13. CHAPTER 11
Orion
I insisted the meeting be held at the Fernández mansion.
Not because I needed to see her, or because I cared how she was recovering. I’d seen her receive the package I sent two days ago and watched her unbox all of it.
At first, she didn’t touch anything, but when her friends came by, she seemed to lossen up a fraction and had a piece of chocolate and a macaron. Since then she’d eaten a few meals and I even watched her sketch. Progress.
She was doing well from my end. She didn’t need my physical kindness.
I chose the Fernández mansion because there was a particular satisfaction in walking into an enemy’s territory and placing your terms on their table. No neutral conference room, and no pretense of parity.
Simple victories should always be recorded on the loser’s land.
If Demola Fernández wanted the truce, he would sign for it in his own home.
The Fernández mansion was already tense before I stepped inside.
I could feel it from the butler taking my coat, to the arrival of my counsel, Baron King and his daughter, and lead counsel, Sonia King.
Their reputations trailing behind them as we made our way past the hallway, like generals in armor ready for battle.
They both carried identical black folders embossed with the King & King seal, written in silver ink, crisp lettering. My personal tools of execution masquerading as legal counsel.
I’d only viewed the mansion from my surveillance clips for weeks, but the scale was more oppressive in person. It was a fortress of baronial architecture and wrought-iron scrollwork, the walls lined with portraits of dead men who had no idea their legacy had been sold.
Marrying a Moreaux heiress had served Demola well—the family sigil at the end of the hall was proof of his upward mobility.
The house was designed to intimidate, to scream of status and permanence. It didn’t register for me.
I’d insisted on meeting here because I wanted them to feel the gravity of their history while I dismantled their future.
We were led into the study where we found Demola sitting behind the desk like it was a throne he still believed he owned.
Blaise stood behind him, with a controlled expression I couldn't read. Laurent paced like an untrained dog. And Debo, newly returned from a business trip to Lagos, had the expression of a man who’d walked into a funeral he wasn’t warned about.
Across from them, their lawyers. Men who looked like they billed by the minute and bled by the hour.
I could smell the panic in the air and it thrilled me.
His daughter’s rebellion had cost him. I was here to collect the rest.
Polite greetings were exchanged as I took the seat opposite Demola, the one that faced the windows and the grotesque line of family portraits. It was only fair their ancestors get to witness the beginning of the end.
Baron King took the seat to my right, his daughter Sonia to my left. They extracted the contracts from their portfolios and handed them out like retribution. Every clause a tether designed to keep the world—and the woman upstairs—exactly where I wanted them.
A cold wave of satisfaction bloomed in my chest.
Demola looked at the documents, then back at me and tried for a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Thank you for agreeing to hold the meeting here,” he said. “It honours us.”
It didn’t. That wasn’t the point.
“My schedule is constrained,” I replied. “It was more efficient this way.”
A small lie. Efficiency had nothing to do with it.
“Will she be joining us?” I asked in a nonchalant tone, as I adjusted my gold cufflinks.
“No. She’s still recovering,” Demola replied.
Recovering.
I’m certain there were other words Demola preferred to use but wouldn’t in my presence. Recovering was just a sanitized word for liability.
I nodded towards Baron to go ahead.
“Shall we begin?” Baron King asked, his voice smooth as lacquer.
Demola and his sons nodded in agreement.
We moved quickly through the parts they already knew. The financial penalty for the elopement—fifty million, spread over a structure that would hurt without crippling them. The collateral adjustments. All previously agreed upon and ingested.
The real work began when King flipped to the new section.
“Article Four,” he said in a neutral tone. “Trust Governance and Control.”
The Fernández lawyers fidgeted in their seats like men who already suspected things were about to get trickier and they were about to earn their fees the hard way.
“The parties agree,” King read, “that in light of recent events, the joint assets contributed under this alliance—current and future—require unified management to prevent further instability.”
Demola’s lawyer cleared his throat. “Our understanding was that governance would be shared—”
“It was,” King said pleasantly. “The previous draft reflected a co-management structure. This revision does not.”
He waited for further reactions but none came. The room was silent. He continued.
“Effective upon signing, all alliance assets will be held in a single management vehicle,” he went on. “That vehicle will be administered by a small board of trustees. All trustees shall be nominated by Mr. Kade.”
