Chapter 2: Business deal
1968 Words
Power does not panic.
It observes.
The meeting had ended an hour ago, yet the air inside Riggs Dominion Energy’s executive floor remained unsettled.
Not chaotic.
Not loud.
Just… disturbed.
Like something invisible had shifted.
Klaus stood alone by the glass wall overlooking New York City. From forty-two floors above, the city looked obedient. Traffic lights blinking in rhythm. Yellow cabs gliding like veins carrying money instead of blood.
Control.
That was what the Riggs family sold.
Control over energy. Over markets. Over narratives.
And yet…
He replayed the meeting in his head.
Michaelson Gracey.
Too composed.
Too precise.
Too fearless.
He had met ambitious women before. Heiresses. Politicians’ daughters. CEOs with inherited titles and practiced arrogance.
She wasn’t that.
She didn’t perform confidence.
She wore it like it was stitched into her spine.
Behind him, the conference room doors opened.
“You like her proposal.”
The voice was calm. Aged. Dangerous in its quiet.
Klaus didn’t turn immediately.
“I like numbers that make sense.”
His father, Theodore Riggs, stepped into the office.
CEO of Riggs Dominion Energy. Architect of its global expansion. A man who never raised his voice because he never needed to.
“The numbers are aggressive,” Theodore said. “Expansion into sustainable infrastructure is trending. That makes it volatile.”
“It makes it profitable,” Klaus replied evenly.
Theodore walked toward the window, stopping beside his son. Their reflections overlapped against the skyline — one seasoned and carved by decades of control, the other sharp and restrained.
“You trust her projections?” his father asked.
“I trust that she believes them.”
A faint smile curved Theodore’s lips.
“Belief is not proof.”
“No,” Klaus agreed. “But it’s conviction.”
There was silence between them. Not awkward. Calculated.
Theodore finally looked at him directly.
“She’s young.”
“So was I when you put me in charge of field operations.”
“That was different.”
Klaus’s jaw tightened slightly. “How?”
“You are a Riggs.”
And there it was.
Bloodline.
Legacy.
Ownership.
Theodore walked back toward the table, picking up the folder Gracey had left behind.
“Helios Urban Development,” he murmured. “Three-year growth trajectory. European backing. Quiet acquisitions. No scandal. No noise.”
He flipped through the pages again.
“Too clean.”
Klaus didn’t respond immediately.
“She built it in London,” he said after a moment. “Different regulatory environment. Less media frenzy.”
“Less scrutiny,” Theodore corrected.
Klaus turned from the window. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I think no one rises that quickly without stepping on something.”
A beat passed.
“Run a background check,” Theodore said. “Discreetly.”
Klaus nodded once.
The meeting was over.
But as Theodore left the room, he paused at the door.
“Be careful not to confuse interest with intuition, Klaus.”
Klaus didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know which one this was.
---
Across the Atlantic, in a small but secure office overlooking the Thames in London, a screen flickered with encrypted data.
Adrian Cole leaned back in his chair, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.
He had already anticipated this.
He knew the Riggs family would investigate.
They always did.
Which was why he had spent the last two years erasing footprints.
Helios Urban Development wasn’t just a startup.
It was architecture.
Shell companies layered through legal structures. Investment portfolios distributed across three countries. Clean audits. Verified tax filings.
All legitimate.
All strategic.
His phone buzzed.
Gracey.
He answered immediately.
“Tell me they didn’t dismiss you.”
“They didn’t,” she replied calmly.
Adrian smiled slightly. “Good. Because if they had, I would’ve flown to New York and caused a cyber incident.”
She ignored the joke.
“They’ll run a background check.”
“Already prepared.”
A pause.
“How did he look?” Adrian asked carefully.
“Klaus?”
“Yes.”
She walked across her Manhattan apartment, heels silent against polished floors. The apartment was minimalist. Neutral tones. Nothing sentimental on display.
“He looks like someone who thinks he has choices,” she said quietly.
“And?”
“He doesn’t.”
Adrian hesitated. “Do you still think he’s innocent?”
There was a long silence.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he didn’t recognize my name.”
“Most people don’t remember compliance officers’ daughters.”
Her grip tightened slightly around the phone.
“I do.”
Three years ago.
Her father’s name plastered across headlines.
Fraud. Embezzlement. Environmental negligence.
The media had devoured it.
Riggs Dominion Energy released a statement expressing “deep disappointment.”
Her father had tried to fight it.
But the forged document bore his digital signature.
The evidence was airtight.
Two weeks later, he collapsed in their living room.
Heart failure, they said.
Stress-induced.
Eighteen years old.
Fresh out of high school.
And suddenly alone.
Adrian’s voice softened. “We’re close.”
“Not yet,” she said firmly.
“You’ve already entered their building.”
“That was the easy part.”
---
Back in New York, the Riggs family mansion was alive with curated elegance.
The dining hall glittered under crystal chandeliers. Silverware aligned with surgical precision. Fresh lilies arranged at equal intervals.
The Riggs family didn’t eat dinner.
They staged it.
Present were:
Theodore Riggs — patriarch.
Margaret Riggs — social strategist and philanthropist.
Alexander Riggs — eldest son, political liaison.
Klaus Riggs — second son, operational head.
And the two daughters — Evelyn and Claire, both media darlings with charity foundations.
Margaret sipped her wine delicately.
“I heard about the meeting,” she said smoothly. “A young female CEO?”
“News travels fast,” Alexander muttered.
Margaret ignored him.
Klaus cut into his steak without looking up. “It was a proposal.”
“From a woman barely out of her twenties,” Evelyn added. “Ambitious.”
