Derek Morgan chartered the flight himself.
No entourage. No assistants. No press.
The jet touched down in Sacramento just after noon, the kind of arrival that barely registered on airport logs because it wasn't meant to. Derek preferred movement that didn't announce itself. Power traveled lighter that way.
A rented sedan took him straight from the airstrip to the governor's office. He drove himself, hands steady on the wheel, mind already several steps ahead of the moment. The city passed by in neat blocks—orderly, bureaucratic, self-important. Sacramento always felt like a place that mistook procedure for authority.
He parked, stepped out, adjusted his jacket once, and walked in.
The receptionist looked up automatically, already preparing the practiced smile reserved for lobbyists and donors.
"Good afternoon," Derek said calmly. "Please tell Governor Wesley that Derek Morgan is here to see him."
The name landed differently than most.
The receptionist hesitated—not long enough to be rude, but long enough to recognize danger disguised as composure. She picked up the phone without asking for an appointment, without requesting identification.
"Yes," she said quietly into the receiver. "He's here."
Less than a minute later, a side door opened.
"Mr. Morgan," an aide said, suddenly attentive. "The governor will see you now."
Derek nodded once and followed.
Governor Wesley rose from his desk as Derek entered, surprise flickering across his face before it was smoothed into something neutral. He was a tall man with silvering hair and the posture of someone used to being deferred to.
They shook hands.
"Governor," Derek said. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
Wesley gestured toward a chair. "I didn't realize you were coming."
"That," Derek replied evenly as he sat, "is part of the problem."
The governor paused, studying him more carefully now. Derek didn't rush to fill the silence. Silence was useful. It unsettled people who believed they were in control.
"I'll be direct," Derek continued. "Your people approached me three days ago in Los Angeles."
Wesley's brow creased. "Approached?"
"Yes," Derek said. "In an ice cream shop. Unannounced. Unprofessional. Aggressive."
The governor leaned back slightly. "I'm not aware of—"
"They knocked food off my table," Derek interrupted, his tone still calm. "They attempted intimidation. One of them reached for a weapon."
That got the governor's full attention.
Derek met his eyes. "If you wanted a conversation, Governor, you could have called."
Wesley's jaw tightened. "You have to understand my position. A private corporation with unprecedented reach, operating without transparency—"
"—does not justify behaving like gangsters," Derek said flatly.
The word landed hard.
For a moment, the room felt smaller.
"You sent men to test me," Derek continued. "That was rude. And unnecessary."
The governor exhaled slowly. "If that's how it came across, then—"
"That is how it was," Derek said. "Let's not waste time pretending otherwise."
Another silence followed. This one heavier.
Finally, Wesley folded his hands. "Then why are you here, Mr. Morgan?"
Derek leaned back, relaxing deliberately. "To talk about the advantages of backing the Raven Corporation."
The phrasing was intentional. Not asking for support. Discussing its benefits.
Wesley raised an eyebrow. "You're very confident."
"I'm informed," Derek replied. "There's a difference."
The governor gestured toward the window, toward the distant outline of the city. "You've created a great deal of concern. North Compton. Blackfire. Reality Quest. You operate faster than institutions can respond."
Derek nodded. "Institutions exist to serve people. When they can't keep up, someone else will."
"That someone shouldn't be unaccountable."
"I'm accountable," Derek said. "To results."
Wesley studied him. "And if we decide not to come to a reasonable conclusion?"
Derek didn't hesitate.
"Then the mayor of Los Angeles will," he said casually.
The governor's eyes narrowed.
"You're assuming quite a bit."
"Not really," Derek replied. "The mayor has been very public about his ambitions. He's also been vocal about North Compton. Jobs. Housing. Infrastructure. He would love to be seen as the man who partnered with Raven when the state hesitated."
The implication didn't need sharpening.
Wesley understood politics. He understood leverage even better.
"You're threatening me," the governor said.
Derek shook his head. "I'm outlining alternatives. Threats are emotional. This is strategic."
The governor stood and paced slowly behind his desk.
"You're young," Wesley said again, this time less dismissively than others had before. "You move quickly. Too quickly, some would say."
Derek remained seated. "Speed is only dangerous when direction is unclear."
"And your direction?"
"Growth," Derek said. "Stability. Influence without chaos."
Wesley stopped pacing. "And what exactly do you want from my office?"
Derek folded his hands. "An oversight committee."
The governor blinked. "You want oversight?"
"Yes," Derek said. "Run by your office."
That wasn't what Wesley expected.
"Paid for by Raven," Derek continued. "Staffed by professionals you trust. Given access to non-sensitive operations related to North Compton."
"And in return?"
Derek smiled faintly. "Raven releases a press statement publicly praising your leadership and support for the redevelopment project. Framing you as a forward-thinking partner."
Wesley stared at him. "You're offering me political capital."
"I'm offering you relevance," Derek corrected. "At no cost to your authority."
"And what do you get?"
"Predictability," Derek said. "And a state government that doesn't feel the need to test boundaries through intimidation."
The governor returned to his chair slowly.
"You're unusual," Wesley said after a moment.
"I've heard that," Derek replied.
There was a long pause as the governor considered the shape of the future Derek was offering him. A future where he wasn't sidelined by innovation. Where he could claim partial ownership of success instead of being remembered as an obstacle.
Finally, Wesley nodded.
"We form the committee," he said. "My office oversees it. Your corporation funds it. And you issue the statement."
Derek stood. "Agreed."
They shook hands again.
This time, it meant something.
As Derek walked back through the building, aides watched him with open curiosity now. Not suspicion. Not hostility.
Recognition.
By the time his car pulled away from the governor's office, the conflict had already dissolved—not because Derek had surrendered power, but because he had redirected it.
He didn't need permission to rule his domain.
He only needed the state to realize it was wiser to walk beside him than stand in his way.