Laurent’s head snapped up. “Exclusively?”
Laurent had been on his phone since King started talking. I was surprised he was even listening.
“Yes,” King replied. “Exclusively.”
Blaise leaned forward, hands clasped. “That wasn't the agreement,” he said in a restrained tone. “We ceded equity, not control. We agreed to share advisors, not give you the keys to everything.”
“With respect,” King said, and there was nothing respectful in it, “the situation has evolved. A runaway bride constitutes material instability. The alliance requires clear direction. Fragmented governance created the problem, but a consolidated governance prevents it from happening again.”
Then I heard Debo’s voice.
“So we are partners in name,” he said, “and tenants in practice.”
“Economically, you retain your benefits,” Sonia interjected calmly. “Dividends, profit share, all as previously structured. What changes is decision-making. The alliance can’t afford two hands trying to steer the same wheel.”
I let my mouth tilt in what could have been a smile. I was enjoying this more than I thought I would.
“This isn’t punishment,” I added. “It’s insurance.”
Not that I needed to assure them, but partnership and all.
Laurent’s laugh crackled through the air. It was a harsh maniacal sound that didn’t belong to anyone civilized.
“You destroy the clause we negotiated and tell us it’s for our own good,” he said. “How generous.”
“Laurent,” Demola snapped in a low groan.
He shut his mouth but I could tell it wouldn’t be for long.
Their lawyers began to speak at once—language about proportionality, adjustments, renegotiation. King allowed them. Sonia watched them closely. She held her pen like a weapon she hadn’t been asked to use yet.
“We’re open to discussion on minor wording,” King said eventually. “But the structure stands. A unified management. All trustee will be Kade-appointed. Any attempt to reintroduce split control will be declined.”
And that was the end of that. Final. Like a fucking verdict.
I didn’t need to scan their faces to know they didn’t like it. The noose was right in front of them and there was nothing they could do about it.
We moved on.
“Article Five,” King announced. “Heir Provisions.”
The air in the room changed. Debo clenched his jaw in anticipation. Blaise went very still. Laurent who had gone back to focusing on his phone, stopped pretending to be bored.
“The prior draft,” King said, “linked certain governance changes to the marriage itself. Given the events of the past week, that is now… insufficient.”
He looked at Demola once, then continued.
“Upon the birth of the first legitimate child of this union,” he read, “all governance-level rights in the management vehicle will consolidate automatically into a single holding structure. From that moment, alliance decisions will be exercised by one managing member.”
Checkmate.
“And that would be you,” Demola’s lawyer said flatly, looking at me.
King didn’t bother to answer for me.
“Yes,” I said.
“We retain what, exactly?” Debo asked in a rough voice, avoiding my eyes.
“The economic interests remain yours,” Sonia replied. “The capital, the dividends, the prestige of the Fernández and the Moreaux name. What you are abdicating is the mandate. The strategy and the risk. The labor of keeping this house from collapsing now falls to Mr Orion Kade.
“Mr Kade will take on the responsibility of ensuring the alliance stands and there’s actually a legacy left for the next generation,” she concluded.
Laurent pushed back his chair, his temper finally spilling over.
“In simple terms you’ll reduce our sister to a breeder,” he snapped. “You'll make her body a switch you flip when it suits you, and us—”
“Laurent,” Blaise warned.
“—you make us dependents,” he finished, ignoring his twin. “Subordinates.”
He looked back and forth between his fathers and brothers. “We should walk away from this. We don’t need them.”
Walk away. He said it like it was a door that still opened. I almost laughed at his tantrums.
Blaise kept his unreadable demeanor. Debo grinded on his molars so hard, I bet he crushed a tooth. An irritation etched on his features like he wanted to strangle something to death.
I watched Demola speak to Laurent like a father soothing a toddler, with calculation in his eyes. He was furious as fuck from being cornered. But he wasn’t stupid.
He understood the benefit of giving a man like me the reins.
None of his sons were capable of seeing his legacy through after he was gone.
Debo was smart but weak, Laurent… a ticking time bomb.
And Blaise always calculative, but not ruthless enough.
I knew what each of them were capable of and none served the interest of Equinox Continental long term.