CHAPTER 12: THE KING RETURNS
Logan walked through the executive floor like Caesar returning to Rome.
I watched from my office doorway as he moved down the hallway. Slower than before the stroke, yes. A slight hitch in his left side, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. But the presence—the sheer gravitational pull of Logan Roy—remained intact.
Executives scrambled. Doors opened. People materialized with briefings, questions, updates. He waved most of them off with a grunt. Kept walking.
Frank fell into step beside him. Karl appeared from somewhere. Gerri waited at her office door, watched him pass, exchanged a brief nod.
The king had returned.
I stayed in my doorway. Let the Empathy Engine extend, passive and controlled, just absorbing the room's emotional temperature.
Fear. That was the dominant note. Everyone was afraid again. Not the nervous uncertainty of the last month, but the specific, targeted fear of being in Logan Roy's direct line of sight.
He turned the corner toward the main conference room. The crowd of executives followed like planets orbiting a sun.
I checked my watch. Nine AM. The full executive meeting started at nine fifteen.
Time to see how this played out.
The conference room was packed. Every executive who mattered, every department head who could plausibly claim they needed to be there. Standing room only in the back.
Logan sat at the head of the table. Kendall to his right. Frank to his left. The rest of us arranged by proximity to power.
I took a seat in the middle. Not hiding in the back, not pushing forward. Just present.
Logan surveyed the room. Let the silence stretch. That old trick—make them wait, make them nervous.
Finally: "Report."
Kendall stood. Presented a summary of the last month. Revenue steady. Stock price recovered. Major decisions on hold pending Logan's return. Conservative strategy. Smart, really—nothing flashy that could blow up in his face.
Logan listened without expression. Asked occasional pointed questions. Kendall answered competently.
I watched Logan's face. Caught the slight tightening around his eyes when Kendall used a buzzword. The almost-invisible nod when Kendall reported something concrete.
From Logan's direction, a thought loud enough to catch: Not bad. Held the fort. But not enough. Never enough.
Kendall was already losing. Not because he'd failed—he hadn't. But because Logan's standard wasn't "didn't fail." It was "exceeded expectations." And that was impossible without taking risks, and Kendall had been too scared to take risks.
The no-win game, playing out in real time.
Frank presented next. Operational updates. Dry but thorough. Logan actually looked pleased with that one—competence without ego, exactly what Logan valued in everyone who wasn't his children.
Gerri gave legal updates. Concise, professional. Logan nodded throughout.
Karl did his financial presentation. Numbers were good. Growth steady. Nothing exciting, nothing concerning.
"Questions?" Logan asked when everyone had finished.
Silence.
Then Logan looked directly at me. "Roman. You've been busy."
Every head in the room turned.
I kept my voice level. "Following your instructions. Watching."
"And?"
"Everyone did what they were supposed to. Kendall held it together. Frank kept things running. The board stayed calm. No major fuckups."
A grunt. "Vaulter."
Of course. He'd heard about it.
"Questionable numbers," I said. "Independent analysis ongoing."
"Questioned your brother in front of the board."
"Asked if anyone had verified the subscriber data. Seemed like a reasonable question."
Logan's eyes stayed on me. Calculating. "Frank says you might've been right. Says the numbers looked too clean."
I didn't respond. Let him lead.
"Smart," Logan said finally. "If you're right. Stupid if you're wrong."
"I'm right."
The confidence in my voice surprised the room. Several people shifted uncomfortably.
Logan smiled. Slightly. Dangerously. "We'll see."
He moved on. Other topics. Other questions. The meeting continued.
But something had shifted. Logan had acknowledged me in front of the full executive team. Not quite approval, but not dismissal either.
Recognition.
The meeting wrapped at eleven. People filed out quickly, back to their offices, their work, their small territories of power.
Logan stayed seated. Gestured to me as I stood to leave.
"Roman. Stay."
I sat back down.
Kendall paused at the door. Looked back. Logan waved him on. "You too. Out."
Kendall left. The door closed.
Just me and Logan in the conference room.
He leaned back in his chair. Studied me. "You've been reporting. Good intel. Accurate. Useful."
"That was the assignment."
