Chapter 249: Reclaiming The Sky

Chapter 249: Chapter 249: Reclaiming The Sky

In his corner office, Mark Thompson slowly lowered his desk phone back onto its receiver, his heart pounding against his ribs like a sledgehammer.

For nearly thirty seconds, he simply stared at the blank, reflective screen of his terminal, letting the sheer weight of the call settle into his chest. One hundred and forty-three million US dollars in total transaction volume. Two ultra-long-range intercontinental jets acquired instantly on the private market, paired with a brand-new factory order placed straight with Gulfstream. A strict forty-eight-hour deadline that promised a full one percent performance bonus paid straight to him on top of the standard three percent brokerage fee.

Mark leaned back into the worn leather of his chair, a deep, trembling exhale escaping his lungs. The math was staggering. At an exchange rate of 1 USD to 10 marks, the $143 million deal represented 1.43 billion marks in raw purchasing power.

The baseline three percent brokerage fee came out to $4.29 million USD, or 42.9 million marks. Under his baseline contract, Mark’s individual commission split from that fee was $1 million USD (10 million marks), leaving $3.29 million USD (32.9 million marks) for the firm. But with Jake’s promised one percent personal performance bonus adding another $1.43 million USD (14.3 million marks) straight to his cut, Mark’s total personal payout from this single afternoon of work sat at $2.43 million USD—or exactly 24.3 million marks.

A rare, genuine smile broke across Mark’s tired face, softening the deep creases around his eyes. He ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair, his chest expanding with a profound, almost dizzying sense of relief.

’Twenty-four point three million marks,’ he thought, repeating the figure like a sacred mantra. ’I can finally clear the mortgage. I can wipe out every single debt, set up a permanent trust for my family, and finally secure Lily’s treatment...’

His thoughts came to a screeching halt.

The warmth in his chest abruptly evaporated, replaced by a cold, sickening knot that tightened in the pit of his stomach. The euphoria vanished, leaving behind a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. Mark’s eyes drifted toward the frosted glass door of his office, his breath hitching as the harsh reality of his situation crashed back down on him.

He slumped forward, placing his elbows on the desk and burying his face in his palms. A heavy, agonizing groan echoed softly through the quiet room.

He didn’t own his commission structure. Not anymore.

Rubbing his temples against the dull headache thumping behind his eyes, Mark forced himself to stand. He smoothed the lapels of his charcoal suit jacket, took a moment to steady his shaky hands, and picked up the handwritten notes from his conversation with Jake Rivers. Stepping out of his office, he bypassed the noisy trading floor—where junior brokers were shouting into headsets—and rode the private executive elevator straight to the top floor of the Royal Aviation tower.

The elevator doors chimed open onto the penthouse suite—an expansive, marble-lined lobby dominated by floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the primary tarmac of Aurelia International Airport. Outside, private jets gleamed under the afternoon sun, symbols of wealth that Mark had facilitated for over a decade while receiving only crumbs in return.

Mark walked down the silent, carpeted corridor and stopped outside the heavy mahogany double doors of the corner suite. He took a slow, deliberate breath, pressed his shoulders back, and knocked twice.

"Come in!" a deep, booming voice called out.

Mark pushed the door open. Seated behind a massive, polished walnut desk was Joe Bright, the CEO and principal owner of Royal Aviation. Joe was a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair and a ruddy complexion, wearing a tailored three-piece suit that strained against his midsection. He was casually swirling two fingers of amber scotch in a crystal tumbler while scanning a spreadsheet of delinquent debt projections on his tablet.

When Joe looked up and saw Mark standing in the doorway, his stern brow instantly relaxed into a broad, practiced grin. He set his glass down with a heavy click and gestured expansively toward the leather armchairs.

"Mark! The man of the hour," Joe greeted heartily, his voice dripping with smooth, corporate charisma. "I was just looking over our regional charter numbers. What brings you up to the executive floor? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost."

"Joe," Mark said, walking over and placing the notepad cleanly on the dark wood. "I just closed an off-market multi-asset acquisition directly with Golden Investments."

Joe paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as his eyebrows twitched upward. "Golden Investments? As in Jake Rivers’ holding firm?"

"Directly with Jake Rivers," Mark confirmed, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "He is acquiring two ultra-long-range assets off the secondary market immediately—a Bombardier Global 7500 out of Zurich and a Gulfstream G700 out of New York—alongside placing a custom factory order for a new build G700. The combined value of the two immediate secondary sales sits at $143 million USD."

Joe’s eyes widened, his hands freezing over his tablet. "One hundred and forty-three million US..." he murmured, his brain instantly running the numbers at the 1:10 exchange rate. "That’s 1.43 billion marks in contract value!"

Joe recalculated the fees on his fingers, his breath catching. "At our standard three percent rate, that’s $4.29 million USD—nearly 43 million marks in gross base commission coming into our firm from a single call! Even after your million-dollar cut, the company clears over 32 million marks in net fees!"

Joe stood up so fast his leather executive chair rolled backward into the glass wall. A booming, unfiltered laugh burst from his chest as he slammed his open palm onto the desk.

"Unbelievable! Mark, you absolute legend!" Joe roared, his face flushing red with excitement. "Over 42 million marks in gross fees! This completely changes our fiscal year! Why are you standing there looking like you’re attending a funeral? Forget the scotch—this calls for the ’82 Macallan from my private cellar!"

Joe turned toward his built-in bar cabinet, his fingers reaching for the golden key, but Mark didn’t move.

