Chapter 251: No Deal

Chapter 251: Chapter 251: No Deal

Inside the penthouse suite of the Royal Aviation building, the oppressive silence of the room was broken only by the rhythmic, frantic squeak of Joe Bright’s leather shoes against the polished parquet floor.

Ten minutes had passed since his assistant had routed the call to Golden Investments, and every second felt like a slow drop of acid on Joe’s raw nerves. He couldn’t sit down. His hands were stuffed deep into his trouser pockets, his fingers twitching uncontrollably around his car keys.

’Forty-two point nine million marks in gross fees.’

It was the exact lifeline Royal Aviation needed. With that sum hitting their corporate accounts before the end of the quarter, the syndicate lenders in Zurich and London would back off. The default notices sitting in his bottom desk drawer would be torn up, and he could finally stop juggling offshore corporate loans just to keep the lights on. All he needed was for Alice Chase to confirm that the escrow paperwork had been transferred from Mark Thompson’s terminal to his executive desk.

Unable to take the agonizing wait any longer, Joe marched over to his desk and slammed his palm onto the intercom button.

"Miley!" he barked, his voice sharp and strain-frayed. "Has Alice Chase called back from Golden Investments yet? Did she confirm the order transfer?!"

A beat of static hummed from the speaker before his assistant’s voice came through, timid and hesitant. "N-no, Mr. Bright. There hasn’t been a line cleared from Golden Investments yet. I’m still monitoring the direct board."

Joe’s red-flushed face contorted in disbelief. He yanked the intercom door open, stepping out into the high-ceilinged reception area. Miley sat behind her curved glass desk, shrinking back slightly as her boss glared down at her.

"Then why the hell are you sitting there staring at a silent phone?!" Joe roared, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. "Why haven’t you dialed her back to inquire?! We are dealing with Jake Rivers! Do you think billionaires wait around for us to check our mail? Pick up the line and call her right now!"

"I’m sorry, Mr. Bright! Right away!" Miley stammered, her fingers trembling as she quickly tapped out the executive direct line for Golden Investments.

She held the receiver tightly against her ear, praying the line would pick up before Joe threw something. After three long rings, the connection cleared.

"Golden Investments, Executive Suite. Alice Chase speaking."

Miley swallowed hard, trying to project a professional, composed demeanor despite Joe hovering over her shoulder like a dark cloud, his heavy breathing audible right beside her ear.

"Good afternoon, Miss Chase. This is Miley again from Mr. Bright’s executive office at Royal Aviation," Miley said quickly. "I am just calling back to inquire on the status of the acquisition order confirmation for the Bombardier Global 7500 and the Gulfstream G700. Mr. Bright is ready to receive the transfer clearance docs directly."

On the top floor of Apex Plaza, Alice Chase sat at her pristine glass desk, her fingers resting lightly on her tablet. Her face was completely devoid of warmth.

"Ah, yes. Thank you for calling back," Alice replied, her voice cool, measured, and entirely unbothered. "I was just about to send a formal memo to your office. I have briefed Mr. Rivers regarding Mr. Thompson’s sudden departure from Royal Aviation. Mr. Rivers has instructed me to inform you that Golden Investments will no longer be continuing the acquisition order with Royal Aviation. He intends to take his business elsewhere."

Miley’s heart plummeted straight into her stomach. "W-what? Miss Chase, please, Mr. Bright is more than capable of—"

"Thank you for your time today. Have a good afternoon," Alice interrupted smoothly, and before Miley could utter another word, a sharp dial tone cut through the line.

Miley slowly pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the black screen in absolute dread. The silence in the executive lobby was suffocating.

"Well?" Joe demanded, stepping closer, his small eyes bulging. "What did she say? When are they sending the escrow authorizations?"

Miley felt her mouth go completely dry. She stood up from her chair, her knees shaking as she forced herself to meet the eyes of the man who held her career in his hands.

"Mr. Bright..." Miley whispered, her voice barely audible. "Miss Chase... she said Mr. Rivers has instructed them to cancel the order. Golden Investments is no longer continuing the transaction with Royal Aviation. They’re taking their business elsewhere."

Joe froze.

For a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t move. The color drained from his face, leaving his ruddy complexion looking like a pale, mottled grey. He stared at Miley as if she were speaking a foreign language, his brain outright refusing to process the words hanging in the air.

