The internal audit report for Reindeer Logistics arrived just after noon on Friday.
It didn't come with drama. No alarms. No red banners screaming fraud. Just a dense, meticulously organized document delivered through a secure channel, encrypted twice and signed by a private firm whose discretion was worth more than its reputation.
Derek Morgan read it alone in his office on the twenty-fourth floor.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Los Angeles sprawled endlessly beneath the afternoon sun—traffic crawling like veins clogged with impatience, the city alive and unaware that decisions made in this room would soon ripple far beyond it.
The audit confirmed what Derek had already suspected.
John Powers had not been stupid.
He hadn't stolen blatantly. There were no offshore yachts registered under fake names, no shell charities siphoning millions overnight. What John Powers had done was far more common—and far more corrosive.
He had treated the company like an extension of himself.
Vendor contracts consistently awarded to the same handful of firms, all charging just above market rate. Maintenance budgets bloated with "emergency provisions" that were never emergencies. Safety upgrades postponed because penalties were cheaper than compliance. Subsidiaries that technically existed, staffed by two or three employees, yet consumed real capital every quarter.
Individually, each action was defensible.
Collectively, they painted a clear picture: mismanagement rooted in entitlement.
It wasn't enough to destroy Reindeer Logistics.
But it was enough to destroy people.
Derek closed the file and leaned back in his chair. He felt no thrill. No triumph. Only the quiet confirmation of a hypothesis proven correct.
John Powers had never believed anyone would truly look.
That belief had been his fatal mistake.
---
Devontae Philip arrived precisely at one o'clock.
He was efficient, well-dressed, and carried himself with the measured confidence of someone who understood both corporate politics and human frailty. Derek had hired him for exactly that reason.
Without ceremony, Derek handed him a slim folder.
"These contracts are to be terminated," Derek said. "Effective immediately."
Devontae opened the folder and scanned the names. A flicker of recognition crossed his face—senior managers, department heads, people who had survived multiple restructurings under John Powers.
"These are legacy employees," Devontae said carefully. "Some have been here over a decade."
"Longevity isn't immunity," Derek replied.
Devontae nodded. "There will be pushback."
"There always is."
"Legal exposure?"
Derek slid a second file across the desk. "Contained. Documented. Reviewed twice."
Devontae closed the folder, his expression tightening slightly. "Understood."
Derek handed him another document.
"I need a chief operating officer for Reindeer Logistics."
Devontae raised an eyebrow as he read. The specifications were demanding—borderline unrealistic.
"This isn't maintenance," Devontae said. "This is conquest."
"Yes."
"You want to scale aggressively. New routes. New infrastructure. Possibly acquisitions."
"I want Reindeer to stop thinking like a regional player," Derek said. "And start behaving like an inevitability."
Devontae exhaled slowly. "People capable of that don't come cheap."
Derek's gaze remained steady. "Anyone who hesitates over compensation is negotiating from fear, not ambition."
Devontae allowed himself a thin smile. "I'll bring you candidates."
As he stood to leave, Derek added calmly, "And Devontae?"
"Yes?"
"Anyone whose loyalty remains with John Powers should stay where they are."
Devontae paused. "You're not removing them?"
"Not yet," Derek said. "Fear spreads faster when it has witnesses."
Devontae inclined his head and left the office.
---
Three days earlier, JBL Investment had been dismissed.
Not insulted. Not challenged.
Dismissed.
Fabian Matthews had delivered JBL's interest personally, confident in the firm's reputation and reach. Blackfire Technologies was burning capital at a rate that suggested either madness or brilliance, and JBL intended to find out which.
Derek Morgan had listened politely.
Then declined.
Blackfire was well-funded.
External investment was unnecessary.
That was all.
For JBL, a firm accustomed to commanding attention, the rejection felt wrong—not offensive, but deeply unsettling. It wasn't that Derek had said no. It was how easily he had done it, as though JBL's presence carried no weight at all.
So JBL did what institutions always did when they encountered something they couldn't buy.
They investigated.
---
The background report lay open on the boardroom table.
An orphan.
Multiple foster homes.
No inheritance. No family wealth. No known patrons.
A scholarship student at Harvard who abruptly dropped out after a highly publicized dispute involving Chad Powers.
Then—silence.
Followed by an explosion.
Two companies incorporated within days of each other. One capitalized at one hundred billion dollars. The other at one billion. A hostile takeover executed with surgical efficiency. Legal maneuvers that suggested planning far beyond an eighteen-year-old's experience.
"This doesn't make sense," one partner said flatly.
Fabian shook his head. "It doesn't have to. It just has to exist."
Another executive leaned forward. "There has to be a source. Criminal. Political. Something."
"We've found nothing," Fabian replied. "No syndicates. No laundering trails. No government contracts."
Silence stretched across the room.
"He rejected us," the managing partner said slowly. "Without negotiation."
Fabian nodded. "As if we were irrelevant."
"Then he doesn't need us," another partner muttered. "Which means he doesn't fear us."
That landed heavily.
Fabian brought up another slide. "Blackfire's monthly burn rate is approximately seventy million dollars."
A ripple of surprise moved through the room.
"And increasing," Fabian added.
"That's reckless," someone said.
"No," the managing partner replied. "That's urgency."
Fabian hesitated before displaying the final image—a grainy photograph taken discreetly as he left Blackfire's offices.
A whiteboard.
Two words scrawled in black marker.
Reality Quest.
"We don't know what it is," Fabian said. "But whatever it is, he doesn't want investors asking questions."
The managing partner folded his hands. "Then we stop asking."
Fabian frowned. "And do what?"
"We watch," the partner said. "Quietly."
Fabian nodded, but unease crept into his chest.
He remembered Derek Morgan's eyes during their meeting.
Not arrogant.
Not reckless.
Just certain.
And certainty, Fabian knew, was the most dangerous currency of all.