Breaking Point

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Day/Time: Sunday Afternoon

The tension that had been simmering for days was now palpable, as thick as the heavy clouds rolling across the city's skyline. Inside The Atlas Lyons Club, the quiet murmur of voices carried the weight of everything unsaid. The air felt charged, each breath a reminder that something was about to give.

Oren Oberman sat at the head of the private lounge, his elbows resting on the table in front of him, fingers loosely clasped together. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the folder that JDoms had placed in front of him. The room felt smaller today, the usual sense of control slipping slightly from Oren's grasp.

"We've been digging into Maxwell's connections," JDoms began, his voice steady but carrying the tension he couldn't quite hide. "But something doesn't add up. He's always had his hands in risky ventures, but this... this feels different."

Oren flipped through the pages without a word, his mind racing as he absorbed the information. Maxwell had been involved in a series of real estate deals, offshore investments, and several other ventures that all pointed to something larger. Something that could threaten everything they'd built.

"We need more than this," Oren said finally, his voice clipped. "Maxwell's not just playing with investments—he's positioning himself for something bigger."

JDoms leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest. "You think Marcus and Holmes are in on this?"

Oren's gaze flicked up to meet JDoms'. "They've been circling like vultures ever since the poker game. They're waiting for us to make a move... or a mistake."

JDoms exhaled sharply, his frustration bleeding through. "So what do we do? Sit back and wait for Maxwell to tighten the noose?"

A small, cold smile tugged at the corner of Oren's mouth. "No. We push him. If he wants control, we make him reveal his hand. But we do it on our terms, not his."

JDoms nodded, though his brow furrowed with lingering concern. "And Ezra? He's been... watching."

Oren's expression didn't change, though his fingers drummed lightly on the table's surface. "Ezra's always been a shadow player. But he's not the one making the moves right now. Maxwell is."

In the darker corners of the club, Ezra Cohen sat quietly, his sharp eyes scanning the room as they had so many times before. The club was alive with its usual hum of business deals and whispered conversations, but Ezra could feel the shift. He could see the cracks forming in the foundation of the power structure, and he was patient enough to wait for them to widen.

Behind the bar, Scotchy Buchanan watched him with his usual knowing smirk, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate motions. "Looks like everyone's on edge today," Scotchy said, his tone light but his eyes observant.

Ezra's lips curled into a faint smile. "That's because they know something's coming."

Scotchy raised an eyebrow, pouring a fresh drink for Ezra. "And what about you? You ready for whatever's coming?"

Ezra took a sip of his drink, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. "I've been ready for a long time."

As the afternoon wore on, Marcus Lane and Holmes Radcliffe met in one of the private rooms on the second floor, their conversation low but intense. They had been circling for days, waiting for the right moment to make their move, and Maxwell's proposition had only added fuel to their ambitions.

"He's pushing them," Marcus muttered, his fingers drumming lightly on the arm of his chair. "Oren and JDoms know it's coming, but they don't know when."

Holmes leaned back, his expression calm but calculating. "That's exactly what we want. Keep them on edge. The more they second-guess themselves, the more they'll make mistakes."

Marcus's eyes flicked toward the door, his voice lowering further. "And when they do?"

Holmes smiled, a sharp, cold thing. "We'll be ready to take everything."

By late afternoon, Oren and JDoms were once again locked in conversation, the weight of the coming decisions pressing down on them. Jonny Thornton had provided more intel, painting a clearer picture of Maxwell's moves, but the pieces still didn't fit together perfectly.

"We're missing something," Oren said, his voice tight with frustration. "Maxwell's too smart to make a move like this without a backup plan."

JDoms leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Maybe we're overthinking it. Maybe he's just trying to push us into making the first move."

Oren shook his head, his eyes dark with thought. "No. Maxwell doesn't work that way. He's playing the long game, and we're not seeing the full board."

JDoms rubbed the back of his neck, his tension clear. "So what do we do next? Wait for him to show his hand?"

Oren's gaze hardened, his decision made. "No. We push him. We make Maxwell move before he's ready."

As the day slipped into evening, the club was alive with the usual hum of activity, but underneath it all, something darker lingered. The stakes were higher than ever, and every player in the game knew that the next move could shift everything.

Ezra remained seated in his usual spot, his drink untouched now as he watched the room with cold calculation. He had been biding his time, watching as the power players positioned themselves for the inevitable conflict. And when the time came, Ezra knew exactly where he would stand.

The game was far from over, but the pieces were already moving.

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