The leather of his desk chair was cool against his back. Liam stared at the financial projections on his tablet, the numbers blurring into a uniform gray. He had come to his study for clarity—for the sterile logic of spreadsheets after the lingering disturbance of lunch with Elena and Lisa.
Instead, it was Elena he saw. The faint line of worry between her eyebrows as they discussed her “internship.” The soft catch in her voice when Lisa asked about “unwinding.” That single comment threaded something sharp through his focus, enough that his fingers began tapping lightly against the edge of the desk—anything to break the loop.
She was a calculated acquisition, a lever applied against him, a useful public face. Nothing more. A tool, positioned with intent.
So why did the memory of her standing in the foyer—trying too carefully to appear composed in that simple outfit—press against his sternum like something misplaced?
Presley entered without a sound, placing a fresh pot of coffee on the credenza. “The forecast has been updated, sir. The storm will make the entryway road impassable by nightfall.”
Liam didn’t look up from the screen. “As expected.”
Liam continued with his work, reviewing the documents and stock holdings of the five major companies that cover the region.
“I assume Miss Rossi’s guest will be staying?” Presley then asked.
Liam’s fingers stilled briefly on the edge of the desk, then resumed their slow, deliberate rhythm.
“Inform Marta that the kitchen should adjust for an additional guest past today,” Liam stated.
“I will ensure the order is relayed, sir,” Presley replied.
Liam watched as the storm moved in. Rain slammed against the windows, streaking the glass in restless lines. He’d need to ensure the power was held. Liam leaned back slightly, eyes still on the tablet, though the numbers hadn’t resolved. “Ensure the generator is tested before dusk. I won’t have the house relying on chance.”
“Yes, sir.”
Presley moved to leave, then stopped just short of the door.
“The roads may close sooner than expected,” he said.
Liam’s gaze lifted then, sharp and brief. “Then it’s fortunate the matter is already settled.”
A single nod. Presley exited without another word
He navigated away from the projections, opening a new browser window. His fingers entered a single name—Sterns Holdings.
The public filings were loaded in their usual sterile format, all polished language and deliberate omission. Liam pulled up Thorn Industries’ internal summaries beside it, letting both systems sit across the monitor like competing reflections of the same world.
The Sterns had always been direct in their presence—real estate, industrial infrastructure, and manufacturing spread across the mainland with little attempt to disguise its scale. Thorn Industries was quieter by design, layered in shipping routes, technological integration, and hospitality assets that functioned less as properties and more as points of access. Different structures, same principle beneath them: control expressed in different languages.
On paper, there were overlaps. In practice, the Sterns never behaved like participants in balance. They behaved like something testing where the balance could be broken.
Liam scrolled through the board listing. Most of the names were inherited positions—faces placed to maintain continuity rather than direction. His gaze paused on Arthur Stern, the chairman in name only, preserved in corporate memory more than present authority.
That much was known to the public by all, but the one detail they kept hidden from all except the five great families. Their real leader now was the young heir, Alexander Stern.
Alexander Stern—also known as ‘Xander’ Stern—never appeared where he was expected to. No verified images, no public presence worth anchoring identity to. Only movement, traced indirectly through shifts in markets and supply chains that reacted too quickly, too cleanly, as if pressure was being applied with advance knowledge of where resistance would form.
Recently, something about his movements had changed. New precision strikes making moves into other families’ work.
The state of Valmere had always been divided into five regions—North, South, East, West, and Central. A structure enforced long ago when instability had cost all the great families more than any of them were willing to repeat.
Each family took control of a region, specializing in a specific type of “Underworld” activity.
Valmonts held the south region, where they hosted different types of clubs, casinos, and plenty of illegal gambling operations.
Orleths governed the North. Probably the most ‘legal’ of the families, focused on resource production and distribution. The only thing shady was who they would sell it to.
Virellis controlled the West, where they held plenty of property and managed Money laundering through many individual channels.
The Sterns held the central region. The largest city, New Halden, the great capital of our region.
Then the Sterns, one of the oldest powers, anchored in mainland production—mechanical systems, engineering, and industrial manufacturing that formed the backbone of everything else. But the reports filtering in now carried a different tone. Weapons development, pharmaceutical adjacency without clear classification, sectors shifting in ways that suggested direction rather than drift.