Chapter 101: You have an objection?
[Hugo’s Office]
The sharp tick of the clock echoed in the room, slicing through the tense silence. Hugo sat behind his massive oak desk, flipping through a pile of documents with a furrowed brow. The faint scent of his cigar lingered in the air, half-burned, forgotten, just like his hopes from the last deal.
Losing the Smith contract had been a brutal blow. He had counted on it in fact planned for it. And at the very last moment, Smith had handed it to someone else, leaving Hugo with nothing but regret and a dented reputation.
Now, as he reviewed his company’s finances, another unpleasant surprise surfaced. His sharp eyes froze on a figure that didn’t make sense. A transaction. Large. Recent.
"There are withdrawals from our secondary accounts last month," he said slowly, his voice calm but his jaw tightening. "But I don’t recall authorizing any of them."
He looked up at his assistant, his stare sharp enough to make the man fidget on the spot.
The assistant cleared his throat. "B-Boss, those transactions were made by Mrs. Bennett. She said it was for charity work."
Hugo leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. For a moment, he didn’t respond just stared blankly at the ceiling before letting out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Charity work," he repeated, his tone laced with irony.
Rosiline Bennett his wife, the perfect socialite. The epitome of grace, charm, and quiet manipulation. She had spent years polishing their family image, appearing at every event with a practiced smile and a heart that bled generosity. The world adored her.
And yet, Hugo knew better. Nothing Rosiline did was without purpose. Every donation, every handshake, every smile, it all fed into her obsession with power and prestige.
Still, she was useful. Her connections, her polished persona they kept the Bennett name relevant. So, he let her play her part while he played his.
"Understood," he said finally, shutting the file with a soft thud. "Let her have her charities. It keeps the press busy."
But before the assistant could breathe a sigh of relief, Hugo’s voice dropped again cold and precise.
"What about the funding for the Anderson project?"
The assistant hesitated. "It’s... short, sir. The recent expenses have cut deeper than we expected. Unless we pull from another account, we’ll need external funding."
Hugo’s gaze darkened. The Anderson project, the one Daniel had entrusted to him was bleeding resources faster than he could cover them. And Daniel, of all people, was not someone he could afford to disappoint.
If it were up to him, he’d simply redirect funds from his private subsidiaries, the hidden ones Daniel didn’t know about. But the risk was too high. If Daniel caught wind of his side dealings, it wouldn’t just end in broken trust—it would end in ruin.
He drummed his fingers against the desk, each tap deliberate. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Set up a meeting with Daniel," Hugo said flatly.
The assistant blinked. "Sir? Should I—"
"Today," Hugo interrupted. "No delays."
The man nodded quickly and left, leaving Hugo alone in the quiet, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
Hugo leaned back, eyes fixed on the city skyline through the glass wall behind him.
He had always known Daniel was dangerous not because of his wealth or his power, but because of how quietly he wielded both. Daniel never raised his voice, never showed anger but when he struck, it was clean, swift, and final.
That was the kind of man Hugo was dealing with.
Which meant one wrong step... and everything he’d built could crumble overnight.
"I hope Anna doesn’t disappoint me," Hugo muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a knowing smirk before turning his focus back to the papers sprawled across his desk.
****
The heavy glass doors of Glorious International’s conference room slid shut with a quiet hiss as Daniel stepped out, his sharp gaze unreadable. The board members who had just been grilled by him could still be heard sighing in relief behind the doors.
Henry trailed a few steps behind, juggling files and his tablet when his phone buzzed. "Boss," he began cautiously, "Hugo Bennett has requested a meeting."
Daniel stopped mid-step, his head tilting slightly. "Has he?"
"Yes, sir. He said it’s about the Anderson project. He wants to discuss the next round of funding."
Daniel resumed walking toward his office, the faintest glimmer of a smile flickering on his lips. "Did he sound nervous?"
Henry blinked. "No... actually, he sounded calm. Almost too calm."
Daniel’s voice dropped a notch, low and thoughtful. "Good. That means he’s realized he can’t afford to lose control yet."
They entered his office, sleek, modern, and dark, much like the man himself. As soon as the door closed, Daniel tossed the file in his hand onto the desk and leaned back in his chair.
"I knew Hugo wouldn’t touch his dummy accounts," he said, his tone carrying quiet satisfaction. "He’s greedy, but he’s not suicidal. The last thing he wants is me finding out he’s been hiding his external dealings."
Henry nodded, stepping closer. "So you were right about him all along. He’s still dependent on us for liquidity."
Daniel’s smirk widened slightly. "Exactly as planned."
He had intentionally pushed the project’s budget higher, ensuring that Hugo’s personal accounts couldn’t sustain the demand. The moment Hugo reached out for help would confirm what Daniel already suspected—how fragile the man’s empire really was.
"Send him the meeting location," Daniel said smoothly, "and make it after office hours."
Henry jotted it down but paused halfway, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "Uh... after hours, sir?"
Daniel’s brow rose slightly. "You have an objection?"
"Not exactly," Henry said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "It’s just... you’ve been working late for the last three nights. You could—uh—go home, maybe? Rest? Or, you know... spend time with your wife?"
The pen in Daniel’s hand stopped moving.
For a long time, he said nothing making Henry instantly regretted his life choices.
’Did I say something wrong? Didn’t he want to get into his wife’s good books’