Chapter 229: The Chairman

*Bael’s POV*

The voice coming from the television screen is steady, practiced, and dripping with theatrical gravity.

Bael does not allow himself to dwell on the specific wording of the murder allegation. He does not flinch as the news commentator dissects the legal mechanics of his late father’s will, nor does he react to the stark, archived photograph of Wuchen Ming staring out from the broadcast segment.

He already understands how the narrative has been constructed. The accusation relies on real, verifiable fragments of truth—the binding succession conditions, the strict legal deadlines, Runze’s accident, Ming’s sudden death—strung together with deliberate precision to point toward a single, calculated conclusion.

He does not process the charge emotionally. He analyzes the attack as a whole.

His phone vibrates again in his palm, a sharp hum against his skin.

"There is already a response from the board, Chairman," Shen Rui says the moment Bael picks up, skipping formal greetings entirely.

"How fast?" Bael asks, keeping his gaze fixed on the television screen.

"Three directors have formally requested an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning at eight sharp."

"Who?"

Shen Rui gives him the names without hesitation. Bael knows all three. None of them are particularly loyal to him, but that doesn’t automatically make them traitors. Not yet.

"What else?" Bael demands calmly.

"Two of our major institutional shareholders, the Linsec Group and Vantage Capital, have released public statements," Shen Rui reports, the rustle of urgent paperwork audible in the background. "They’re calling for ’corporate stability’ and ’responsible leadership’ while the criminal investigation proceeds."

A faint, humorless curve touches the corner of Bael’s mouth.

*Responsible leadership.* There are few phrases in corporate politics more useful for disguising a coordinated attempt to seize power.

"And the market reaction?"

"Wuchen’s share price has already fallen four point two percent and is still dropping."

"Executives?"

"Several senior vice presidents are refusing to comment publicly or take calls from financial news outlets."

That catches his attention. "Names."

Shen Rui lists three senior executives. All of them are normally vocal whenever Wuchen Group comes under public scrutiny. And now, precisely when the company needs a firm corporate front, they have retreated into complete silence.

Interesting.

"Anything else?"

There is a short, tense pause on the other end of the line. "There’s a document circulating among the directors, Chairman. A formal draft resolution. It explicitly calls for you to temporarily step aside from your chairman duties while the homicide investigation is ongoing."

For the first time since the phone call began, Bael says nothing.

"Send it to me," Bael commands quietly.

"Already have."

His phone vibrates almost immediately with an incoming encryption file. Bael opens it with a quiet swipe of his thumb, scanning the professionally formatted text.

*Temporary suspension of executive authority pending the outcome of the investigation. Preserving corporate stability. Maintaining investor confidence. Protecting the historic reputation of Wuchen Group.*

Every sentence is reasonable. Every sentence is carefully crafted to sound completely unassailable to external auditors.

Bael reads the text once, then lets his eyes drop to the bottom of the page. Seven directors have already signed their names beneath the proposed resolution.

The news broadcast went live less than ten minutes ago. Yet, the board’s response is already fully drafted, the wording of the shareholder press statements is polished to perfection, and the artificial pressure on the stock is hitting precisely as the evening media coverage peaks.

It isn’t a spontaneous corporate reaction. It’s choreography.

They are making a coordinated attempt to remove him from the company.

Bael doesn’t waste time wondering how the internal information was obtained.

None of it is impossible to acquire. The succession clause is hardly secret, his schedule can be observed, even Runze’s medical condition, despite the hospital’s confidentiality, could be purchased by someone with enough money and influence.

The method isn’t important. The coordination is.

The media ambush outside headquarters and the internal corporate attack were engineered to land simultaneously. The organizers had been waiting for a day when Bael was actually at headquarters, expecting him to leave during his usual evening window. They had positioned the reporters accordingly.

Today, Bael left his office at four.

He had simply left before they expected him to.

Bael finds the realization almost amusing.

It is an aggressive, calculated strike, but it ultimately lacks tactical imagination. They are making their move now because they believe the sudden news broadcast has already mortally wounded his standing. They expect him to scramble frantically, to deploy high-priced public relations firms, or to issue desperate legal injunctions to stall the emergency board session.

He will do none of those things.

"Do not interfere with the meeting," Bael instructs into the receiver, his tone turning smooth and unreadable.

There is a brief silence on the other end. Shen Rui is quiet for just long enough for Bael to know his secretary expected a completely different order.

"Sir?"

"Let them hold it," Bael says calmly. "Allow Director Han to distribute his resolution. I want to see every single signature on that paper before the meeting begins."