"The Vaulter thing. That wasn't assignment. That was initiative."
"Seemed worth flagging."
"Or seemed like a chance to make your brother look stupid."
I met his eyes. "If I wanted to make Kendall look stupid, I'd have stayed quiet and let him buy a bad company. Much more embarrassing that way."
Logan considered this. Nodded slowly. "Fair point."
He stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at Manhattan.
"You're different," he said. Not looking at me. "Since the stroke. Since catching me. Something changed."
My heart rate picked up. Careful. Very careful.
"Almost dying tends to focus things," I said.
"Mmm." He turned back. "Keep watching. Keep reporting. And Roman—" He fixed me with that penetrating stare. "Don't get too clever. Clever sons are useful. Too-clever sons are dangerous."
A warning wrapped in acknowledgment.
"Understood."
"Good. Now fuck off. I have work."
I stood. Got to the door.
"Roman."
I stopped. Turned back.
"That Vaulter question. Smart." He said it gruffly, like the words cost him something. "Keep asking questions like that."
"Will do."
I left before he could change his mind or say something that undercut the moment.
I rode the elevator down alone. Empty car, just me and my reflection in the mirrored walls. Smooth jazz played overhead—the absurdity of it hit me suddenly.
Empires crumbling to elevator music. Billion-dollar wars scored by Kenny G.
I laughed. Couldn't help it. Quiet, slightly manic laughter.
The elevator reached my floor. I composed myself. Walked back to my office.
My phone had three missed calls. Frank, Karl, Gerri.
I called Gerri first.
"So," she said when she answered. "Logan's back."
"Yep."
"How did it go?"
"He told me to keep asking smart questions. Also warned me not to get too clever."
"Mixed messages. Very Logan." A pause. "You handled yourself well in the meeting."
"Barely said anything."
"Exactly. You're learning." I heard papers rustling. "Roman, I just got an email. Vaulter analysis is complete."
My stomach tightened. "And?"
"Meeting tomorrow at ten. Frank's presenting the findings." Her voice was carefully neutral. "You should prepare yourself for either outcome."
"I'm right."
"Confidence or knowledge?"
"Both."
"We'll see tomorrow." She paused. "Get some rest. Tomorrow matters."
She hung up.
I sat at my desk. Pulled up my email. Found the message from Frank's assistant. Meeting scheduled, attendees listed. All the major players. The board would want to know the results.
I opened the attachment. Executive summary of the independent analysis.
First paragraph made it clear:
Vaulter's reported subscriber numbers show consistent and statistically unlikely growth patterns. Independent verification reveals actual subscriber counts approximately 40-45% lower than reported. Revenue projections based on these inflated numbers are proportionally overstated.
I was right.
I leaned back in my chair. Stared at the ceiling.
Right about the numbers. Right about the deal being poison. Right about saving Kendall from himself.
But being right would cost something. Kendall's trust, maybe permanently. His gratitude would be brief at best, resentment more likely.
And I'd proven to Logan—and the board—that I could spot problems. Which made me useful. Which made me valuable.
Which made me a player instead of a piece.
My phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number.
Greg Hirsch here! Just wanted to say thanks again for offering to help. Maybe lunch next week? If you're free? No pressure!
I smiled despite myself. Greg's awkward earnestness, even in texts.
Me: Yeah, lunch works. I'll text you Monday.
Greg: Awesome! Thanks man!
I set the phone down. Looked out my window at Manhattan's evening lights.
Tomorrow I'd be vindicated. The Vaulter analysis would prove I'd been right to question the numbers. My credibility would spike. Logan would approve. The board would remember.
And Kendall would hate me a little more.
But that was the game. Every victory came with a cost. Every step up meant someone else didn't get there.
I thought about the dad and kid in Central Park. The easy affection. The simple joy of playing catch.
The Roys would never have that. Would never be capable of that uncomplicated love.
Maybe I could change some things. Save some people. Write a different ending.
But I couldn't change what the family fundamentally was.
I packed up my things. Headed home.
Tomorrow would bring vindication.
Tonight, I'd sleep with the knowledge that being right and being happy were very different things.
The elevator music played me out.
Smooth jazz for the wounded king.
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