Chapter 3 - The Council of Wolves
High above the city, on the fortieth floor of Graves Tower, the private boardroom was completely silent except for the low hum of encrypted servers. The room was walled in bulletproof glass that offered a panoramic view of the glittering skyline, but inside, the atmosphere was dark and suffocating.
Three men sat around the massive mahogany table. They were the regional directors of Graves Holdings’ core divisions—finance, real estate, and security. They were powerful, ruthless individuals who controlled billions of dollars and influenced city politics with a phone call. But tonight, they looked uneasy.
The double doors swung open, and Nathaniel Graves entered. He didn't sit at the head of the table immediately. Instead, he stood by the window, pouring a single finger of amber scotch into a crystal glass. He hadn't changed out of his suit, but his tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing the lean, coiled tension of a predator.
"Mr. Graves," began Julian Vance, the head of real estate development. Vance was a sleek, ambitious man with slicked-back hair and an expensive smile. "We were surprised by your emergency summons. Is there a problem with the European portfolio?"
Nathaniel turned slowly. His gaze swept over the three men like a physical weight.
"No," Nathaniel said quietly. "The portfolio is fine."
"Then may we ask what urgent matter required us to cancel our evening engagements?" asked Marcus Thorne, head of finance, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses.
Nathaniel walked to the head of the table, placing his glass down with a sharp clink that made both men flinch. He didn't sit. He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the polished wood.
"Today, my five-million-dollar holding account wallet was returned to me," Nathaniel began, his voice dangerously low. "It was brought to my lobby by an eight-year-old girl. A child wearing a faded dress and old sneakers."
Vance frowned, confused. "An employee's child? A public relations stunt?"
"No," Nathaniel snarled, his fist slamming onto the table. The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot. "That child is my daughter. And she and her mother have spent the last twelve years living in a squalid, roach-infested tenement on Aldridge Street because some parasite in this city decided to bleed them dry."
The room went dead silent. Thorne swallowed hard, the color draining from his face.
"Your... your daughter?" Vance stammered. "Mr. Graves, we had no idea—how could we—"
"You didn't know," Nathaniel interrupted, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper, "because for the past three years, my real estate division has been systematically buying up low-income housing blocks under shell companies to rezone them for luxury high-rises. And according to the eviction notice taped to my daughter's door this morning, the managing firm handling 414 Aldridge Street is Apex Property Group—a wholly owned subsidiary of Graves Holdings."
Thorne’s hands began to shake. Apex Property Group was his direct responsibility. He had signed off on the aggressive eviction quotas intended to clear out old neighborhoods to make way for new downtown developments.
"Mr. Thorne," Nathaniel said, turning his freezing glare directly onto the finance director. "Did you enjoy your bonus this quarter?"
"Sir—please—I swear to God, I didn't know—if I had known it was your family—"
"If it had been anyone else's family," Nathaniel interrupted coldly, "would it have made it right? Would throwing a mother and an eight-year-old child out into the freezing rain with nine hundred dollars of debt have been acceptable business practice?"
Thorne opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Nathaniel straightened up, buttoning his jacket with finality. "Effective immediately, Marcus Thorne is stripped of all titles, his assets are frozen pending a federal audit for predatory housing practices, and he is barred from entering any building owned by Graves Holdings. Miller will escort him out."
Two burly security guards materialized from the shadows near the doors, grabbing Thorne by the shoulders before he could scream. As Thorne was dragged out, kicking and pleading, Nathaniel turned his attention back to Julian Vance, who was sweating through his bespoke shirt.
"Vance," Nathaniel said smoothly.
"Yes, Mr. Graves?" Vance squeaked.
"Find every single eviction filed by Apex Property Group over the past five years. Review every tenant. Anyone illegally displaced or squeezed by predatory rate hikes will have their back rent paid in full by my personal foundation, and their leases guaranteed for ten years." Nathaniel paused, his eyes narrowing. "And Vance?"
"Y-yes?"
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"If I find out that even one more family in this city is thrown onto the street because my company lost its soul... you won't just lose your job. You'll lose everything."
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