Derek Morgan arrived at JBL Investments' Los Angeles headquarters at precisely 10:17 a.m.
He hadn't announced himself beforehand, hadn't scheduled through assistants, and hadn't alerted anyone of his intention to come. He simply parked his car in the underground garage, stepped out, and moved through the building like a man who already belonged there.
The lobby was everything money liked to pretend it was—marble floors polished to mirror brightness, abstract sculptures no one touched, glass walls meant to signal transparency while revealing nothing. The air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive cologne.
Derek took it all in without slowing his pace.
He wore black cargo pants, black boots, and a muted green long-sleeved polo shirt. No tie. No jacket. No visible watch. If anyone looked closely, they might notice how carefully understated the outfit was. It didn't challenge authority. It didn't seek approval either.
At the reception desk, a woman with immaculate posture and a neutral smile looked up.
"Good morning," she said. "How may I help you?"
"I'd like to speak with one of your managing partners," Derek replied evenly.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
The receptionist's fingers paused above the keyboard. "May I have your name?"
"Derek Morgan."
The pause this time lasted longer.
Her eyes flicked to the screen as she typed quickly. Whatever she saw caused her spine to straighten a fraction more.
"One moment, Mr. Morgan."
She made a call. Her voice lowered. Her tone shifted—respect, not fear, but awareness.
Within three minutes, Derek was escorted past glass-walled offices where conversations dimmed as he passed. Faces turned, some curious, some alert. He was led into a conference room with a panoramic view of downtown Los Angeles.
Tim Bradford was already standing when Derek entered.
Tim was the sort of man who had learned to survive without ever appearing to dominate a room. Late forties, early fifties. Salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed. A suit tailored well enough to suggest restraint rather than vanity.
"Mr. Morgan," Tim said, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming."
Derek shook it firmly. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
They sat.
For a moment, silence stretched between them—not awkward, but measured. Two men assessing the other's willingness to waste time.
Derek broke it first.
"I'll be direct," he said calmly. "Yesterday, one of your vice presidents came to my office."
Tim nodded once. "Fabian Matthews."
"Yes," Derek replied. "He was rude. He was dismissive. And he threatened me."
Tim's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
"He implied that refusing JBL's involvement would create problems," Derek continued. "Media pressure. Political friction. Personal inconvenience."
Tim exhaled slowly. "I apologize for his conduct."
"I'm not here for an apology," Derek said. "I'm here to set boundaries."
Tim leaned back slightly, giving Derek his full attention.
"I have no intention of allowing JBL Investments any involvement in the North Compton redevelopment," Derek said. "That project is closed. Permanently."
Tim nodded. "Understood."
"However," Derek continued, "I don't operate in isolation. There will be other projects. Large ones. Capital-intensive ones."
Tim's eyes flickered with interest.
"I'm willing to consider JBL as a partner on those future endeavors," Derek said. "But Fabian Matthews cannot be part of that relationship."
The words landed without emotion. No ultimatum. No dramatics.
Just a condition.
Tim folded his hands. "You're asking us to terminate a senior executive."
"I'm informing you of a requirement," Derek replied. "The distinction matters."
Silence followed.
Tim studied Derek carefully. "Why come in person?"
"Because I respect firms that handle internal issues internally," Derek said. "I wanted to give JBL that courtesy."
Tim nodded slowly. "I'll need time to discuss this with the other partners."
"Of course," Derek said, rising smoothly. "Take whatever time you need."
As he reached the door, Derek paused.
"One more thing," he added, his tone casual. "I value my privacy. Anonymity, especially. It would be nice if things returned to normal."
Tim met his gaze.
"You believe JBL initiated the media interest."
Derek didn't confirm or deny it. He simply smiled faintly.
"Good day, Mr. Bradford."
And with that, he left—without urgency, without glancing back.
The partners' meeting convened less than an hour later.
The long conference table was filled—managing partners, senior stakeholders, legal counsel. Jackets were shed. Coffee went untouched.
Tim stood at the head of the table.
"Derek Morgan visited this morning," he said.
The name shifted the atmosphere instantly.
Margaret Liu looked up from her tablet. "The Raven Corporation CEO?"
"Yes," Tim replied. "And Blackfire Technologies."
A murmur spread.
Elaine Porter crossed her arms. "What did he want?"
"Future partnerships," Tim said. "North Compton is off the table."
Robert Hale leaned back in his chair. "So why are we discussing this?"
Tim met his gaze. "Because his condition is that Fabian Matthews cannot be part of any future collaboration."
Elaine scoffed. "Absolutely not."
"Fabian threatened him," Tim said calmly.
Elaine waved it off. "Fabian pushes. That's why he's effective."
Margaret looked up. "Pushing and overplaying aren't the same thing."
Robert nodded slowly. "Morgan doesn't need us. That's the difference."
Elaine frowned. "So we fire a VP because a private developer asked us to?"
Robert corrected her. "We remove a liability to gain access to a man who moves billions without debt."
Margaret added, "And without investors. That should terrify you more than it excites you."
Silence fell.
Elaine's voice softened. "This sets a precedent."
Margaret met her gaze. "So does antagonizing someone who can reshape cities without permission."
Tim spoke again. "He didn't threaten us. He didn't posture. He simply offered access—or silence."
Robert nodded. "And Fabian cost us that access."
Elaine looked around the table, then sighed. "If we do this, it's clean. Generous severance. No scandal."
Margaret stood. "Agreed."
Robert folded his hands. "To work with Derek Morgan, Fabian Matthews has to go."
One by one, the partners nodded.
Tim exhaled quietly. "I'll handle it."
As the meeting dissolved, Tim remained by the window, staring out at the city.
Derek Morgan hadn't demanded loyalty.
He hadn't applied pressure.
He had simply reminded them who controlled the future—and who did not.
And JBL Investments had made its choice.