The news broke just after sunrise.
"Kane Industries Loses Helios Shipping Deal — Stock Slips 4% in Early Trading."
The article ran on three financial sites within an hour, then jumped to mainstream outlets by mid-morning. Business channels brought in analysts who nodded gravely into cameras, questioning the company's "strategic direction" under Julian Kane. The word misstep was used more than once.
Damien read it all from the steel-and-glass quiet of his penthouse suite, coffee cooling untouched beside him.
Julian's photo flashed across the television screen — tailored suit, smile too tight for the occasion. The studio graphic beneath him read: "CEO Faces Investor Pressure After Failed Acquisition."
Pressure. Damien almost smiled. That was a polite word for what was coming.
By ten a.m., the Kane Industries board was in an emergency conference call. He knew because Gray was on the line, muted, feeding him a running transcript through the secure channel.
Board Member: "Julian, you assured us the Helios deal was locked in. What happened?"
Julian: "The counter-offer came out of nowhere. We had no time to respond."
Board Member: "Then maybe our acquisition strategy isn't as airtight as you think."
Damien leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Boardroom doubt was like water in a hairline fracture — once it seeped in, the break was inevitable.
Second strike came that afternoon.
A Kane Industries cargo vessel was due to dock in Rotterdam with a critical shipment — components for a multi-million-dollar defense contract.
It never made it.
Somewhere in the North Atlantic, the ship was delayed due to "mechanical issues." Those issues had been arranged two weeks earlier by a discreet payment to the ship's chief engineer, funneled through three cutouts. The delay would breach the delivery contract, costing Kane Industries several million in penalties and triggering a reputation hit with one of its most important clients.
By the time Julian found out, Damien would be two moves ahead.
That evening, Damien reviewed a new dossier from Gray. Inside was a list of names — middle-management employees with access to sensitive data and a reason to resent Julian.
One name stood out: Elise Carter, Julian's executive assistant. Five years in the role. She handled his schedule, his calls, his travel. She knew who he met, where he went, and what he wanted to keep quiet.
A few quick background checks later, Damien had her weaknesses in neat bullet points:
• Single mother of a six-year-old boy.
• Crippling medical debt from a surgery not covered by insurance.
• Pays rent late three months out of the year.
She would be easy to approach. But not yet. Patience was the sharpest blade in his arsenal.
Two nights later, Gray met him in a quiet restaurant with no cameras and a staff paid to forget faces.
"You've got them unsettled," Gray said, sliding into the booth. "Helios was bad, but the shipping delay's going to cause real headaches. Defense contracts don't forgive mistakes."
Damien swirled the whiskey in his glass. "Good."
Gray hesitated. "You're enjoying this."
Damien's gaze lifted, calm and cold. "Enjoyment doesn't enter into it. This is arithmetic. They took from me. I'm taking it back, with interest."
In another part of the city, Julian was hosting a dinner for potential investors. The media caught flashes of him and Ava Monroe leaving the venue — Ava in a crimson gown, diamonds at her throat, laughing as if nothing in the world could touch her.
The gossip sites devoured it, calling them the city's "power couple."
Damien saw the photos in the morning paper. He didn't linger on them. But when he set the paper down, his hand tightened slightly before he reached for his coffee.
Three days later, word reached him about an upcoming charity gala at the Rosemont Hotel — a glittering annual event where the city's elite gathered under chandeliers to congratulate themselves on their generosity.
Julian would be there, of course, hoping to charm a major investor into shoring up his position with the board. The investor in question was already on Damien's payroll — not for money, but for a favor owed from years ago.
Damien decided he would attend as well. Not as Damien Kane. Not yet. But as Adrian Vale, silent and invisible in plain sight.
Before the gala, there was one more meeting to arrange.
Damien dined privately with a man named Marcus Lorne — a corporate kingmaker whose support could make or break a CEO. Marcus owed Damien his career, though Marcus had never connected Adrian Vale with the long-dead Damien Kane.
They discussed markets, shipping routes, foreign investments. Then, over a glass of vintage Bordeaux, Damien said, "Julian Kane's not the man you think he is. The board is starting to see it. When the time comes for a vote… you'll want to be on the right side of history."
Marcus didn't ask how Damien knew what the board was thinking. He only nodded slowly. "You'll have my ear when that time comes."
By the end of the meal, Marcus was already making calls.
In the elevator back to his suite, Damien checked his phone. A message from Gray flashed on the encrypted line:
"Julian just canceled his morning meetings. Rumor is he's in damage control with the board."
The elevator doors opened. Damien stepped out into the silence of the penthouse, the city spread before him like a chessboard.
He poured a drink and stood at the glass wall, watching the lights flicker in towers that used to be his.
"Let him think it's bad luck," he murmured. "When the truth hits him, I'll be there to watch him choke on it."