Power Moves Only
920 Words
The private elevator opened with a metallic hiss.
Leon Voss stepped into the VossTech building for the first time in five years—not as an heir, but as a threat.
He moved like he owned the place, because deep down, he still did. His eyes skimmed the unfamiliar faces behind reception desks and security counters. Some looked up from their monitors, eyes widening slightly. Recognition flickered, but no one dared speak.
He liked it that way.
Silence was leverage.
As the elevator rose to the top floor, Leon adjusted his cufflinks. Not the ones engraved with the old family crest—he’d melted those years ago. These were custom: black titanium, shaped like chess knights. Symbols of war.
He was no longer a prince waiting for approval.
He was a king on the offensive.
“Sir, you can’t go in there—”
Leon brushed past the executive assistant without breaking stride.
The double doors of the CEO’s office flew open. Inside sat a man who looked too soft, too pampered to be sitting in his father’s chair.
Derek Ward. His cousin. The man who’d stabbed him in the back during the board coup.
“You should’ve stayed in Monaco,” Leon said coldly.
Derek stood so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall. “Leon? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Taking what’s mine.”
“You have no right—”
Leon pulled a thick folder from his coat and tossed it on the table. “Legal transfer agreements. Signed proxies. A controlling share. You don’t even own your tie anymore, Derek.”
Derek’s face turned from confusion to rage to disbelief. “How... how did you even—”
“Doesn’t matter how,” Leon cut him off. “What matters is, you have ten minutes to clear your desk before I send security to drag you out.”
“You think this board will side with you? You’re a criminal in their eyes—exiled, disgraced—”
Leon stepped closer, lowering his voice to a blade. “They'll side with whoever makes their stocks rise. And I’m not here to debate. I’m here to reclaim.”
Leon didn’t wait for a response. He walked past Derek, opened the blinds behind the desk, and stared out at the skyline.
The city looked different from up here.
Cleaner.
But beneath the polish, it was still a battlefield.
Forty minutes later, Leon was seated at the head of the long, obsidian boardroom table. The VossTech board of directors sat around him, silent. Watching.
He didn’t speak yet.
He let the silence grow uncomfortable.
A tactic.
Control the tempo. Own the room.
Finally, he folded his hands.
“I’m not here to make friends,” he said bluntly. “I’m here to fix what’s broken. You know it, I know it—under Derek Ward, this company has bled out its innovation, its backbone, and its profits.”
A few exchanged looks. No one interrupted.
“I’ve secured foreign capital from three shadow investors,” Leon continued. “One from Dubai. One from Seoul. One... you’ll never trace. That liquidity will flow into R&D and expansion. VossTech will stop playing defense and start hunting again.”
One of the older members, Mr. Halvorsen, leaned forward. “And what do these silent investors want in return?”
“Dividends,” Leon replied smoothly. “Not control. I don’t share power.”
There was a pause. Then the sharp click of approval as one member tapped the table.
The others followed.
Just like that, the board shifted.
Leon Voss was CEO. Officially. Irrevocably.
Later that evening, in the penthouse office that once belonged to his father, Leon stood alone with a tumbler of scotch.
He didn’t drink.
He just held it, remembering the weight of betrayal. The taste of exile. The stench of prison concrete and the blood on his knuckles from the fight rings where he'd earned every cent of his comeback capital.
He didn't rise by being smart alone.
He rose by being ruthless.
He turned when he heard heels behind him.
Camille Drake.
Black pencil skirt. Slate blouse. Calm expression. The fixer he'd hired from the shadows, and the only person in this city who knew how deep his war chest ran.
“I spoke with the Seoul investors,” she said. “They want a private dinner to discuss expansion.”
“Set it up.”
“They asked if you’d be bringing... a partner.”
Leon’s eyes flickered, just for a second.
He turned back to the window. “Tell them I travel alone.”
Camille nodded. “Understood.”
She lingered, though. “You really did it. You took everything back.”
Leon’s jaw clenched. “No. This is just the opening move. The real enemies are still out there.”
He turned to her now, gaze cold.
“Derek was just a pawn.”
Across the city, a woman in red heels stepped into an elevator on the 27th floor of a glass skyscraper.
She smiled as she read the alert on her phone:LEON VOSS APPOINTED CEO – VOSSTECH STOCKS SURGE 15%
Then she deleted the message.
“Let the games begin,” she whispered.
Back in the penthouse, Leon pulled out an old, cracked photo. Three boys in suits. Him, Derek, and the third—
Jonas Creed. The man who started the betrayal.
Leon’s lips curled.
“Your turn is coming.”
- Writer
