The Blockade
890 Words
The Sterling Fashion headquarters was a glass tower of panic.
"Mrs. Blackwood... I mean, Ms. Sterling!" The secretary, a young beta named Jenny, ran after Seraphina. "The production manager just quit. He said he can't make dresses out of air!"
Seraphina ignored her title mistake and kept walking. "Did you call the textile mill in the Gamma Sector?"
"Yes. They hung up on me."
Seraphina stormed into the conference room. It was half empty. The Board of Directors—a group of old, grey-haired men who cared more about dividends than loyalty—looked at her with grim faces.
And at the head of the table sat Lucas.
"Morning, cousin," Lucas smiled, revealing teeth that were too white, too perfect. He didn't stand up. "We were just discussing the inevitable."
"There is nothing inevitable about failure, Lucas," Seraphina said, slamming her leather folio on the mahogany table. The sound echoed like a gunshot, but none of the men flinched. "We have the Royal Contract. We have the design. We just need to solve the supply chain issue."
"But you can't," Board Member Higgins, a man whose neck jiggled when he spoke, muttered. "Vane controls the silk route. He controls the shipping lanes. You are sieged, Seraphina. And we are starving. Dividends are down 4% this quarter."
"I have a proposal," Lucas slid a document across the polished wood. It stopped perfectly in front of her. "Resign. Hand the CEO position to me. I have... a personal relationship with Markus Vane. He has agreed to lift the blockade if I am in charge."
Seraphina picked up the document. **Transfer of Leadership.** The legal jargon swam before her tired eyes.
"And become what?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "A Vane subsidiary? A puppet? You would sell our grandfather's legacy for a shipment of silk?"
"Better a puppet than a corpse," Lucas said coldly. "Face it, Sera. You played a good game. You even got that lucky sketch from somewhere. But business isn't about luck. It's about power. And you have none."
The room went silent. The air conditioner hummed, sounding like a dying breath. They were all waiting for her to break, to cry, to sign.
_Knock, knock._
The heavy oak doors creaked open, breaking the suffocating tension.
Killian poked his head in. He was wearing a ridiculous neon-orange delivery cap and carrying a grease-stained brown paper bag.
"Did someone order a spicy tuna roll?" he asked cheerfully. "I think the delivery guy got lost, so I intercepted him. Heroic, right?"
"Get out!" Lucas roared, slamming his fist on the table. "This is a closed meeting! Can't you read the sign?"
"Sign?" Killian walked in, ignoring the furious stares of the board members. He strolled past a stunned Higgins. "Oh, the one that says 'Do Not Disturb'? I thought it meant 'Donuts Inside'. My bad."
He placed the bag in front of Seraphina. "Brain food. Also, I put extra wasabi. Clears the sinuses. And the tears."
Seraphina looked at him. She wanted to scream at him to leave, to stop embarrassing her. But seeing his ridiculous face, hearing his casual voice... it was the only real thing in this room of vultures. It was a lifeline.
She took the bag. "Thank you, Killian."
"No problem," Killian turned to Lucas, squinting. "Nice tie, by the way. Italian silk? Shame if someone... spilled soy sauce on it."
He mimed tipping a non-existent bottle.
Lucas covered his tie instinctively, looking like a frightened child. "Security! Get this clown out! He's disrupting corporate proceedings!"
"I'm going, I'm going," Killian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Don't stress, Lucas. High blood pressure kills. And you have a company to... oh wait, you don't."
He winked at Seraphina—a quick, conspiratorial flash of gold in his eyes—and left.
But as the door closed, the smile dropped from his face like a mask falling to the floor. He had seen the fear in Seraphina’s eyes. He had smelled the bitter scent of defeat saturating the room.
They were cornered. The wolves were circling.
He walked to the elevator, pulling out his phone. The screen was cracked, but the tech inside was military-grade.
"Ragnar," he spoke into the mic, his voice dropping to a subsonic growl. "Activate Phase Two."
"The 'Wolf-Mart' initiative, sir?" Ragnar's voice crackled in his earpiece.
"Yes. And the fabric."
"But sir," Ragnar hesitated. "The Starlight fabric... it's a prototype. It hasn't been field-tested for mass market. And the price point... it will disrupt the entire global economy. It could trigger a trade war."
"Let it burn," Killian said, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the lobby. "If they want a financial war, I'll give them an industrial revolution."
Back in the conference room, Seraphina looked at the transfer document. The numbers blurred.
"I need twenty-four hours," she said, her voice hollow.
"Fine," Lucas checked his gold Rolex. "Tomorrow at noon. Surrender, or we vote you out. Don't make us drag you out by your hair, Sera."
Seraphina walked back to her office. She closed the blinds, shutting out the city that had rejected her. She sank into her chair, the leather creaking under the weight of her failure.
And for the first time since her grandfather died, she put her head on her desk and wept.
- Writer
