Chapter 307: The Summons

Chapter 307: Chapter 307: The Summons

The air inside the Presidential Executive Wing was thick with a stifling, heavy silence. Massive mahogany paneling lined the high walls, muffling the chaotic roar of the thousands of protestors still gathered outside the main Ministry gates half a mile away.

Minister Troy Husks and Minister Duke Timber stood side by side in front of the sweeping oak double doors, their hands trembling slightly as they adjusted their ties. Neither man spoke. Sweat glistened under the recessed lighting of the waiting gallery, framing two faces stripped clean of their usual political bravado.

The heavy door clicked open.

Chief of Staff Blakemore stepped into the doorway, his face carved from granite. He didn’t offer a greeting, nor did he invite them in with a courteous gesture. He simply stepped aside.

"The President will see you now," Blakemore said, his voice flat and unnervingly quiet.

Husks swallowed hard, casting a brief, panic-stricken glance at Timber before walking into the Oval Chamber. Timber followed half a step behind, his knees feeling dangerously weak.

Behind the sweeping crescent desk sat President Luis Spencer. He wasn’t reviewing documents. He wasn’t on the phone. His hands were folded calmly on the polished surface, his deep-set eyes locked onto the two entering cabinet members with a cold, penetrating intensity. On the wide wall monitor to his right, a live coverage stream of Veyra Financial Daily played on mute, displaying glowing green trade charts alongside side-by-side headshots of Husks and Timber beneath the words: PUBLIC CALLS FOR IMMEDIATE RESIGNATION.

"Take a seat," President Spencer said softly. The tone carried no anger, but the absolute lack of emotion made it far more terrifying.

Husks and Timber pulled out the leather armchairs, sitting stiffly on the front edges.

"Mr. President," Husks began, his voice raspy as he tried to construct a defensive posture. "We... we were working in the interest of market stability. The influence Jake Rivers commands over retail capital is unprecedented. If a single private entity holds that much leverage over public sentiment—"

"Enough, Troy," President Spencer interrupted, not even raising his voice.

Husks’ jaw snapped shut instantly.

President Spencer slowly picked up a single sheet of paper from his desk. "Twenty minutes ago, the National Treasury issued its preliminary liquidity report for the afternoon session. Over four hundred thousand citizen trading accounts recorded direct profits. Four point two billion marks entered the local consumer economy in under an hour. Small business loan defaults dropped three percent in a single afternoon."

The President set the paper down and looked straight into Husks’ eyes. "And yet, when I turn on the national broadcast, the entire populace isn’t celebrating economic growth. They are surrounding your ministry buildings with banners demanding your heads because they still believe you tried to sabotage their financial well-being out of personal spite."

"Mr. President, it all started as a misunderstanding!" Timber chimed in frantically, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "We never issued an official ban! We never even truly made a move against Jake! But he weaponized the public narrative against us even when we tried to let things go after last time!"

"You tried to bully a man who will most likely become the next patriarch of the Rivers family and holds a hundred percent public approval," President Spencer said, a sharp edge finally cutting through his calm tone. "And you didn’t just fail to leash him, Duke. You handed him the entire population as a hammer, and you placed your own necks on his anvil."

The President leaned back, resting his arms on the executive chair. "Jake Rivers isn’t just a single player anymore. He’s deeply involved with the five major conglomerates, he holds zero corporate debt, and he has single-handedly generated more capital in forty-eight hours than your entire ministry budget for the fiscal year."

Husks’ face flushed dark red, his fingers digging into the armrests. "Mr. President... if you force us to resign now, it will look like the administration is bowing directly to a private tycoon! It will weaken executive authority!"

"The administration isn’t bowing to anyone, Troy," President Spencer replied coldly. "The administration is cutting away two rotting limbs before the infection spreads to the entire Cabinet. You created this fire because you thought you were untouchable. You are not."

The President gestured to Chief of Staff Blakemore, who immediately handed two leather folders to the ministers.

"Your official resignation statements have already been drafted," President Spencer stated flatly. "You will sign them before you leave this wing. By eight o’clock tonight, a press release will announce that both of you are stepping down to ’pursue private sector opportunities.’ If either of you utters a single word of complaint to the press, the State Audit Bureau will begin a full forensic review of your personal campaign accounts."

