Chapter 13 : Back In The Game
The black Visalla sedan rolled down the street, its tinted windows reflecting the glow of the late afternoon sun. As the car disappeared past the corner of the ANG building, a man in a plain worker's jacket stood in the distance, blending into the flow of pedestrians. Hidden beneath a baseball cap and dark glasses, he raised a small camera.
Click.
A few quick shots of Michael's car. Then, without a word, he slid the camera into his bag and vanished into the crowd.
Inside the car, Michael leaned back, twisting open a bottle of water. The cool liquid ran down his throat as he tried to ease the dryness left from the tense meeting. He set the bottle aside, tapped the leather seat once with his fingers, and spoke.
"Don't go home. Head to Visalla Construction instead," he told his driver.
"Yes, sir," the man replied, adjusting the wheel. The car slowed before turning back onto the main road.
Michael's phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed Father. He answered, his voice even. "Hey."
"What am I hearing?" Leonardo's tone was sharp, impatient.
Michael straightened slightly, frowning. "What exactly are you hearing?"
"That ANG pulled out of the deal," Leonardo said. "Why did they walk away at the last moment?"
Michael blinked, his brows knitting. "They haven't."
"Don't play games with me, Michael. Nate said they pulled out."
Michael's jaw tightened. "They haven't," he repeated firmly. "I just sat across from the CEO minutes ago. We talked. There was no pullout."
A pause. His father's breathing came faintly over the line, slow but edged with irritation. "Then who told Nate otherwise?"
"I don't know," Michael said. His voice dropped, controlled but heavy. "But it wasn't ANG. The deal is still alive."
Silence hung for a beat, then Leonardo's tone softened—just slightly. "So the deal is on?"
"Yes."
"Good." A cough crackled over the line. "Then make sure the transfer of land ownership is finalized this week. Don't drag it out."
Michael nodded, though his father couldn't see. "I'm heading to the company now."
"See that you do. No mistakes."
The line went dead.
Michael exhaled slowly and slipped the phone back into his pocket. The city rushed by outside the window—billboards, traffic, pedestrians who would never know the scale of the wars fought in glass towers.
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The car pulled into the sleek, towering Visalla Construction Inc. building. Its design was bold: two angled towers rising to form a colossal V, lit with mirrored glass and steel, a symbol of dominance over the skyline.
A guard hurried forward, pulling open the rear door. "Welcome, sir."
Michael stepped out, adjusting his jacket. Without breaking stride, he entered the lobby where polished marble reflected the golden lights above.
The receptionist rose immediately. "Good afternoon, Mr. Visalla."
Michael didn't slow. "Call Nate. Tell him to meet me in my office."
"Yes, sir."
He entered the elevator, its mirrored walls catching his calm but watchful expression. The lift hummed upwards, and when the doors slid open, Michael strode into his office.
But Nate was already there—sitting stiffly at the table, sorting files with nervous precision.
Michael stopped in the doorway, his eyes narrowing. "You bastard. Do you want to be fired?"
Nate's head snapped up, panic flashing across his face. "N-no, sir! Please—I swear, I received an email saying ANG had pulled out." His hands trembled as he rifled through his stack. "Here—it's printed."
Michael snatched the paper, scanning it quickly. The email was short, almost blunt: ANG Corporation regrets to inform that, due to projected low profits from the park project, we are terminating the agreement.
Michael crushed the paper into a ball with one hand and tossed it into the bin. His voice cut through the silence. "They are not pulling out anymore."
Nate blinked, his face pale. "They… they aren't? Oh. That's… that's good news."
Michael stepped closer, his gaze like steel. "Forget the email. Focus on what matters. Go through the land auction files and prepare our bid."
"Yes, sir." Nate scrambled to stack the folders in order. "How much do you want our final bid to be?"
Michael leaned back against his desk, arms folded. "Reports say the land is worth fifty million pounds. We'll go sixty. For safety."
Nate hesitated. "Isn't that… too much?"
Michael's eyes darkened, his tone slow and deliberate. "It will be worth it. The profit will dwarf the investment."
Nate nodded quickly. "Understood. I'll call finance and the scouters. We'll finalize the bid this week."
"Good. The deadline is next week." Michael paused, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Do you think sixty million will be the highest bid?"
"According to our scouts," Nate said carefully, "the closest competitor is Nord Corporation. But they're stretched thin. Too much money tied up in hotels. They might not push higher."
Michael smirked faintly. "Then we win this land. One way or another."
He picked up his phone and dialed.
Dante's voice answered after a ring. "Hey, Mike."
"Dan," Michael said, his tone low. "I need you to look into something."
"What's up?"
"Someone sent us a fake email. Supposedly from ANG, claiming they pulled out. I want to know who did it."
"I'll find them," Dante replied without hesitation.
"Thanks."
The line clicked off.
---
Meanwhile, inside ANG headquarters
The CEO sat in his office, his hand wrapped in bloodied gauze. A doctor leaned over, dabbing antiseptic on the wound. The man winced, groaning.
"Slower," he hissed. "Damn it, slower."
His phone buzzed. He grabbed it with his free hand and answered. "Hello?"
A distorted voice came through the line—calm, but laced with fury. "How dare you. You went back to Michael."
The CEO froze. Sweat prickled his forehead. "Listen—I had no choice. He was ready to kill me."
"He can't kill you," the voice snapped.
"You weren't there!" The CEO's voice cracked, desperate. "You didn't see his eyes. I value my life—I wasn't about to gamble it."
The silence on the other end was chilling, then the voice returned, low and venomous. "I told you to pull out. Just once. That was all."
"Well, it doesn't matter now," the CEO muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "This project will make me a fortune. You'll have to find another piece of land for your plans."
The voice hardened. "You'll pay for this."
The line went dead.
The CEO stared at his shaking hand. "…Who told me to come here in the first place?" he muttered bitterly. "I should've taken that chance—left for Canada. Now I'm stuck here. Stuck with death breathing down my neck."
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