Chapter 245: The New Seat

Chapter 245: Chapter 245: The New Seat

The private villa in the hills of Chianti was pure sanctuary.

On Saturday morning, the warm Tuscan sun spilled across the stone terrace where Jake and Catharine sat over a long, unhurried breakfast. The valley below was blanketed in a soft morning mist that slowly lifted over endless rows of green vineyards.

Catharine leaned back in her chair, holding a steaming cup of fresh espresso, her eyes tracing the rolling hills. She wore one of Jake’s oversized white linen shirts, her hair pinned loosely at the back.

"I could definitely get used to waking up without three different news alerts flashing on my screen," she said, looking over at him with a soft smile.

Jake reached across the small iron table, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. "No business allowed until Monday. That was the rule."

"And you’re actually keeping it?" Catharine teased, raising an eyebrow. "I half expected you to sneak around trying coordinate with Alice."

Jake chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss the back of her fingers. "Not a chance. Commanding a multi-billion-mark empire is useless if I can’t even turn off the noise for forty-eight hours."

Later that afternoon, Jake took the wheel of the midnight-blue Alfa Romeo convertible, driving along the winding, narrow roads lined with tall cypress trees. They stopped in a small, historic village square, slipping through the cobblestone paths hand in hand.

In a quiet local market, Catharine pulled Jake toward a small artisan stall filled with handmade leather goods and vintage Italian silk scarves.

"Look at this one," Catharine said, holding up a deep emerald silk scarf against her sweater. "What do you think?"

Jake stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist and resting his chin near her shoulder as they looked into the shop’s mirror. "It suits you. But then again, everything does."

Catharine laughed softly, leaning her head back against his chest. "You’re just saying that so we don’t spend an hour in here."

"I’m saying it because it’s true," Jake murmured, kissing the side of her neck before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "We’ll take it."

By evening, the couple sat at a private corner table in a secluded courtyard trattoria, illuminated by warm string lights and flickering candles. The soft sound of an acoustic guitar drifted from the far side of the piazza as they shared a bottle of vintage Chianti Classico alongside freshly made handmade pasta.

"To peace and quiet," Catharine said, raising her glass, her eyes reflecting the warm candlelight.

"To us," Jake replied smoothly, clinking his glass against hers.

Between long drives through the countryside, quiet evenings by the villa’s stone fireplace, and absolute privacy guaranteed by Jake’s discreet security detail, Veyra’s relentless corporate battles felt a world away. For forty-eight hours, time slowed down entirely.

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By Monday morning, the serene stillness of the Italian countryside was replaced by the crisp, competitive air of Aurelia’s financial district.

At eight-forty-five AM, the sleek black Maybach pulled up to the subterranean executive entrance of the Newman Enterprise Group tower. The atmosphere in the underground parking bay was static with tension. The moment the passenger door opened and Jake stepped out in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, three senior security officers snapped straight to attention, holding the private express elevator.

Beside Jake, Samuel Carter checked his watch while Alice held her tablet, stepping into the glass cab.

"The official transfer of the ten percent voting block cleared Golden Investments’ primary custodian account at five-zero-one PM on Friday," Alice reported, her voice crisp as the elevator accelerated silently toward the 50th floor. "Your combined holding in Newman Enterprise Group sits at exactly fifteen percent. The SEC filings are fully updated."

"And the board?" Jake asked, his hands resting easily in his trouser pockets as he looked out at the ascending skyline.

"Terrified," Samuel said smoothly, a sharp grin touching his lips. "They know you didn’t buy into this company through traditional open-market acquisitions. Half the board thinks you’re coming in today to stage a hostile takeover."

"Let them think whatever they want," Jake replied coolly. "I’m here to sign the certificates and take the seat. I have zero interest in dictating their daily logistics."

---

Meanwhile, inside Chairman Richard Newman’s private office adjacent to the main boardroom, the atmosphere was heavy.

Finn stood by the large mahogany desk, fastidiously double-checking the stock certificates and compliance documents, while Richard adjusted his tie in front of a floor-length mirror.

"Troy has been pacing the hallway for twenty minutes," Finn said quietly, setting the files down. "He spent all weekend trying to lobby Mary and the other regional directors. He’s going to make a scene today if he feels cornered."