Timber’s hand shook violently as he took the pen, signing his name on the line without another word. His political career, built over thirty years of backroom deals, was erased in three seconds.

Husks stared at the document, his jaw working silently in bitter rage. But looking up at President Spencer’s unyielding eyes, he knew there was no path out. He pressed the pen to the paper and scribbled his signature.

"You are dismissed," President Spencer said, looking back down at his terminal as if the two men had already ceased to exist.

---

Across Aurelia, inside a private suite at the Grand Regency, Anthony Paige slammed a crystal decanter against the wall, sending glass and amber scotch shattering across the marble tiles.

His two aides stood near the balcony doors, rigid with fear.

"He did it again..." Anthony muttered, his chest heaving as he stared wildly at the financial news banner on his laptop. "The rumors of his trades always being one hundred percent correct must be true... and I offered him an administrative clearing fee!"

His phone buzzed on the glass table. It was an encrypted text from his younger brother, John Paige, direct from the family headquarters in Mayfair:

"Heard about the northern project, Anthony. Father has officially transferred the expansion mandate to my desk. Pack your bags and come home. You’re done in Veyra."

Anthony stared at the screen, his fingers tightening around the device until his knuckles turned ghostly white. The arrogant heir who had strutted into Golden Investments just hours prior was now completely ruined within his family’s hierarchy. He hadn’t just lost a regional transit node; he had handed his brother the ultimate weapon to displace him from the succession.

"Mr. Paige..." his assistant whispered cautiously. "Our private flight back to London leaves at nine..."

"Get out," Anthony snarled softly, his voice trembling with humiliated rage. "Get out of my sight!"

---

Meanwhile, inside the quiet serenity of the top-floor suite at Golden Investments, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of gold and violet.

Jake stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, his hands in his pockets, watching the city lights flicker to life one by one.

’I should probably stop dropping public signals for a while,’ Jake thought, a dry smirk touching his lips as he thought of his recent moves. ’If I keep handing out four billion marks of guaranteed liquidity every afternoon, local banks and commercial loan firms are going to run completely out of business.’

The door opened softly, and Alice walked in carrying a tablet and a slim blue leather folder. Her expression was calm, but a subtle, victorious spark danced in her eyes.

"The official press release just dropped from the Executive Office, Mr. Rivers," Alice announced cleanly. "Ministers Troy Husks and Duke Timber have officially tendered their immediate resignations from the Cabinet."

Jake didn’t turn around immediately, simply taking a slow breath as he watched the evening traffic crawl along the glowing avenues below. "And the crowd?"

"Dispersing peacefully," Alice replied. "LOOP is currently flooded with celebratory posts. Public sentiment toward Golden Investments has reached an all-time high."

"Good," Jake murmured. "Let that be a permanent reminder to anyone else in the capital who thinks about testing our boundaries."

Alice stepped closer to the desk, opening the blue leather folder she carried. "Now that the political noise has cleared, we can focus entirely on the Twin Islands project. The preliminary architectural tender window opened an hour ago."

Jake turned around smoothly, sitting back in his executive chair. "How many entries have potential to make the final cut?"

"Over twenty-eight hundred external proposals have been submitted globally," Alice reported, tapping her screen to mirror the data onto Jake’s primary display. "Our internal engineering and design teams are filtering them down against your structural parameters. We have a shortlist of the top ten master plans for the main island’s luxury resort and entertainment district."

A series of striking three-dimensional architectural renderings populated Jake’s master screen—sweeping glass structures, private deep-water marina layouts, eco-integrated cliffside villas, and self-sustaining energy domes.

Jake leaned forward, his dark eyes sharpening as he scanned the top entries. "And our internal submittal portal?"

Alice smiled softly, pulling up a specific file near the top of the shortlist. "Out of the sixty-two internal entries, one design scored exceptionally high across all structural, aesthetic, and environmental metrics. It was submitted by a junior design team led by an architect from our recently acquired Newman engineering branch."

Jake raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk touching his lips as he expanded the blueprint details.

"Show me," Jake said.

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