The Westbrook Tower boardroom was silent except for the low hum of the city filtering through the glass walls. Two men occupied the vast room. Leo Westbrook sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a half-finished drink casting a faint amber glow beside his hand. Across from him, Marcus Hale leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his sharp gray eyes fixed on Leo with the precision of a man who missed nothing.
Marcus was one of the few people Leo allowed to speak freely in his presence. A strategist by trade, ruthless by instinct, he had been with Leo since the first restless years of the Westbrook empire, back when ambition was a gamble and loyalty was still a currency that could be bought. Now, decades later, Marcus's loyalty had hardened into something else, an unspoken alliance forged by victories, betrayals, and an understanding of what power demanded.
"You shouldn't have let Trent walk," Marcus said, his voice flat, as if they were discussing a broken machine instead of a man.
Leo turned the glass in his hand, the ice clicking against the crystal. "Trent was Dominic's pawn. Breaking him would have been satisfying, but it would have made too much noise."
Marcus's brow creased. "Noise we could have controlled. You let Dominic see mercy where there should have been consequences. He'll take it for weakness."
Leo's gaze lifted, calm yet edged. "Dominic sees everything as weakness until it cuts him. He'll learn soon enough which kind of noise I prefer."
Marcus leaned back, studying him in silence for a moment. "This isn't about Trent. This is about a woman."
Leo's stillness was his answer.
Marcus allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. "Claire Sullivan. I've read her work. Clever, persistent, fearless to the point of self-destruction. She's the kind of woman who either exposes empires or burns them."
"She's already dangerous," Leo said quietly. "She walked into my office like she'd been waiting for me. No hesitation, no deference. She demanded things that would have gotten anyone else escorted out."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "And you didn't have her escorted out."
Leo's mouth curved faintly. "No."
"Because?"
"She has a brother in debt," Leo said, as though reciting a fact from a file. "A brother Dominic has already reached. That makes her both useful and vulnerable. The question is which side of that she understands better."
Marcus tilted his head, thoughtful. "So you'll treat her as what? An asset or a liability?"
Leo rose, slow and deliberate, crossing to the tall window. The skyline sprawled beneath him, its lights awakening one by one as dusk deepened. The city was a living thing, ruthless, hungry, endlessly shifting, and Leo had long since learned to speak its language.
"She came to me," he said after a pause. "Not to Dominic. That tells me she knows where the real power lies."
Marcus chuckled. "Or she went where the story is. She's a journalist, Leo, not a disciple. Don't confuse curiosity with allegiance."
"Curiosity," Leo murmured, watching his reflection against the glass, "is the first step toward allegiance. Stories are power, Marcus. She writes them. I shape them."
"You're thinking of using her."
Leo turned back, his expression unreadable. "Thinking? No. I decide. I act."
The air between them tightened, the unspoken weight of the conversation hanging there.
Marcus folded his arms. "If you keep her close, she'll expect something in return. Access, information, truth, whatever she thinks she's chasing. That's a risk you can't afford."
Leo set his glass down. "I don't give. I trade. Claire Sullivan will understand that soon enough."
Marcus's gaze sharpened. "You sound intrigued."
"Intrigue isn't weakness."
"No," Marcus said evenly, "but it isn't controlled either. You built your empire under control. Don't start surrendering now."
Leo's eyes hardened. "I don't surrender anything. I let people believe they've won until I decide otherwise."
Marcus rose from his seat, gathering his notes. "You always think you can manage the fire, Leo. But Claire Sullivan isn't a spark you can stamp out once you're done. If you misjudge her, she'll burn straight through your plans and enjoy it."
Leo almost smiled. "That's what makes her interesting."
Marcus shook his head, a dry laugh under his breath. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"I play all of them," Leo said. "And I don't lose."
The conversation ended there. Marcus hesitated for a moment, studying his employer, then turned and left the boardroom, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.
When the door closed, the silence returned, dense and deliberate. Leo stood at the window again, watching the city tilt toward night. Somewhere out there, Claire Sullivan was probably still writing, still digging, still trying to make sense of the man she had sat across from earlier that day. He wondered if she realized she was already part of his design.
He told himself she was a threat. A variable to be managed. Something that could compromise him if left unchecked. Yet beneath that reasoning, another current moved, a flicker of anticipation he couldn't quite silence.
Claire Sullivan was not predictable. She challenged, provoked, and refused to yield. Most people bent the moment they felt the gravity of his world. She had not. That made her more dangerous than any rival executive or hostile acquisition.
And yet, she intrigued him precisely because she didn't fit the pattern. She didn't chase money or influence the way others did. She chased the truth, even when it hurt. Even when it risked everything.
Leo Westbrook understood power better than anyone alive, but Claire's kind of conviction unsettled him in a way he hadn't felt in years. He should have crushed it early, should have ended the variable before it grew. Instead, he found himself waiting to see what she would do next.
Outside, a single light blinked across the horizon, a helicopter cutting through the sky toward the private airstrip beyond the bay. Leo watched it vanish into the darkness and caught his reflection in the glass, a man in control of everything except his own curiosity.
For the first time in years, he wasn't dictating every move on the board.
And that, he admitted silently, was both dangerous and exhilarating.
He lifted his glass once more, the ice melted to nothing, and allowed the faintest hint of a smile to touch his mouth. Whatever came next, whether it was a game, a war, or something far stranger, he would face it on his own terms.
After all, in Leo Westbrook's world, even danger had its uses.