Chapter Four
822 Words
The elevator doors slid open into the top-floor suite of Sanders Holdings… their private domain above the city. It wasn’t listed in public directories, and the name on the plaque outside the door simply read:
S & J Consortium
By appointment only.
Inside, everything was precision and taste… matte black fixtures, soundproof walls, abstract steel sculptures, and glass partitions that turned opaque with a single voice command.
Jason loosened his tie and walked past the motion-lit hallway into the central operations lounge… minimalist seating, integrated digital wall, and an espresso station that could power a hedge fund.
Jeremy flopped into a leather chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tell me I’m not crazy, J. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
Jason poured himself a drink… neat, no ice. “You’re not crazy. She walked into that room like she already owned it.”
Jeremy groaned. “And that last line… ‘Tell your brother not to lead with money.’”
He shook his head. “Damn.”
Jason settled into the seat across from him, calm but calculating. “It wasn’t just a flex. That woman’s playing a longer game.”
Jeremy looked toward the frosted-glass door as Marla walked in poised in heels, tablet in hand, blazer tailored sharp.
“You asked for intel on Elsa Cavill,” she said. “Here’s what we have publicly.”
Jason nodded once. “Let’s hear it.”
Marla tapped the screen, syncing it with the glass wall behind them.
Elsa’s photo appeared first… the same poise, the same impossible cheekbones.
“Name: Elsa Maria Cavill. Age: 32. Italian-American. Formerly married to Lorenzo Matteo Bellani… shipping magnate based out of Sicily. Very private man. Some say dangerous. They finalized a high-profile divorce two years ago.”
Jason’s brows lifted faintly.
“She received a $250 million settlement and recently moved to New York. She joined Madison & Hayes Capital through their Milan branch.”
Jeremy whistled low. “From Italian drama to Wall Street royalty.”
Marla continued. “She’s credited with turning around two failing portfolios and building strong green-tech investment networks across Europe. Her record’s spotless. No public scandals. No real dirt. She’s... clean.”
Jason said nothing, eyes fixed on the photo.
“But,” Marla added, “she's also… elusive. No social media. No interviews. No appearances outside curated spaces. Everything’s sharp, discreet, and locked down.”
Jeremy exhaled. “Of course it is.”
Jason stood and walked to the screen. Zoomed in on Elsa’s expression… that polished smile that didn’t give away a thing.
“She’s hiding something,” he murmured.
“Should I keep digging?” Marla asked.
Jason’s answer was soft.
“Dig. Quietly.”
Jason stood by the wall-sized glass panel as the city’s lights began to flicker to life below. Behind him, the last trace of Elsa Cavill’s profile had faded from the display screen.
Marla had already stepped out after his final instruction:
“Dig. Quietly.”
The door clicked shut.
Jeremy let out a breath and loosened his tie. “So… do we trust her?”
Jason’s gaze didn’t move from the skyline. “I don’t trust anyone.”
“That’s comforting,” Jeremy muttered, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself a measure of Yamazaki. “But let’s be real. This woman drops into our lives with cheekbones and spreadsheets, sits at the head of a billion-dollar table, and suddenly we’re the ones off balance? I don’t like it.”
Jason turned. “Because she bruised your ego?”
Jeremy ignored the jab. “Because she’s unpredictable. You see her file?”
Jason nodded slowly. “Too clean.”
“Exactly.” Jeremy downed half the glass. “No one with that kind of power has no dirt. Not unless someone’s washing it.”
Jason didn’t answer right away. He simply picked up a crystal tumbler and poured a single inch of whiskey, neat.
“We’ll know more tonight,” he said.
Jeremy looked up. “The dinner party?”
Jason nodded. “Waldorf. Full of donors, foreign investors, diplomats. And now that Volture Renewables is on the table, people are watching. That means we might hear something there.”
Jeremy gave a mock groan. “More bow ties and backstabbing.”
Jason smirked faintly. “So wear something sharp. And show up late. Alone.”
Jeremy’s brows shot up. “You don’t want to arrive together?”
“No. Separate entries, separate optics. I want the press talking about your date… not our strategy.”
Jeremy's grin widened. “Well, that’s convenient. I already told Sierra I’d bring her.”
Jason arched a brow. “The actress with the NDA collection?”
“She’s fun. Plus, she photographs well.”
Jason shook his head and moved to his desk. “Just don’t let her tweet anything from the table.”
“No promises.”
- Writer
