But I’d built a billion-dollar empire by trusting my instincts.
And my instincts were screaming that this changed everything.
The notification came at 8:47 a.m.
Emergency Board Meeting. Conference Room A. 10:00 a.m. Attendance Mandatory.
I stared at my phone, ice forming in my gut. Henri had moved faster than I’d expected.
“Leo,” I called, already pulling on my suit jacket. “We have a problem.”
By 9:45, Leo and I were in the executive elevator, both of us dressed for war in our best suits and grimmest expressions.
“Ares texted,” Leo said, checking his phone. “He’ll be there in a few minutes. Still tracking down some information.”
“Did he find anything on Henri?”
“He didn’t say. Just that he’s close to something.”
The elevator doors opened to reveal the executive floor already buzzing with tension. Board members were filing into Conference Room A, their faces carefully neutral but their body language screaming discomfort.
Henri stood outside the conference room like a general surveying his troops. When he saw us, satisfaction flickered across his face before he smoothed it into professional concern.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“We didn’t have much choice,” I replied coolly.
“No. I suppose you didn’t.” Henri gestured toward the conference room. “Shall we?”
The room was already nearly full—all seven board members present, plus our corporate attorney, Greg Andrews, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Sarah Whitehorse, who represented our second-largest investor bloc.
Leo and I took our seats at the head of the table, the positions we’d occupied for seventeen years. The positions we’d earned through blood, sweat, and relentless dedication.
Positions that suddenly felt very precarious.
Henri called the meeting to order at exactly 10:00 a.m.
“Thank you all for coming on short notice,” he began, standing at the opposite end of the table like a prosecutor addressing a jury. “I’ve called this emergency meeting because of recent events that have brought the integrity and future of Olympus Royale into serious question.”
“Henri—” I started.
“Please, Orion. Let me finish.” His voice was calm and reasonable, like that of a man performing an unpleasant duty. “Over the past week, we’ve been hit with multiple crises. An investigation by the Gaming Commission is underway. Allegations of workplace misconduct. Viral footage that has damaged our reputation and caused investor panic.”
“All of which can be addressed—” Leo started.
“Can they?” Henri’s voice sharpened. “Because from where I sit, the Kolykos brothers have demonstrated a consistent pattern of behavior that puts this company at risk. The money laundering incident six months ago?—”
“Which we reported and cooperated fully with authorities,” I interjected.
“The inappropriate relationship with a subordinate employee?—”
“Consensual adults,” Leo said firmly.
“And now footage that has made us a laughingstock and triggered a Gaming Commission hearing that could cost us our license.” Henri looked around the table, making eye contact with each board member. “I’ve served this company faithfully for seventeen years. And I cannot, in good conscience, standby while leadership makes decisions that endanger everything we’ve built.”
“What are you proposing?” Sarah Whitehorse asked, though I suspected she already knew.
“I’m proposing that this board exercise its fiduciary duty and remove the Kolykos brothers from executive management, effective immediately.” Henri’s voice was steady and final. “Their judgment has been compromised. Their behavior has been reckless. And they’ve demonstrated that they value personal gratification over corporate responsibility.”