"Understood, Chairman."

"Monitor every director who supports the resolution," Bael continues. "Track every shareholder who changes their position, instruct legal to archive every digital article published tonight, and keep copies of everything."

"I’ll make sure every version of the document is preserved."

"Keep the security detail at the main gates doubled, but do not attempt to clear the public perimeter," Bael adds, staring coldly at the screen. "Let the cameras stay. I want a record of everyone who came prepared to meet this story."

"Understood, Chairman. I will update you the moment the final sign-off list is confirmed."

Bael ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.

On the television set, a file photograph of Bael from a recent financial summit fills half the screen, set beside bold red graphics analyzing the sharp drop in share value.

The caption scrolling along the ticker reads: *CAN WUCHEN GROUP SURVIVE ITS CHAIRMAN?*

Panel commentators are already debating whether the board has the authority to force Bael to temporarily step aside before any formal charges are filed. The broadcaster speaks with practiced alarm, describing the market reaction as if the empire were crumbling in real time.

He feels Runze shift beside him on the floor of the sitting room.

Bael looks down, his demeanor shifting seamlessly. The detached, lethal precision he reserves for Wuchen Group recedes, replaced by a quiet, grounded attentiveness.

Runze’s eyes are wide, and fixed entirely on Bael. He heard Bael’s brief commands over the phone, but without Shen Rui’s context, the broadcast on the screen is a nightmare unfolding in real time.

They are calling Bael a murderer on live television.

"Bael..." Runze’s voice is low, tight with a sudden dread. His breathing is slightly uneven as his gaze darts between the TV ticker and Bael’s unreadable face. "What was that call? What’s happening at headquarters?"

"The board is reacting," Bael answers smoothly.

"Reacting?" Runze swallows, his fingers tightening against his stomach. The media wasn’t just speculating, they were laying out a targeted attack designed to tear Bael down completely. "Bael... what are we going to do? If the police get involved, if the shareholders panic—"

The sight of Runze’s rising panic irritates something deep inside Bael’s chest. Not fear, but a cold, dangerous anger. Not because someone has suggested removing him from the Wuchen Group, but because someone has managed to place a shadow of dread into Runze’s eyes.

For a brief moment, Bael wishes he could have prevented Runze from hearing the broadcast. But he dismisses the thought immediately. Runze is not fragile, and he thoroughly despises being kept in the dark under the guise of protection.

Hiding the danger is useless. What Bael needs to do now is not shield Runze from reality, but demonstrate that his own power and control remain absolute and unshakable.

"Look at me."

Runze searches Bael’s eyes, desperate for a sign of how they survive this, but all he finds is cold, undisturbed absolute calm. "They’re framing you for your uncle’s death. They’re going to use this to force you out."

"They are only going to try," Bael replies smoothly.

He reaches out, closing his hand firmly over Runze’s where it rests against his stomach. His grip is warm and unyielding, anchoring Runze in the middle of the storm.

"Listen to me," Bael continues, his voice dropping into a low, grounded cadence that cuts directly through the frantic noise of the television. "I can handle the board. I can handle the media, the shareholders, and whatever legal games they want to play. But I need you to stay calm."

Runze swallows hard, his eyes wide as he holds Bael’s gaze.

"They designed this broadcast to create panic," Bael tells him quietly, his thumb tracing a slow, steady stroke over Runze’s knuckles. "They want us anxious, and making mistakes out of fear. The moment you panic, you give them exactly what they want. So do not give it to them."

Runze takes a slow, deep breath, letting the steady warmth of Bael’s hand and the certainty in his voice sink in. The dread doesn’t vanish, but the sharp, frantic edge of his panic begins to settle, grounding him back into reality.

"I won’t," Runze whispers, his posture easing as he leans slightly into Bael’s side.

"Good," Bael says softly. "Nothing changes. The company remains mine, you and the child remain under my protection. Just let them play their game for now."

Across the sitting room, Grandmother remains standing motionless beside her armchair, her posture rigid, her eyes still fixed on the screen. Bael catches the slightest change in her expression before it disappears.

He cannot tell what she is thinking.

Bael looks back at the broadcast again, his expression becoming completely still.

They wanted a reaction out of him, they wanted to force his hand, cause a panic, and drag his family into the mud.

They will get their response soon enough.

And beneath his cold, calculated composure, one solitary thought locks into place—sharp, absolute, and unforgivable.

They brought Runze into the strike.

For that, Bael will take everything from them.