Chapter 8 The Storm of Resistance

It was the boardroom of **Silverstone Corp.**, a veritable fortress of hostility. Twelve faces regarded Johnny Lance, their expressions changing from skepticism to outright hostility. That palpable silence became quickly filled by only the faint sound of air-conditioning, for several seconds after Johnny completed his pitch. Johnny leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. "Well? Are we going to sit here all day, or are you ready to talk numbers?" An older man occupying the center of the table, **Elliot Grayson**, cleared his throat.

He had the silver hair and sharp gray suit that went along with all the airs an authority could muster: "Mr. Lance, let me be frank. Many of us here are... concerned. Your sudden interest in Silverstone is, quite frankly, suspicious." Johnny smirked and leaned forward slightly. "Suspicious? I call it opportunistic. Your company is in freefall. I am giving you a lifeline. You would think I should get a thank you, not an interrogation." A woman to Grayson's left, **Amanda Cho**, adjusted her glasses and spoke. "A lifeline? Or a hostile takeover? Let's not pretend this is charity, Mr. Lance. Your reputation precedes you." "And what reputation is that, exactly?" Johnny asked, his tone sharp. "The one where I'm a self-made billionaire? Or the one where I saw through Silverstone's cracks before anyone else did?" Grayson raised a hand to silence the murmurs around the table. "Let's not make this personal, Mr. Lance. The issue here is trust. You shorted our stock during its collapse and made a fortune off it. Now you want to buy us out. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in your intentions." Johnny's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Alan Reyes, seated beside him, spoke up. "Let's not lose sight of what's important here," Alan said, his voice calm and measured. "Mr. Lance's investment would stabilize Silverstone. It would save jobs, restore faith in the company, and, frankly, keep it from going under. Isn't that what you all want?" Amanda snorted. "And what happens when he guts the company for parts? Do you think we're blind to what's happening out there? The protests? The media calling him a corporate vulture?" "Those protesters don't have the full story," Johnny shot back, his voice rising. "I'm not here to strip Silverstone down. I'm here to rebuild it." Grayson's gaze narrowed. "Then why not make that clear to the public? Why haven't you made any effort to address the backlash?" Johnny's smirk returned, but it was colder this time. "Because I don't answer to a mob with picket signs. I answer to the results. And when this company starts turning a profit again, those same people will be begging for jobs." "I think we've heard enough," Amanda said, crossing her arms. "This board isn't interested in empty promises, Mr. Lance. If you want us to even consider your offer, you'll need to do more than talk." Grayson nodded. "Show us a comprehensive plan. Prove to us that you're committed to Silverstone's long-term success, not just your own bottom line. Until then, this conversation is over." Johnny abruptly stood up, dragging his chair on the floor. "Good. Do you want a plan? You will get a plan. Make no mistake, though; I'm not going away. This company will be mine. It's a matter of time." Alan rose too and put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Thanks for your time. We'll be in touch." As they walked out of the door to the hallway, Johnny was all about exploding with anger. "Can you imagine those fools?" he growled. "They are sitting on a sinking ship bickering about the colors of the lifeboats." Alan remained calm in his voice. "They are afraid, Johnny. And it would be more normal if they were. Your name is everywhere in the news, and it is not shining upon you." "Yeah, thanks to Marcus," Johnny said bitterly. "You saw that hit piece this morning? 'Johnny Lance: The Corporate Vulture Circling Silverstone.' He's behind that. I know it." Alan nodded. "Probably. But proving it won't change public opinion. You need to get ahead of this, Johnny. If the board doesn't trust you, the public sure as hell won't." Johnny stopped walking, turning to face Alan. "So what? Do you want me to play nice? Smile for the cameras? That's not who I am, Alan." "Maybe it's time to change," Alan said bluntly. "This isn't just about you anymore. If you want Silverstone, you need to convince people that you're not the villain they think you are." Johnny sighed, rubbing his temples. "I hate this. I hate playing their game." Alan smirked. "That's the cost of winning, my friend." --- Johnny was sitting in his penthouse later in the evening, gazing out toward the city lights. The background hum of television is coming through another segment on the protests outside of Silverstone headquarters. The phrase Corporate Greed flashes on the screen with images of angry workers holding signs stating, *"Johnny Lance Ruined Our Lives." Alan entered the room, holding a folder. "You've seen the latest polls?" he asked, sitting across from Johnny. "No, and I don't care," Johnny said, his tone flat. "Well, you should," Alan said, opening the folder. "Public opinion is tanking. You're being painted as the bad guy, and it's sticking." Johnny's eyes flicked to the TV. "Let them talk. I'll prove them wrong when I turn Silverstone around." " "Nice thought," Alan said, leaning in, "but it's not going to happen. One clear fact: Marcus is playing dirty, and if you are not going to retaliate, you will lose." Johnny's jaw tightened. "And what do you suggest?" Alan slid the folder across the table. "A PR campaign. Changing the entire story. Start talking about how you're saving Silverstone instead of destroying it. Talk about all the jobs you're saving or the lives you're improving." Johnny grabbed the folder and started flipping through the pages. "A waste of time," he said. "It's a strategy," Alan replied. "And right now, you've got none." Sighing, Johnny tossed the folder back onto the table. "Fine. Do whatever you have to do. Leave me out of it." Alan arched an eyebrow. "That's not going to fly. If you want people to trust you, they need to see you and hear you. You have to be the face of this." Johnny shook his head. "Not a politician, Alan. Not going to stand in front of some camera and beg people to like me." Alan leaned back and folded his arms. "You are going to lose because Marcus is contesting with you not only in the boardroom; he's battling you in the court of public perception, and at this moment, he's ahead." Johnny looked at him for an extended time before getting up suddenly. "I require fresh air." Outside the penthouse, Johnny rested against the balcony railing, the chilly night breeze barely easing his irritation. He took out his phone and flicked through the headlines. Each article, each opinion piece, and every comment depicted him as the villain. "Johnny Lance: The Wealthy Individual Capitalizing on Suffering." "Silverstone's Redeemer or Its Killer?" "Demonstrations Persist as Lance Advocates for Authority." He tightened his grip, his knuckles pale. This was not solely concerning Silverstone. This concerned Marcus. Every headline, every demonstrator, every barrier-it all traced back to him. His phone vibrated, and a notification appeared from an unfamiliar number. "Good effort, Johnny." However, you will never succeed. – M."** Johnny's hold on the phone grew stronger as his fury surged. He spun around and angrily walked back in, where Alan remained seated "Set it up," Johnny said, his voice low but firm. Alan frowned. "Set what up?" "The PR campaign. The interviews. Whatever it takes," Johnny said, his eyes blazing. "If Marcus wants a war, I'll give him one. But on my terms." Alan's lips curved into a small smile. "Now that's the Johnny Lance I know." Johnny grabbed the folder from the table and flipped it open. "Let's show them who they're dealing with."