The Succession Game

The club was alive with low music and murmured conversations, the scent of whiskey and smoke thick in the air. Ren stepped inside, her heels clicking against the polished floors as she made her way toward the private lounge. A few familiar faces nodded in recognition, but no one dared stop her.

Inside, Number Nine sat at his usual spot—relaxed yet sharp-eyed—exuding the quiet authority that kept the city in check. Two men, both in their early twenties, occupied the room. One lounged in his chair, looking bored out of his mind, while the other stood behind him, hands clasped neatly behind his back, listening but saying nothing.

Ren placed the black case on the table with a soft thud. "Handled."

Nine barely glanced at it, instead watching her with mild amusement. "Of course you did."

Anthony let out an exaggerated sigh. "So, Nine, when do I get a cool name like yours? Maybe Number Seven or something." He smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. "Think it suits me?"

Nine laughed, a genuine, amused sound. "You want to be a number now?"

Anthony shrugged. "Just seems like a thing. You, me, Andie over there—" he jerked his chin toward Anderson, who remained still as a statue. "Maybe we all get numbers. Make it a real brand."

Nine chuckled again, shaking his head. "I'll think about it."

Ren's gaze flicked between them, but her focus remained on Nine. She knew what this was—he was waiting. This wasn't just about money or territory. It was about something far more interesting to him.

He had three options.

Anthony. Anderson. Ren herself.

That was what made this fun for Nine. Not knowing. The anticipation. The gamble. He lived for this.

Nine finally spoke, his tone almost lazy. "The reason I called all of you over is simple—I'm bored."

Anderson, still standing, glanced at Anthony.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So which one of us is it going to be?"

Nine didn't answer. He simply picked up his drink, took a slow sip, and let his smile linger.

And that silence said more than words ever could.

Ren finally broke it. "I thought I was already your assistant. Molly appointed me herself."

Anderson let out a quiet chuckle, the unexpected sound breaking through the tension in the room. Everyone turned toward him.

His voice was calm, but there was an edge of amusement. "He's not talking about an assistant, Ren. No one wants your position."

Nine smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, letting Ren's words hang in the air. Anderson's chuckle had been unexpected, a rare crack in his usual unreadable demeanor.

Ren's eyes narrowed. "Then what is he talking about?"

Anderson tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You're smart. Figure it out."

Anthony leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his amusement growing. "Come on, Ren, you really think Nine gathered us here to talk about jobs? He's talking about the whole damn thing." He gestured around the room, then to Nine himself. "All of this."

Nine set his drink down with deliberate ease. "I'm leaving."

The room went still.

Ren stiffened. Anderson's expression remained neutral, but Anthony's smirk widened.

"Retiring?" Anthony asked, though he already knew the answer.

Nine let out a low chuckle. "Something like that."

Ren's voice was sharp. "And you're just giving it away?"

Nine lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I built this. I ran it. And now I'm bored. So yeah, I'm handing it off." He leaned back, fingers drumming against the armrest. "Question is… to who?"

Anderson finally moved, stepping forward slightly. "You already have a frontrunner."

Nine nodded. "Yeah. You."

Ren's eyes flicked to Anderson. His reputation preceded him—efficient, ruthless when needed, and already feared in circles that mattered. If Nine was looking for someone steady, someone who wouldn't burn it all down for a quick thrill, Anderson was the obvious choice.

But Nine wasn't just about logic.

"You're a solid pick," Nine admitted, then his gaze slid to Anthony. "But this one? He's a close second."

Anthony grinned. "Damn right."

Ren folded her arms. "And I'm here because…?"

Nine met her gaze, smirk still playing at his lips. "Because I haven't made up my mind."

Ren exhaled slowly. "So this is a game to you."

Nine laughed softly. "Everything is a game, Ren. You just have to play it right."

Anthony let out a slow whistle. "And what exactly does the winner get?"

Nine's smirk deepened. "Ninety million a year. More, depending on how ambitious you are. Offshore accounts, assets, connections—power that most people only dream of." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make them listen. "You take my place, you own this city."

Silence.

Anthony stretched his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying himself. "So what's the test?"

Nine took another sip of his drink. "There is no test."

Ren frowned. "Then how do you choose?"

Nine grinned, eyes gleaming with something sharp, something dangerous. "I let things play out."

Anthony laughed. Anderson stayed silent. Ren clenched her jaw.

Then Nine leaned back, voice as casual as ever.

"Oh, and there's a fourth option."

The air in the room shifted.

Anthony's smirk faltered just slightly. Anderson finally looked up. Ren didn't move.

Nine's gaze flickered between them, watching, waiting, enjoying the moment.

"They're not here right now," he continued. "They're handling something for me."

Anthony scoffed, but there was curiosity in his tone. "You're telling me there's someone else in the running?"

Nine didn't answer. He just lifted his drink again, took a slow sip, and let the silence stretch.

And that silence was the most exciting part for him.

He lived for this.

Finally, he set his glass down and smiled.

"Let's see who earns it."