The Contract

Chapter 147-The Undoing

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

The boardroom was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off the polished oak table. The tension was a tangible thing, curling in the corners of the room like smoke.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. I wasn’t a man who spoke first, not in moments like this. Silence was a weapon, and right now, it was cutting through the nervous energy of the room.

I scanned the faces of the board members seated around me, noting every twitch of an eye, every bead of sweat, every hesitant shift in their seats. They were cornered animals, and I could smell their fear.

"Shall we begin?" My voice was smooth, quiet, but it carried an authority that couldn’t be ignored.

Mr. Hawthorne, seated a few places down, cleared his throat. He looked older today, the lines on his face deeper, his once—confident demeanor reduced to something far more uncertain. But he didn’t speak. Not yet.

My gaze shifted to Fletcher, the man always eager to challenge me. Fletcher avoided my eyes this time, pretending to read the papers in front of him. The others sat in stiff silence, some pretending to jot notes, others staring intently at nothing in particular.

The silence stretched, and I let it. I leaned forward slightly, clasping my hands on the table, my expression unreadable.

“I assume someone has something to say,” I said finally, my tone casual, almost amused.

Hawthorne shifted again, the scrape of his chair against the floor loud in the quiet room. He opened his mouth, then hesitated, glancing at the others. No one came to his rescue.

I tilted my head slightly, my lips curving into a faint, almost mocking smile. “No? Then let’s move on to—”

“Travis,” Hawthorne interrupted, his voice thin but steady enough to draw attention.

I leaned back again, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, Hawthorne?”

Hawthorne cleared his throat a second time, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. “After careful consideration, I've... I have decided to withdraw our stakes in Empire.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. The room seemed to hold its breath.

I didn’t react. My face remained calm, my expression giving nothing away. Slowly, I tapped my finger against the armrest, a quiet, rhythmic sound that made Hawthorne’s discomfort even more apparent.

“And why is that?” I asked, my voice soft but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

Hawthorne shifted again, the movement betraying his nerves. “It’s not a decision I made lightly. The... current climate has made it difficult to justify keeping my investment here. Diversification feels like the safer option.”

“Diversification,” I repeated, tasting the word like it was bitter. I let the silence linger before turning my gaze to the rest of the table. “Anyone else suddenly interested in diversifying?”

The hesitation was palpable. Fletcher was the first to speak, his voice carrying an edge of false bravado. “I’ve been considering it too. With everything going on, it might be time to look at other opportunities.”

I nodded slowly, my expression thoughtful, almost detached. “Other opportunities,” I murmured. “Interesting.”

I stood, the movement slow and deliberate, and walked to the windows. I stood there for a moment, looking out at the skyline, my back to the room. When I spoke again, my voice was calm, measured, but each word carried weight.