’Canceled? Taking their business elsewhere?’

"What... what did you just say?" Joe asked quietly, a forced, unhinged smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What did you say, Miley? Stop playing around. Read me the confirmation notes."

"It’s not a joke, Mr. Bright," Miley said, tears of anxiety welling in her eyes. "She hung up on me. The deal is dead. They terminated the purchase order with us."

Joe took a step back, stumbling slightly as his heel caught the edge of the plush carpet.

The deal was gone.

Forty-two point nine million marks in gross fees—poof. Vanished into thin air.

Without that money, the syndicate lenders would initiate forced asset liquidations by the end of the month. Royal Aviation would be declared insolvent. His private credit lines, his penthouse suite, his status—everything would crumble like a house of cards. And he had just driven Mark Thompson, the single broker who brought in eighty percent of the firm’s total institutional revenue, out the front door with a cardboard box.

"No... no, no, no," Joe muttered under his breath, turning around and frantically walking back into his corner office.

He didn’t care about dignity anymore. Panic, cold and primal, took complete control of his senses. He rushed over to his desk, knocking over a crystal pen holder as he ravaged through his documents, looking for his personal mobile phone. Finding it under a stack of debt ledgers, his hands shook so violently he could barely punch in the speed-dial number.

He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the dialing tone, every second dragging like a painful eternity.

’Pick up. Pick up, you ungrateful bastard, pick up!’

In the dim lighting of the underground parking garage at Aurelia International Airport, Mark Thompson was just about to open his car door when his phone vibrated in his hand. He looked down at the screen.

[Joe Bright.]

Mark let out a long, quiet sigh, his thumb hovering over the display for two full seconds before he swiped to answer. He didn’t say a word.

"Mark! Mark, is that you?!" Joe’s voice exploded through the speaker, breathless, frantic, and entirely devoid of the tyrannical authority he had wielded twenty minutes earlier. "Mark, listen to me! You need to come back upstairs right now!"

Mark stood quietly in the cold garage air. "Hello, Joe."

"Look, Mark, about what happened earlier—it was all a misunderstanding!" Joe rushed out, his words tumbling over one another in a desperate heap. "We’ve been through thick and thin together for over ten years! I was just stressed out over the audit numbers, alright? I was hot-headed! I was merely joking with you about the termination, Mark! You took it way too seriously! You know how I get when I’m under pressure! Come back up to the office, let’s open that ’82 Macallan, and we’ll sign off on your commission split right now!"

Mark listened to the frantic rambling, a cold, somber feeling settling in his chest. A few hours ago, an apology like this might have moved him. But now, seeing how transparently self-serving Joe truly was, it only disgusted him.

"It’s too late for that, Joe," Mark said softly, his voice firm and unwavering. "I’m already in the parking garage. And I’m not coming back."

"What do you mean it’s too late?!" Joe screamed into the receiver, panic spiking into rage before collapsing back into desperation. "Mark, don’t be foolish! You need a firm! You need Royal Aviation’s license! You can’t just walk out over a heated argument! If you come back right now, I’ll clear your full one-million-dollar baseline cut immediately upon closing! I won’t hold a single cent back!"

"I told you, Joe, it’s over," Mark replied calmly. "I’ve already been offered a bigger and better opportunity elsewhere."

Joe paused, his knuckles turning white around his phone as he leaned against his walnut desk for support. He had genuinely believed that if he lowered his pride and gave Mark a path back, the broker would come running. Hearing that Mark already had another offer sent a wave of icy terror through his veins.

"An offer? From who?!" Joe demanded, his voice cracking. "Who reached out to you in twenty minutes?! Whatever they’re offering you, Mark, I can match it! I’m the CEO of Royal Aviation! Name your terms! You want a higher base split? You want equity in the regional charter division? I can give it to you!"

Mark couldn’t help it—a faint, bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Match it? Joe, be realistic. There are only a handful of people in this entire country who could match what I was just handed. Unless you’re trying to tell me you can go million for million in a liquidity war with Jake Rivers?"

The name hit Joe like a physical blow.

He froze, his jaw slacking as his eyes stared blankly at the glass wall of his office. ’Jake Rivers.’

The young multi-billionaire behind Golden Investments. The man who had single-handedly restructured the country’s financial landscape over the past few months, crushing corporate titans and buying up institutional assets without taking a single dime in bank leverage.

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