Chapter 4: Do I Look Like I Care About Saving Face?
1278 Words
In the days that followed, all eyes within Finch Group were trained on Silas. Only Josiah remained composed, managing daily operations with his usual calm, as if completely uninvolved in the brewing power struggle. But he understood his position all too well—rising hastily without solid footing would only paint a target on his back. Relinquishing control of the collaboration project seemed like yielding ground, but hidden beneath was a deeper strategy: it disarmed his second uncle’s camp, bought precious time to study two decades of core company records, and most crucially—it allowed those eager to crown Silas as heir to experience, firsthand, the cost of misguided ambition.
At this very moment, in the top-floor conference room, Hezekiah absentmindedly stroked the jade-dragon carving on his rosewood cane. The scene from three nights ago lingered vividly in his mind: his eldest grandson had come knocking late at night, slid an encrypted tablet across the table. On the screen, a sprawling, spiderweb-like equity chart revealed a shocking link—offshore companies under Hiram’s name were covertly entangled with the Pierce family.
"The leak you’ve always feared—this is the source," Josiah said, his eyes behind the glasses sharp as a blade. "But if we expose them now, it’ll only spook them. Better to lure the snake into the trap."
Now, as the conference room simmered with tension, a cold smirk tugged at the old man’s lips. Those board members who had believed Silas held the upper hand were now being brutally confronted by reality. Negotiations with the Pierce family had dragged on for over two weeks, deadlocked on a critical clause—the Pierces refused to share core technical data, insisting on exclusive rights. It was, in effect, a demand that would reduce Finch Group to a mere contractor—paying exorbitant licensing fees each year while being kept away from its own core tech.
"Who was it that pushed so hard for Silas to lead the negotiations?" CFO Liu Zhen slammed the financial report onto the table. The sharp c***k of paper striking wood made several of Silas’s allies flinch. "Every day this drags on, we’re bleeding millions from exchange rate fluctuations alone!"
"Business is war—victories and losses come with the territory," Zhao Xiang of the second uncle’s camp forced out a defense, though the sweat gathering at his temples betrayed his unease. "Funny how some people seem so eager to kick us while we’re down. Makes you wonder if they weren’t hoping for this all along."
Josiah, silent until now, let out a quiet chuckle. That soft laugh was like a needle piercing the tense atmosphere, drawing everyone’s eyes toward the second young master—reticent until now, yet never absent. Slowly, he adjusted his gold-framed glasses, their chain flashing a cold gleam in the morning light.
"Uncle Zhao, what an interesting comment. But if I recall correctly, didn’t you say just last month, right in this room: ‘Silas and young Mr. Pierce are close friends—it’s a guaranteed success’?"
A heavy silence fell. The antique century-old clock on the wall ticked away solemnly. Silas’s fingers had turned white from how tightly he gripped his pen. In that moment, he recalled that stormy night three days prior—when the Pierce family’s aide had quietly remarked:
"Master Jasper asked me to pass along a message: He prefers partners who are honest, not those who play games."
"Given the urgency of the situation, I propose we activate the emergency protocol." Josiah rose to his feet, his sharp shoulder lines accentuated by a perfectly tailored suit. "I will temporarily take over the negotiations."
"You?" Silas snapped his head up, his voice low but trembling with humiliation and fury. "You think attending a few cocktail parties with Jasper makes you qualified to—"
"I can get the technical-sharing clause written into the contract." Josiah’s voice was calm but slicing, like steel drawn from its sheath. The room erupted in murmurs, and he turned to his grandfather—the only one who had yet to speak.
"If I fail to deliver within three days, I’ll withdraw my candidacy for succession—permanently."
That night, in the top suite of the Peninsula Hotel, Jasper gently swirled his whiskey glass, the amber liquid reflecting his friend’s unreadable expression.
"You’re really going through with this? Matilda was practically begging me this morning..."
"She’s asking the wrong person." Josiah loosened his tie, revealing an old scar on his collarbone—a memento from a childhood k********g, where he had shielded a terrified Matilda with his own body. What had once been a treasured memory now felt like bitter irony.
"From the day she helped Silas steal confidential files from my study, whatever we had turned into nothing more than a transaction."
Outside the window, neon lights bled like wounds across the night sky. Josiah pulled the tie from his neck and tossed it in the trash, as though casting off invisible chains.
"Tell Legal. By tomorrow, I want a finalized endorsement deal from the Pierce family—for the rookie at Starshine Entertainment."
"Not Viola?" Jasper raised an eyebrow. "He’s waited for you for five years."
"Giving it to him now would be a death sentence." Josiah’s gaze swept across the sea of glittering high-rises. The cold profile reflected in the glass looked sculpted from marble. "Once the vipers in the company are gone, I want him to stand in the sun—with his head held high."
Three days later, at the contract signing, Josiah pushed the wax-sealed Pierce family agreement across the table. The second uncle’s faction was visibly stunned. The tech-sharing clause sliced through every hidden trap Silas’s team had laid—and worse still, an additional clause granted Finch Group exclusive distribution rights across the Asia-Pacific. The price? Hiram’s three offshore shell companies were now permanently blacklisted by the Pierce family.
At the victory banquet, Viola was led into the grand ballroom, still dressed in the custom gown Josiah had sent—its open-back design revealed a faint rose tattoo on his lower back. It had been inked by a private doctor Josiah hired years ago, when Viola was just a wounded, starving teenager surviving in the slums.
"Why not me?" he whispered, clutching his manager’s sleeve, his voice trembling.
"Mr. Josiah asked me to tell you..." the manager leaned close, voice low, "A rose must bloom in the right season."
On the second-floor balcony, Josiah leaned against the railing, watching the confused young man below. His fingers unconsciously traced the encrypted photo album on his phone. Five years ago, under a rain-soaked overpass, the boy had clutched a broken guitar, bruised and stubborn-eyed. Josiah had never seen anything shine brighter—not even Matilda’s most prized jewels.
A camera flash flickered in the shadows. Josiah’s expression turned sharp, then returned to a perfect smile as he turned.
"Uncle, come to share in the celebration?"
Hiram’s grip on his champagne glass tightened until veins bulged. In the shadows behind him, Silas stood brooding. The older man hissed through clenched teeth:
"Don’t get cocky. You really think the old man’s going to hand the company to—"
"Uncle," Josiah leaned in, voice soft as a serpent’s hiss, "You might want to burn what’s in the third hidden compartment of your study. Before someone else finds it."
Watching Hiram’s face drain of color, Josiah raised his glass with poise. "To the Finch family’s legacy."
Crystal chandeliers scattered dazzling light throughout the hall—but no brilliance could mask the madness beginning to flicker in some people’s eyes.
The real war had only just begun......
- Writer
