Chapter 3:Observation Decks
798 Words
There was a rhythm to power, and Rhea Esquivel was starting to learn its beat.
By her third day inside ValeTech Global, the tempo had become unmistakable: silence was strategy, eye contact was a weapon, and every conversation was a negotiation—even the ones without words.
Especially those.
She’d seen Caspian Vale twice since the war room exercise. He hadn’t spoken to her.
But he’d watched her.
From the balcony above the Think Lab. Through the smoked glass of the executive elevator. Across mirrored hallways that twisted like a high-rise maze.
Always there. Always observing.
He didn’t need to speak. His silence said everything.
And Rhea hated that she noticed.
The Executive Think Lab was already in motion when she arrived. Curved walls. Seamless screens. Nowhere to hide. ValeTech’s top operators filled the room—some in suits sharp enough to slice, others in high-collared techwear that whispered power.
But only one man didn’t look up when she entered.
Nikolai Vale.
Younger. Messier. Charismatic. The exact opposite of his half-brother. He was scrolling through a neural data cluster, fingers moving like he was composing music instead of dissecting code.
Rhea took the seat beside him.
He glanced over, eyes warm and amused. “Welcome to the shark tank.”
“Any tips for surviving?” she murmured.
“Don’t bleed.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“And don’t make eye contact with the chairman.”
Too late.
Across the table, Caspian looked up.
Their eyes locked for less than a second—but she felt it. A jolt. A weight.
He looked away first.
Nikolai leaned slightly closer. “That means he noticed.”
“Good. That’s the point.”
“Or the problem.”
The meeting was swift and surgical.
Supply chain instability. AI audit reports. Cyber liability updates. Rhea kept mental notes while pretending not to. Caspian spoke only occasionally, but when he did, the room tilted toward his voice.
Then came the words that froze her spine.
“Project Aeneas,” said one executive, flipping a slide. “Terminated. Redirection to Quantum Line pending Caspian’s approval.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. But inside, something cracked.
Aeneas.
Her father’s final consulting project. The one he’d warned her about before everything collapsed.
She wrote down nothing. But her pulse thudded louder beneath her ribs.
A hand brushed hers under the table.
A folder. Quietly passed.
She looked over.
Genevieve Aragon.
Secretary of the Board. Elegant. Impeccable. Terrifying in her stillness.
She said nothing. Just smiled.
The kind of smile women wore when they already knew the ending—and were giving you time to catch up.
After the meeting, Rhea lingered by the atrium’s espresso bar. Modern art framed the walls—sleek curves, kinetic sculpture. Distraction by design.
Nikolai approached, hands in his pockets.
“Don’t let the smiles fool you,” he said, nodding toward Genevieve’s retreating figure. “That one will drown you and write a ballad about it.”
Rhea sipped her espresso. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I flirted once. Got threatened with tax audits in three countries. Very poetic ones.”
She smiled, faintly. “You don’t strike me as easily scared.”
“I’m not. But I do admire survival.” He studied her now, more carefully. “So why are you really here, Rhea Esquivel? PR fixer? Or something messier?”
She raised a brow. “That depends. Are you offering to help?”
“I’m offering a warning.” His tone dropped. “My brother doesn’t bring people close unless he plans to control them… or break them.”
“Maybe I’m not easy to break.”
“Maybe he likes that.”
Back in her glass-walled office, Rhea booted up her secure terminal.
Elle had sent a link.
An internal keyword trace on ‘Aeneas’ in government systems. Most results were flagged or restricted. But one file matched.
Isidro Esquivel.
Department of National Defense consultant. Clearance Level 6.
Final classified report—never logged. No closure.
Her father’s last assignment.
The one he said was bigger than data. Bigger than tech.
The one that killed his reputation.
Maybe more.
The screen pinged. A new notification appeared.
Encrypted.
Internal sender.
FROM: G. Aragon
Subject: The Dead Don’t Stay Buried
Message:
Midnight. 83rd floor. No recordings. No witnesses. Bring nerve.
Rhea stared at the message.
Then at the sender.
Then at the skyline.
Caspian stood in his office again. Still. Watching the city.
Or watching her.
The smart glass blurred slightly, softening his outline.
But she didn’t need clarity to know one thing.
He was waiting.
For something.
Or someone.
She shut the screen.
She already knew where she’d be at midnight.
And what she needed to find out.
- Writer
