A Storm Brewing

Chapter 3: A Storm Brewing

Damien stepped out of the boardroom with the same unshaken composure he had walked in with. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind him, and he could already hear the muffled uproar from within.

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

"This must be a joke!"

"Victor, what do we do?"

Damien smirked. Let them panic. Let them sweat. It was only the beginning.

Reed, leaning casually against the wall outside, pushed off from it as Damien approached. "That went well," he said, a lazy smirk on his lips. "I think your uncle might've had a stroke back there."

Damien didn't slow his stride. "Good. The sooner they realize they're in a losing battle, the better."

Reed fell in step beside him. "So what's next? We sit and wait for them to make a move?"

Damien's gaze was sharp, calculating. "No. We set the pace. They're still underestimating me. That changes today."

As they stepped into the private elevator, Damien pulled out his phone. His fingers moved swiftly, sending a message to an encrypted group chat.

[Initiate Phase One.]

A single reply came almost instantly.

[Understood.]

Reed peeked over. "Phase One, huh? You gonna tell me what that is, or do I get to be surprised?"

Damien's lips curled into a small, dangerous smile. "You'll see soon enough."

The elevator doors slid shut, taking them down.

And the war officially began.

---

Xander Tower - CEO's Office

Victor Xander stood at the head of the long boardroom table, his grip on the black letter so tight that the expensive paper crumpled beneath his fingers.

The room was in chaos. The board members were shouting over each other, arguing, cursing, panicking.

"Who the hell let him back in?"

"This is insane! He was supposed to be gone!"

"He's just one man! He can't touch us!"

"Just one man?" Victor's voice boomed, instantly silencing the room.

His cold blue eyes swept over the gathered directors, each of them looking uncomfortable under his gaze. He slammed the letter down onto the table.

"That 'one man' is Damien Xander," Victor growled. "The same boy we threw into the slums ten years ago. The same boy who disappeared and was presumed dead. But now? Now he's here

Silence.

Some of the board members shifted uneasily in their seats.

One of the older men, Gerard Lane, leaned forward. "Victor, what do we actually know about him now? He's been gone for a decade. Where has he been? Who is backing him?"

Victor exhaled through his nose. "That's what we're going to find out. Immediately."

He turned to Silas Moreau, who had barely spoken since leading Damien into the boardroom.

"Silas," Victor snapped. "How the hell did he even get past security?"

Silas, still pale, rubbed his temple. "He—he had a Black Phantom Unit insignia."

A stunned silence fell over the room.

Then:

"You mean the Black Phantom Unit?"

"The government's elite special ops force?"

"You're telling me he was part of that?"

Victor's scowl deepened. "If that's true, then we have a serious problem. A man who survived that kind of training isn't someone we can just brush off."

The room fell into grim silence.

Then, one of the board members—Lucas Vance, head of the Xander Conglomerate's security division—spoke up.

"Then we take care of him. Quietly."

Victor's gaze snapped to him. "You think a man like that can just be taken care of?" He let out a humorless laugh. "By all means, Lucas. Send your best men after him. And then start preparing their funerals."

Lucas clenched his jaw, but he didn't argue.

Victor exhaled slowly, forcing himself to regain control. "We won't act blindly. We gather information first. I want everything on him—where he's been, what he's been doing, who his allies are. I want it yesterday."

Gerard nodded. "I'll put our best intelligence team on it."

Victor's gaze darkened as he looked toward the city skyline.

"You want a war, Damien?" he muttered under his breath.

"Then a war you'll get."

Downtown Orion – Underground Club

A dimly lit VIP lounge buzzed with hushed conversations and clinking glasses. Men in expensive suits leaned over tables, whispering about black-market deals, offshore accounts, and power plays that never made it to the news.

And in the farthest, darkest booth, Damien sat with one leg crossed over the other, nursing a glass of whiskey.

Across from him sat an older man, Adrian Holt, one of the biggest information brokers in the city. A man who knew things before the news did.

"You really don't waste time, do you?" Holt chuckled, swirling his drink. "The whole damn Xander board is in an uproar because of your little surprise visit."

Damien smirked. "That was the point."

Holt whistled. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid. The Xanders aren't known for mercy."

Damien leaned forward slightly, his gaze turning ice cold. "Neither am I."

Holt studied him for a moment before chuckling again. "Fair enough. So, what exactly do you want from me?"

"Information," Damien said. "I need everything on my uncle and the Xander Conglomerate. Their financials, offshore accounts, illegal dealings. Anything I can use to cut their legs out from under them."

Holt let out a low whistle. "That's a tall order."

Damien reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black USB drive. He slid it across the table.

"That's ten million dollars in untraceable cryptocurrency," Damien said. "There's another ten waiting if you deliver what I need."

Holt stared at the USB for a long moment before a slow, greedy smile spread across his face. "You always did know how to make a deal, kid."

He grabbed the drive, pocketing it smoothly. "Give me forty-eight hours. I'll have what you need."

"Make it twenty-four," Damien said flatly.

Holt raised an eyebrow. Then he laughed. "You really are in a hurry to bring your family down, huh?"

Damien lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down.

"They stopped being my family a long time ago."