The club breathed low and slow. Music thudded beneath murmured conversations. Whiskey and smoke hung thick in the air.
Ren stepped inside, heels clicking against polished floors. Familiar faces noticed her. None stopped her.
The private lounge waited behind a velvet curtain.
Number Nine sat where he always did. Relaxed. Watching. Still enough that the room bent around him. Power without display.
Two men shared the space.
Anthony lounged in his chair, bored on purpose, one arm draped carelessly over the back. Anderson stood behind him, hands folded, posture perfect, eyes alert. A guard in all but title.
Ren placed the black case on the table.
"Handled."
Nine barely looked at it. His eyes stayed on her.
"Of course you did."
Anthony sighed loudly. "So when do I get a name like yours? Something dramatic. Number Seven sounds about right."
Nine smiled. Actually smiled.
"You want to be a number now."
Anthony shrugged. "Seems efficient. You. Me. Anderson. Make it official."
Nine considered him for half a second. "I will think about it."
Ren watched them both. She understood now. This was not about the money. Or the case.
He was waiting.
Three options sat in front of him.
Anthony.Anderson.Ren.
Nine spoke without urgency. "I called you here because I am bored."
The room shifted.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "So which one of us wins?"
Nine lifted his glass and drank.
He said nothing.
Ren broke first. "Molly appointed me."
Anderson let out a quiet sound that almost passed for a laugh.
"He is not talking about assistants," Anderson said. "No one wants your chair."
Ren turned to him. "Then what does he want."
Anderson studied her. "You already know."
Anthony leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Come on. This isn't about titles. He is talking about everything."
Nine set his glass down.
"I am leaving."
Silence.
Ren stiffened. Anthony smiled wider. Anderson did not move.
"Retiring," Anthony said.
"Something like that."
Ren's voice sharpened. "You are just handing it over."
"I built it. I ran it. I am finished with it." Nine leaned back. "Now it belongs to whoever earns it."
Anderson stepped forward. Just enough. "You already chose."
Nine nodded. "You are the sensible option."
Ren glanced at Anderson. He had the reputation. Control. Restraint. Fear without noise.
Then Nine looked at Anthony.
"And he is the interesting one."
Anthony grinned. "I do try."
Ren crossed her arms. "And me."
Nine met her eyes. "You are here because I have not decided."
Ren exhaled slowly. "So this is a game."
Nine smiled. "Everything is."
Anthony whistled. "What does the winner get."
"Ninety million a year. Assets. Accounts. Leverage. You do not inherit power. You become it."
The room held its breath.
Anthony stretched, enjoying himself. "What is the test."
"There is none."
Ren frowned. "Then how."
Nine's eyes gleamed. "I wait."
Anthony laughed. Anderson stayed silent. Ren's jaw tightened.
Nine leaned back again.
"There is also a fourth option."
The air changed.
Anthony's smile thinned. Anderson finally looked up.
"They are not here," Nine continued. "They are handling something for me."
Anthony scoffed, curiosity bleeding through. "Someone else thinks they can take your place."
Nine lifted his glass.
Silence answered.
That silence pleased him more than anything else.
He set the glass down.
"Let us see who survives wanting it."