Fabian Matthews had always believed that power announced itself.
It was in the way assistants hurried when you spoke, the way meetings bent around your calendar, the way people laughed a half-second too early at jokes that weren't especially funny. Power was visible. Audible. Performative.
That belief began to unravel the moment his assistant failed to stand when he entered her office.
She remained seated, hands folded on her desk, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her.
"Tim Bradford wants to see you," she said.
No smile. No explanation.
Fabian frowned. "About?"
She hesitated—just long enough to matter. "Immediately."
Fabian straightened his jacket, irritation flickering beneath the surface. Managing partners didn't summon vice presidents without reason, but this felt different. Too abrupt. Too quiet.
The walk to the executive floor felt longer than usual. The glass corridors reflected his movement back at him—sharp suit, controlled stride, the image of a man who had never been told no without consequence.
That image fractured when he stepped into Tim Bradford's office.
Tim sat behind his desk, posture rigid, hands folded. To his right sat Margaret Liu, one of the firm's most senior partners. Robert Hale stood by the window, staring out at the city. Elaine Porter leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Fabian stopped just inside the door.
"Is this a board meeting?" he asked lightly.
No one answered.
Tim gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down, Fabian."
Something in Tim's voice made Fabian obey.
The door closed behind him with a muted click.
Tim didn't waste time.
"We're terminating your contract with JBL Investments," he said. "Effective immediately."
The words landed without flourish.
Fabian laughed once, sharply. "That's not funny."
Tim's expression didn't change.
Robert turned from the window. "This isn't a discussion."
Fabian's smile evaporated. "You can't be serious."
Margaret finally looked up from her tablet. "We are."
Fabian leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "On what grounds?"
Tim slid a folder across the desk. "Conduct. Threats made to a private individual. Strategic recklessness that exposed the firm to reputational and political risk."
Fabian stared at the folder but didn't open it. He didn't need to.
"This is about Derek Morgan," he said quietly.
No one denied it.
"You're choosing him over me?" Fabian snapped, standing. "Over someone who's been here for twelve years?"
Elaine pushed herself off the wall. "We're choosing leverage."
Fabian's face reddened. "He disrespected us."
"He established boundaries," Margaret corrected. "You crossed them."
Fabian scoffed. "He's an orphaned dropout with a lucky break."
Tim's voice hardened. "He's an individual with liquidity, speed, and influence you underestimated."
Fabian shook his head, pacing now. "You're letting him dictate internal decisions."
"No," Robert said evenly. "We're responding to reality."
Fabian stopped pacing. "So that's it? You sacrifice one of your own because a teenager with too much money asked you to?"
Tim leaned forward. "You weren't sacrificed. You were weighed."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Tim slid a second document across the desk. "Your severance. Generous. Your NDA. Non-negotiable. Your access privileges have already been revoked."
Fabian's hands trembled as he picked up the papers.
"You'll regret this," he said.
Margaret met his gaze. "What we'd regret is losing access to the most capital-efficient private operator we've seen in decades because one executive couldn't control himself."
Fabian laughed again, but this time there was nothing behind it.
Security appeared at the door.
Fabian straightened his jacket one last time. "This isn't over."
Tim replied calmly, "It is."
As Fabian was escorted out, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass wall.
For the first time, he didn't recognize the man staring back.
Derek Morgan learned of Fabian's termination later that evening.
Alan Payne mentioned it while reviewing zoning updates, his tone neutral, almost bored.
"JBL let him go."
Derek didn't look up from the document he was reading. "Expected."
Alan waited, perhaps for satisfaction or commentary.
None came.
Fabian Matthews had ceased to be relevant the moment he mistook intimidation for leverage.
Derek turned his attention back to the stack of papers laid neatly across his desk.
The top file was real estate.
Bel Air Property Acquisition – Final Approval
A ranch-style four-bedroom home tucked into one of the quieter pockets of Bel Air. Wide frontage. Mature trees. Long setbacks from the road. The kind of property designed to disappear behind hedges and discretion.
Price: $5,000,000
Derek reviewed the security schematics carefully.
Reinforced walls disguised beneath tasteful architecture. Bullet-resistant glass that didn't advertise itself. Redundant power systems. A subterranean garage with controlled access. No unnecessary extravagance.
This wasn't a trophy.
It was a command post disguised as a home.
For months, Derek had lived inside the Blackfire building—on the twenty-fifth floor, surrounded by glass, steel, and constant motion. It had been efficient. Necessary.
But Reality Quest was complete.
The war room no longer needed him every hour of every day.
He signed the purchase agreement without hesitation.
The next folder concerned aviation.
Corporate aircraft—two mid-sized jets designated for Raven Corporation and Blackfire Technologies. Capable of cross-continental travel, outfitted for encrypted communications, and staffed by rotating crews vetted through private military contractors.
Mobility without dependency.
He approved them.
Then came the final proposal.
An Airbus A380.
Alan hesitated slightly before sliding it forward.
Derek took his time reading.
The retrofit proposal was extensive: reinforced fuselage, anti-EMP shielding, layered countermeasure systems, redundant avionics. The interior design emphasized function over indulgence—an office, a conference room, living quarters, secure communications hubs.
It wasn't a palace.
It was a mobile headquarters.
"This will attract attention," Alan said carefully.
Derek nodded. "So does standing still."
He signed.
As the pen left the paper, Derek stood and walked toward the window. The city sprawled beneath him, illuminated by streetlights and ambition.
He thought briefly of Fabian Matthews—of a man who had believed power was something you performed loudly, publicly, without restraint.
Derek understood it differently.
Power didn't announce itself.
It negotiated. It prepared. It moved quietly until movement itself became undeniable.
Fabian had lost his place because he misunderstood the rules.
Derek had never needed to learn them.
He had written his own.