Richard turned around slowly, his expression smooth and unreadable. "Troy is a reactive man, Finn. He sees Jake Rivers entering this room as a threat to his personal ambitions. He lacks the vision to see what Rivers actually represents."

Finn frowned slightly, leaning against the edge of the desk. "And what does he represent to us, Dad? We gave him fifteen percent voting power. What if Rivers isn’t just settling for the 10%? What if he’s playing a multi-layered long game, waiting for someone to misstep again so he can swallow Newman Enterprise Group whole?"

"Jake Rivers is a predator, yes," Richard acknowledged, stepping toward the desk and resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. "But he is a disciplined one. He doesn’t destroy value for sport. As long as our balance sheets perform, Rivers won’t burn the house down while sitting in it. Watch Troy today, Finn. Keep him restrained. Let Rivers see that the core leadership of this firm is unshakable."

Finn took a deep breath, nodding. "Understood, Dad."

---

When the heavy, double mahogany doors of the 50th-floor executive boardroom swung open moments later, the ambient noise inside the room died instantly.

All twelve directors were already seated around the massive oval table. The atmosphere was suffocating. Every pair of eyes snapped to the entrance as Jake walked in, flanked by Samuel and Alice.

Troy Newman sat near the mid-section of the table, his jaw tightly clenched, his face a mottled, tense red as he stared at Jake with raw, suppressed fury. Beside him, Mary Newman adjusted her pearl necklace with trembling fingers, avoiding Jake’s gaze entirely.

At the head of the table sat Chairman Richard Newman. He looked composed, impeccably groomed, and completely unreadable—the picture of a veteran corporate patriarch. Beside him, Finn Newman kept his hands flat on the desk, his expression holding a strange, profound gravity as he watched Jake take his coat off.

"Mr. Rivers," Richard greeted, his deep voice carrying a quiet, resonant authority as he gestured to the leather armchair positioned directly at his right hand—the prominent seat reserved for the firm’s largest non-family shareholder. "Welcome to Newman Enterprise Group."

"Chairman," Jake acknowledged cleanly, taking his seat without a trace of hesitation. Samuel stood quietly behind him while Alice placed the execution folders flat on the table.

Richard didn’t waste time. He gestured to the legal counsel, who pushed two thick, leather-bound stock certificate folders across the polished wood.

"As per our executed restructuring agreement," Richard announced, his voice steady over the silent room, "Golden Investments officially assumes fifteen percent voting equity and a permanent seat on the board. The share certificates require your signature to finalize the registry entry."

Jake uncapped his silver fountain pen, signing his name across the designated lines with swift, precise movements. He slid the folders back to the legal counsel, who stamped them with the official corporate seal.

The room remained dead quiet. The directors held their breath, waiting for the young executive to deliver a speech, issue a set of demands, or launch an immediate internal audit against Troy’s faction.

Instead, Jake leaned back in his leather chair, resting his hands loosely over his knee.

"Proceed with your standard agenda, Chairman," Jake said, his tone entirely relaxed, almost dismissive. "I’m simply here to observe."

A collective, quiet shift of posture rippled through the directors. Troy’s eyebrows knit together in deep suspicion. ’He’s not demanding an audit? What is he playing at?’

Finn watched Jake from across the table, his mind racing with quiet awe and apprehension. ’Is he really just observing, or is he playing the ultimate long game? He backs us into a corner, takes fifteen percent of our bloodline’s equity, and then sits there like a spectator. He’s probably waiting for us to bleed each other out so he can step in and take everything when the timing is right.’

Richard’s sharp eyes held Jake’s for a long, quiet second, a faint, imperceptible gleam of respect passing through the old man’s gaze. Richard knew exactly what Jake was doing. By showing complete indifference to their internal petty politics, Jake demonstrated absolute power. He didn’t need to bark orders or threaten audits; his mere fifteen percent presence in that seat was a permanent, ticking guillotine over every director in the room.

"Very well," Richard said, turning his attention to the central screen. "Item one on the morning agenda: regional steel distribution schedules for the upcoming quarter..."

As the directors began reviewing the operational reports in hushed, careful tones, Troy sat stiffly in his chair, staring across the table at Jake.

Jake didn’t look at Troy once. He sat comfortably in his new seat, completely cool, calm, and detached, while the rest of the board treaded lightly around him like men walking on thin ice.

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