Chapter Sixteen: The K

Nicholas stared at the document Emery had handed him like it was a detonator. Small. Unassuming. But with enough power to blow Lucas Vale's carefully curated kingdom to pieces.

The numbers didn't lie. But Lucas did.

The memo was slick. Too slick. Cross-referencing the budget trails Emery had found, the inconsistencies pointed to more than just bad accounting. Lucas had been quietly rerouting funds and burying it under executive language and "strategic resource shifts."

But Nicholas knew the game.

Lucas hadn't just been siphoning power—he'd been preparing to take over. Positioning himself as the savior of a sinking ship he was quietly drilling holes in.

And now Nicholas had proof.

It wasn't a weapon yet. Not until it was placed in the right hands.

He glanced at the clock—7:42 p.m. The board was scattering for the weekend, but a few key members still lingered. He had time. Barely.

He buzzed Marla.

"Get me Rhea Langford. In person. Tonight."

"Sir?"

"Now."

Rhea Langford was many things—brilliant, biting, and wholly uninterested in corporate theater. That made her dangerous.

And necessary.

When she arrived, Nicholas didn't bother with small talk. He handed her the printed report, his annotated notes in the margins.

She read quickly, lips pursed.

When she finished, she sat back and said, "You're sure about this?"

"Every line of it."

"Because this doesn't just implicate Lucas in manipulation. It suggests he's been tampering with investor optics. That's SEC territory, Nicholas."

"I know."

"And if we go public—"

"I'm not going public," he interrupted. "Not yet."

She arched a brow. "Then what do you want?"

He leaned forward.

"I want to take this to three board members. The right ones. The ones Lucas hasn't already poisoned. I want to use this to remove his influence before he gets the votes he needs to push me out."

Rhea folded her arms. "You think you can convince them?"

"I think I can show them the truth. And if that fails…" he paused. "I'll remind them how deep Lucas is willing to bury them if they stand in his way."

Silence stretched.

Then she smiled—sharp and approving.

"I've missed this side of you."

Nicholas's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I haven't."

It took less than an hour to set the meeting.

Two board members—Armand LeClair and Janet Moretti—were already in the city. He caught them just before they left their Midtown club. The third, Dinesh Kumar, joined via secure call, his voice scratchy through the speaker but sharp as ever.

They met in the Ashford private conference room—smaller than the boardroom but far more dangerous. This was where real power shifted hands.

Nicholas didn't pace. Didn't preach.

He laid the facts out with a surgeon's clarity.

The budget discrepancies. The shuttered departments that made no fiscal sense. The performance reports buried. And finally, Lucas's succession memo—timed too perfectly with the leaked scandal surrounding Nicholas and Emery.

"Lucas didn't just see an opportunity," Nicholas finished. "He created it."

Janet tapped the paper. "You're saying he sabotaged the company from the inside?"

"I'm saying he used his influence to weaken competitors, then timed his proposal to make himself look like the answer to a problem he helped engineer."

Armand, silent until now, exhaled slowly. "And Emery Clarke?"

Nicholas's jaw tensed. "She uncovered the inconsistencies. She brought them to me."

Armand studied him. "And your relationship with her?"

"It's real," Nicholas said. "But it never interfered with our work. If anything, she's the reason I still have perspective."

Dinesh's voice crackled through the speaker. "This memo alone won't oust him. You'll need consensus."

"I don't want to destroy him," Nicholas said. "Not yet. I want to box him in. Strip his ability to maneuver."

Janet narrowed her eyes. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Nicholas tapped the folder.

"With three votes."

It wasn't a declaration of war.

Not yet.

But the next morning, Lucas walked into the executive floor and found his clearance restricted from three internal systems—Budgetary Oversight, Strategic Development, and Corporate Communications.

Nicholas watched him discover it.

The look on Lucas's face was almost worth the months of exhaustion.

He recovered quickly, of course. Smoothed his expression. Adjusted his cuffs. But Nicholas saw the crack.

And for the first time, he saw fear behind his brother's eyes.

Lucas appeared in Nicholas's doorway an hour later.

"You changed my access."

"I adjusted it," Nicholas said without looking up. "Standard oversight. New temporary controls pending internal audit."

Lucas laughed softly. "Since when do we audit VPs?"

"Since one of them tried to stage a coup."

The smile slipped.

"You really want to do this, brother?"

Nicholas met his eyes.

"I'm not the one who started it."

Lucas stepped closer.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

Nicholas stood.

"I'm ending one."

The room pulsed with tension. The kind that crackled just before lightning struck. Lucas's jaw clenched. He looked at the framed photo on Nicholas's shelf—an old one, from their early Ashford days. The two of them side by side, suited and fresh-faced.

"Remember when we were partners?"

"I remember when you stopped acting like one."

Lucas's nostrils flared, but he didn't speak. He turned and walked out, the door clicking softly behind him.

Nicholas didn't sit.

He went to the window, watching the city pulse below. He didn't feel victorious.

He felt braced.

The real storm hadn't even started.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the skyline and the office began to empty, he found himself on the balcony outside his private office. Emery was already there, a coffee in her hands, staring out at the lights.

"You did it," she said without turning. "You clipped his wings."

"For now."

"You know he won't go quietly."

"I'm counting on it."

She turned to look at him. Her eyes were tired, but full of that same fierce fire he'd fallen for.

"You're changing," she said softly.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "For better or worse?"

"For war," she said. "But that doesn't mean worse."

He exhaled, stepping beside her.

"I didn't want this."

"I know."

"But I won't let him take everything I built. I won't let him take you."

Her fingers brushed his.

"You won't," she said. "But you're not doing it alone."

He looked at her then—really looked.

The way the wind played with her hair. The way the city lit her skin. The way her strength didn't roar, but held everything steady beneath the surface.

"You saved me," he said quietly.

"No," Emery whispered. "You're just finally saving yourself."