“Ambition isn’t a flaw,” Klaus replied.
“No,” Margaret said gently. “But it is predictable.”
Theodore placed his fork down.
“She built her company in Europe,” he said. “Rapid growth. Strong investor backing. No scandals.”
Claire tilted her head. “You sound impressed.”
“I am cautious,” Theodore corrected.
Margaret’s eyes shifted to Klaus.
“And you?”
Klaus met her gaze evenly.
“I think we should take the deal.”
Silence rippled across the table.
Alexander scoffed lightly. “Because she’s promising clean energy projections? Or because she intrigued you?”
Klaus’s expression hardened slightly.
“This isn’t personal.”
Margaret smiled faintly. “Everything is personal.”
Theodore leaned back in his chair.
“We will review the due diligence report before making a decision.”
The matter closed.
But as dinner continued, Margaret observed her son carefully.
She had raised Klaus to be composed.
Disciplined.
Detached.
Tonight, there was something else in his eyes.
Curiosity.
And curiosity, in powerful families, was dangerous.
---
Midnight.
Gracey stood alone on her apartment balcony.
The city hummed below.
She removed her earrings slowly, placing them on the marble counter inside.
Her reflection in the glass stared back at her.
Michaelson Gracey.
No disguise.
No alias.
Just a forgotten name.
Three years ago, after the funeral, she had searched through her father’s old laptop.
She found encrypted folders.
Internal compliance records.
Email threads hinting at falsified environmental reports in offshore drilling operations.
He had discovered irregularities in one of Riggs Dominion Energy’s oil fields.
He had refused to sign clearance approval.
Days later, the forged document surfaced.
His digital signature attached.
And then the accusation.
She had saved everything she could before the laptop was confiscated under “legal review.”
Adrian had helped recover fragments from cloud backups.
Not enough to prove innocence.
But enough to prove manipulation.
She closed her eyes.
Revenge was not emotional.
It was architectural.
First step: access.
Second: trust.
Third: fracture.
Klaus was step two.
Not the target.
The bridge.
Her phone buzzed again.
A text from an unknown number.
Background check initiated. Internal. Level three clearance.
She smiled slightly.
Adrian worked fast.
“Let them look,” she whispered to herself.
All they would find was success.
Scholarships.
Investors.
Charity partnerships.
They would not find the girl who cried in a hospital hallway.
They would not find the daughter who memorized the name Riggs like a curse.
---
The next morning, Klaus arrived at the office earlier than usual.
He entered his private workspace and activated the secured system.
A file was already waiting.
Background Investigation: Michaelson Gracey.
He opened it.
Birth records.
Mother deceased when Gracey was nine.
Father: Daniel Michaelson.
Occupation: Corporate compliance officer.
Klaus skimmed past it without pause.
Education history.
Graduated high school in New York.
Gap year.
Then London School of Business accelerated program.
Founding documents for Helios Urban Development.
Investment partners included European infrastructure funds and private equity firms.
Nothing illegal.
Nothing suspicious.
But then—
He scrolled back.
Daniel Michaelson.
The name lingered faintly.
Why did it sound familiar?
He searched internally within Riggs archives.
Dozens of employee names appeared.
He filtered by department: compliance.
One result surfaced.
Daniel Michaelson — Former Senior Compliance Officer.
Status: Terminated.
Reason: Gross misconduct.
Klaus’s jaw tightened.
He opened the archived press release.
Three years old.
The headline was clinical.
Riggs Dominion Energy Announces Immediate Termination of Compliance Officer Amid Financial Misconduct Allegations.
He read further.
Embezzlement. Falsified reports. Breach of fiduciary duty.
Case closed.
No legal follow-up.
No court case.
Just termination and internal resolution.
Klaus leaned back slowly.
He had been abroad during that period — negotiating field contracts in South America.
He remembered vaguely the media noise.
He had not paid attention.
Compliance scandals were routine in large corporations.
But now…
Michaelson Gracey.
Daughter of Daniel Michaelson.
And she had walked into his boardroom.
Under her real name.
Either she was incredibly naive.
Or incredibly bold.
His phone buzzed.
His father.
“Come to my office,” Theodore said simply.
When Klaus entered, Theodore was holding a tablet.
“She checks out,” his father said.
“So it seems.”
Theodore studied him.
“You searched internal archives.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She’s the daughter of Daniel Michaelson.”
A flicker crossed Theodore’s face.
Gone quickly.
“I remember,” Theodore said evenly. “Unfortunate situation.”
“Was it?” Klaus asked.
The room cooled slightly.
Theodore’s gaze sharpened.
“Be careful with your tone.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“And I am telling you,” Theodore replied calmly, “that the matter was handled.”
Handled.
Corporate language for buried.
Klaus nodded once.
“We proceed with the deal?”
Theodore watched him for a long moment.
“Yes.”
A decision made.
An alliance formed.
And somewhere deep within the foundations of the Riggs empire, a hairline crack appeared.
---
That evening, Gracey received the call.
“Riggs Dominion Energy would like to move forward with the partnership,” the legal representative informed her.
She thanked them politely.
After the call ended, she stood still for several seconds.
Step one complete.
They had opened the door willingly.
Across the city, Klaus stared out at the skyline once more.
Michaelson Gracey.
He didn’t know yet whether she was threat, opportunity, or mistake.
But he knew one thing.
She had walked into his world without fear.
And no one did that unless they believed they had leverage.
He exhaled slowly.
“Let’s see what you’re really after,” he murmured.
Far away, Gracey looked at the same city lights and whispered:
“Everything.”
- Writer