"Joe," Mark said softly. The cold, unyielding weight in his voice cut through the room like a blade. "Before you open anything, we need to clarify the disbursement terms. I want my entire commission payout—including the client’s direct performance bonus—credited directly to my personal account upon escrow settlement."

Joe froze. His hand hovered an inch from the cabinet handle.

The warm, celebratory energy in the penthouse evaporated instantly, replaced by a suffocating stillness. Slowly, Joe turned around. The hearty grin was gone, replaced by a tight, watchful glare.

"What did you just say?" Joe asked, his tone dropping an octave.

"I said I want my direct personal commission credited straight to my personal bank account," Mark repeated, meeting the CEO’s glare without flinching. "My cut on this transaction—my $1 million baseline split plus Mr. Rivers’ direct $1.43 million performance bonus—comes out to $2.43 million USD, or exactly 24.3 million marks. I am formally requesting that Royal Aviation disburse my full 24.3 million marks upon closing, without routing a single cent of my share into the corporate operating reserve."

Joe stood silent for several agonizing seconds, staring at Mark as if his top producer had suddenly lost his mind. Then, he let out a dry, forced chuckle and walked back toward his desk, shaking his head.

"Mark... come on, sit down," Joe said, waving a hand dismissively as he planted his hands on the walnut desk. "You know the state of the firm’s balance sheet right now. We’re in the final, critical stretch of restructuring our commercial credit facilities. With over 42 million marks coming through our accounts, Royal Aviation clears its syndicate bank debt! We wipe out the liquidity shortfall, restore our credit rating, and everything goes back to normal. You know how vital this is for the company."

"That is the exact same speech you gave me two years ago, Joe," Mark replied coldly. His calm facade began to fracture, revealing the deep, festering wounds of two years of quiet betrayal. "Two years ago, when your reckless foreign expansion in London collapsed and you mismanaged the fleet leasing contracts, you sat in that exact chair and begged me to help save the firm. You asked me to temporarily surrender my commission splits to keep the power on and the payroll running. You swore on your family’s name it would last six months."

Mark took a step closer to the desk, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. His voice trembled with raw, suppressed fury.

"For twenty-four months, every single high-ticket commission I generated went straight into your black hole of corporate debt!" Mark said, pointing a finger directly at Joe’s chest. "I’ve been living on a basic corporate allowance like an unproven intern, while my name is plastered across trade magazines as the top aviation broker in the country! My wife and I have been budgeting groceries and delaying basic household repairs, all while I brought tens of millions in revenue through your front door!"

Joe’s jaw tightened, his friendly demeanor melting away to reveal the cold arrogance underneath.

"Look at the bigger picture, Mark," Joe said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If Royal Aviation went under two years ago, you wouldn’t have had a desk to work from! The firm provided the institutional backing, the global trade licenses, and the brand prestige that allowed you to take Jake Rivers’ call in the first place!"

"Adrian Vale gave Jake Rivers’ my direct line because he trusts ’me’! Not because of Royal Aviation!" Mark snapped back, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I built those billionaire client networks over fifteen years of working eighteen-hour days! I sacrificed my family’s financial stability for two years to keep your sinking ship afloat out of loyalty to a man I thought was my friend! I paid my dues. I saved your company. This deal is mine, and I am taking my 24.3 million marks."

Joe’s eyes narrowed into dark slits, a mottled red flush rising up his neck and flooding his cheeks.

"You’re not taking a single mark out of the primary closing funds until our bank liabilities are cleared," Joe said flatly, his voice dripping with autocratic authority. "You are an employee of Royal Aviation. Every contract executed under our brokerage license belongs to the firm. You will accept your standard monthly stipend, and once the corporate balance sheet is fully restored next year, we will discuss a structured retroactive payout."

"Then I refuse to sign off on the broker execution documents," Mark said. His voice suddenly dropped into a quiet, dangerous calm.

Joe slammed his open palm onto the desk with a sound like a gunshot. "Don’t you dare threaten me, Thompson!" he roared, his face contorting in rage. "You think you hold the cards here?! If you refuse to execute this order, I will fire you on the spot for gross insubordination and breach of fiduciary duty! I will tie up your professional license in corporate litigation for the next five years! I’ll make sure you never broker so much as a light twin-engine prop in this industry ever again!"

Mark stared at Joe. He looked at the sweating, angry man he had spent two years protecting from bankruptcy, feeling a profound, chilling sense of clarity wash over him. The foolish hope he had carried for two years vanished, leaving behind only the hard truth: loyalty to a parasite was just slow suicide.

A bitter, quiet smile touched Mark’s lips.

"Go ahead and fire me, Joe," Mark said softly. "File the injunctions. Call the lawyers. But the second you terminate my employment contract, Golden Investments’ purchase order becomes null and void. Jake Rivers gave ’me’ the mandate under explicit personal performance terms. If I walk out that door, Royal Aviation won’t see a single cent of that 42.9 million mark commission."

Joe stood behind his desk, his chest heaving as rage, greed, and panic battled behind his eyes. He stared at Mark, realizing for the first time that his star broker was no longer malleable. But the thought of losing control—of letting over 24 million marks walk out the door when his bankers were breathing down his neck—pushed him past the point of reason.

"You ungrateful, treacherous bastard!" Joe screamed, his voice cracking with fury. "After everything I’ve built for you?! Get out of my office! Pack your desk and get the hell out of my building! You’re fired! Effective immediately! Get off my property before I have security throw you onto the tarmac!"

Mark didn’t flinch. He didn’t yell. He simply looked at Joe for one long, silent moment, mourning the years of sweat and loyalty he had wasted on a man without honor.

Without another word, Mark turned on his heel, pushed open the double doors, and walked out of the office.

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