"I don't usually meet people in places this quiet," Chloe Carter said, her voice soft but lined with suspicion as she stepped into the private dining room of The Grand Meridian. The restaurant's high glass walls shimmered with the reflections of city lights, casting gold and amber across the marble floor.
"Quiet places are the only ones worth talking in," came a smooth, confident voice.
Chloe turned — and saw him.
Marcus Reed.
He rose from his seat slowly, every movement deliberate, exuding wealth and power that didn't need to announce itself. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, the kind that whispered old money and control. His dark hair was slicked back, his sharp eyes assessing her not with admiration, but with interest — as if she were a chess piece he was deciding whether to play or sacrifice.
"Miss Carter," he greeted, his tone polite but edged with authority. "It's a pleasure to finally meet."
Chloe gave him a quick once-over, crossing her arms lightly. "You make it sound like you've been waiting."
"I have," Marcus said, smiling faintly. "Carter Group has… potential. And potential is what I invest in."
She slid into the seat opposite him, still cautious. "You said you could help with recovery funding. The company's had a rough quarter, and I—"
He lifted a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. "You don't need to explain. I've already studied your financials, your market collapse, and your family's internal shifts. I know about your brother's failed contract in Singapore, your mother's charity debts, and your sister-in-law's private accounts."
Chloe stiffened. "You know a lot for a stranger."
"I don't believe in being a stranger to money," Marcus said simply.
She watched him closely, unease flickering beneath her curiosity. "And what do you want in return? No one helps a sinking company out of kindness."
Marcus leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes didn't leave hers. "I want access. To Carter Group's internal operations. I want to know who really runs the show — and how long before the cracks break it apart completely."
His words carried weight, and Chloe found herself both drawn to and afraid of him. "You make it sound like we're already falling."
He smiled — slow, deliberate. "Aren't you?"
She didn't answer.
"Don't worry," Marcus added after a moment, his tone softening slightly. "I'm not your enemy, Miss Carter. I'm an investor. The kind that builds empires from rubble. If you help me understand what's rotting Carter Group from within, I can help you save what's left."
His phone buzzed on the table — the screen flashing Confidential Line: Reed Holdings. He ignored it.
Chloe took a slow breath, her pulse racing. "You'll get what you need. Just make sure my name stays clean."
Marcus gave a slight nod. "Discretion is my favorite currency."
Their hands brushed briefly as she passed him a flash drive — encrypted, full of selective internal data she had already stolen from Carter servers.
Marcus pocketed it smoothly. "Pleasure doing business with you, Chloe."
But the look in his eyes wasn't business. It was intrigue.
And something darker.
---
That same night, at the Carter mansion, Kate Carter sat alone in her private study, her hands trembling as she stared at her phone. The unknown number had called three times already.
Her breath hitched when it rang again.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Carter," came the cold, distorted voice. "Payment was due yesterday."
"I told you, I'm arranging it," Kate snapped, though her voice shook. "You'll get your money soon."
"Your husband doesn't know, does he?"
Kate froze.
The voice chuckled. "Poor Nick. Still thinks his wife is his redemption. If only he knew what you paid to keep your secret buried."
"Enough," she hissed.
"Then deliver," the caller said coldly. "You still have access to Carter Group's server. Send me the remaining files from your department — the investor portfolio, the upcoming partnership drafts. Do it, and your debt disappears."
The line went dead.
Kate lowered the phone, panic gripping her chest.
She hesitated for a long time before pulling open her laptop and connecting her secure drive. A few keystrokes later, confidential documents began uploading.
The recipient: Marcus Reed.
---
At the same time, in Samantha Bradley's penthouse, Jake was standing before a large screen, digital files open, charts and graphs displayed like evidence at a trial. His jaw tightened as he scanned the transactions again and again.
"Sam," he called out, his tone serious.
Samantha stepped in, still in her black silk blouse, her hair neatly pinned. "What did you find?"
Jake tapped the screen. "An anomaly. I've been following the Carter Group's financial flow through offshore channels — and a new pattern just appeared. Money's being funneled through small shell companies. And guess whose name keeps showing up on the receiving end?"
Samantha moved closer, eyes narrowing. "Who?"
"Marcus Reed," Jake said flatly. "CEO of Reed Holdings. A billionaire investor who's known for taking over collapsing companies. Ruthless. Strategic. Quietly dangerous."
Samantha crossed her arms. "And connected to the Carters."
Jake nodded. "I think he's already infiltrated their accounts. He's either planning a takeover or using them as leverage for something bigger."
Samantha's gaze hardened, her voice lowering. "No one moves money through my battlefield without me noticing. Find everything on him — contacts, assets, allies. I want to know who Marcus Reed really is."
Jake studied her face. "You sound… worried."
Samantha gave a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Not worried, Jake. Curious. I've seen men like Marcus before. They don't just play the game — they become it."
---
Hours later, Marcus Reed stood on the balcony of his penthouse overlooking the city. The skyline glowed beneath him — a sea of lights stretching endlessly into the horizon.
He held a glass of whiskey in one hand, the flash drive Chloe had given him in the other.
On the table beside him sat another folder, this one with a single name embossed in gold across the front:
Samantha Bradley.
A smirk touched his lips as he opened it, revealing her photo clipped to several pages of background intel.
"Impressive woman," he murmured, tracing his thumb over her picture. "Sharp. Composed. Unbreakable."
He set the photo down, his gaze drifting toward the night sky.
"Let's see if that's true."