's intense gaze locked onto Pete like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Saint Martin," Justin repeated, as though tasting the words. A slow, calculated smile spread across his face. "Finally, some good news."
Pete nodded, though he didn't feel the relief he expected. The weight of Justin's expectations pressed down on him like a lead vest.
"I'll have my jet ready within the hour," Justin declared, already moving toward his desk. "Bill, draft a proposal that Sawyer can't refuse. And make sure it's on my desk before we land. The rest of you—figure out how to salvage your incompetence."
As the team scrambled to leave the office, Pete lingered. His stomach churned with a mix of pride and dread. He'd delivered what Justin wanted, but now came the hard part: making sure it didn't backfire.
"Something else on your mind?" Justin asked, glancing up from his phone.
Pete hesitated. "I'm coming with you."
Justin raised an eyebrow. "With that leg?"
Pete instinctively glanced down at the cast on his left leg, a relic of a biking accident three weeks ago. The crutches leaned against the wall behind him, a silent reminder of his limitations.
"I'll manage," Pete said firmly.
Justin studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't slow me down."
"I won't," Pete replied, more to himself than to his boss.
As Pete left the office, his thoughts raced. The decision to accompany Justin wasn't just about loyalty; it was about survival. Working under Ross was like walking a tightrope—one misstep, and you were gone. But beneath his determination, a darker fear simmered: what if he wasn't up to the task?
The pain in his leg flared as he hobbled to his desk. He sank into his chair, clutching the armrests as he waited for the throb to subside. His phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Addison.
Take care of yourself, Pete. Don't let him destroy you.
Her words hit harder than she probably intended. Addison had always been the voice of reason, the one who saw through the veneer of success and ambition. But her concern was a double-edged sword. It reminded him of how far he'd drifted from the dreamer he used to be—the kid who sketched blueprints in notebooks and believed in building something meaningful.
Justin's voice cut through his reverie. "Move it, Pete. We're leaving."
Pete grabbed his crutches and followed, ignoring the sting in his leg. The private elevator ride to the helipad was silent, the tension between them palpable. As the helicopter blades roared to life, Pete couldn't shake the feeling that this trip would demand more of him than he was ready to give.
Hours later, the tropical breeze of Saint Martin greeted them as the jet's door opened. The scent of salt and sun mingled in the air, a stark contrast to Manhattan's sterile steel and glass. But there was no time to savor it. Justin's pace was relentless as they exited the airport and headed for the villa.
Pete's heart pound as the car wound through lush greenery, the road narrowing with every turn. The villa came into view—a pristine white structure perched above a turquoise cove. It was a picture of paradise, but to Pete, it felt more like a battlefield.
Justin's jaw tightened as they approached the entrance. "Remember, Pete," he said, his voice low and menacing. "We're not leaving without what we came for."
Pete nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. As the doors opened, he couldn't help but wonder: was he about to witness a masterclass in negotiation, or would this mission unravel everything they'd worked for?
Inside, Katrina Sawyer awaited—a woman whose brilliance and defiance had turned her into both a legend and a target. And as Pete locked eyes with her, he realized something chilling: she wasn't just a pawn in Justin's game. She was a queen guarding secrets that could topple empires.