Power did not announce itself with the usual theatrics of the Grey empire. It didn't arrive with a phalanx of security or the heavy, rhythmic thud of a motorcade. It arrived with a quiet, atmospheric shift—a localized drop in pressure—as Victoria Grey took her seat at the head of the mahogany table beneath the vaulted glass ceiling of the Foundation’s international summit hall.
The room was a cathedral of high finance and shadow diplomacy. Sunlight slanted through the glass, illuminating the expensive silk ties and the weary, calculating eyes of the world’s most powerful board members, investors, and legal observers. They had come expecting Charles Grey. They had come prepared to negotiate with the "Protector," to weather his cold stares and his blunt ultimatums.
They were entirely unpre
