Chapter 6 The Conditions of Control

The Gordonis boardroom was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioner. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering New Orleans skyline, but inside, the tension was thick enough to choke on. At the head of the long obsidian table sat Tom Gordonis, rigid in his seat. Around him, the board members exchanged nervous glances. Angela White stood to one side, her arms folded, watching.

The glass doors opened without fanfare. Don Alaric entered, flanked by two silent aides. His footsteps were measured, echoing softly on the polished marble floor. He wore the same dark suit. The scars on his face caught the light, a stark reminder that he was as dangerous as he was wealthy.

Tom rose, forcing a polite smile he could not sustain. "Mr. Alaric, thank you for coming."

Don Alaric inclined his head once. "Let's dispense with pleasantries, shall we?" His voice was smooth, each word precise. "I have reviewed the company's books. The numbers paint a clear picture: Gordonis Corp is bleeding."

A hush fell. Tom's heart thudded. He had hoped, feared, but still dreaded this moment of reckoning.

Don Alaric continued without pause. "My rescue investment is generous. Very generous. But it comes with conditions. Conditions you must accept without alteration."

Tom swallowed. "Of course. I'm ready to hear them."

Don Alaric scanned the board, his gaze cold. "First: I will have full operational control over all Gordonis assets. This includes overseas holdings, the shipping division, the real estate portfolio.... everything."

Murmurs rippled through the room. One board member coughed. Tom's pulse quickened. He had expected oversight, maybe even a board seat, but not outright surrender.

"Second," Don Alaric said, raising a finger, "I require veto power. On any decision, at any level. This veto extends to you, Mr. Gordonis. If I oppose a plan, it will not proceed."

Tom's mouth went dry. He jerked his head toward Angela, who watched impassively. She said nothing.

"Third," Don Alaric continued, "I will appoint Ms. Hermosa Rodriguez as my personal liaison.... my eyes and ears within this company. She will report directly to me on every matter. I expect full cooperation."

Silence fell like a guillotine blade. Hermosa's face drained of color. She stared at Don Alaric as if he had just torn her world in two.

Tom rose to protest, his voice tight. "But this-this amount of power...."

Don Alaric's gaze cut him off. He leaned forward; hands flat on the table. "Mr. Gordonis," he said icily, "let me remind you of your position. You are not in a place to negotiate. You need me more than I need you."

Tom closed his mouth. His shoulders sank. The board members shifted uncomfortably. Angela's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

Don Alaric straightened and retrieved a contract folder from an aide. He slid it across the table. "Sign here," he said, tapping the signature line. "And we begin saving this company. Refuse, and you return to insolvency."

Tom stared at the papers. His dreams of power and prestige, unceremoniously handed to a stranger. His chest tightened. He picked up the pen with trembling fingers and signed. The echo of the pen's scratch on paper rang loud in the silent room.

Don Alaric's mouth curved in the slightest of smiles. He closed the folder, stood, and collected his aides. "Pleasure doing business," he said, voice low and dead.

Tom did not rise. He sat, the gravity of his capitulation settling around him like dust.

---

Late that evening, Hermosa found herself standing outside Tom's office. The hallway lights stretched her shadow across the polished floor. She had watched the boardroom confrontation from a glass-walled conference room, a prisoner behind invisible bars.

Her heart pounded. She had rehearsed no words, no questions. Now, nothing felt prepared enough.

She knocked softly. "Tom?"

He looked up from behind his desk, the man who had saved her father's life... and used that debt to claim her loyalty.

"Come in," he said, voice flat.

She entered, closing the door behind her. The room was empty, save for Tom's desk and two leather chairs. He gestured to one, then remained standing.

Hermosa drew in a breath. "I... I want to be reassigned."

Tom's eyes flicked to her. He crossed his arms. "Excuse me?"

"I can't-this... this arrangement with Don Alaric... I can't do it," she said, voice trembling. "He's harsh, demanding.... he terrifies me."

Tom sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Hermosa, you knew this would be tough when you accepted the liaison role."

"I didn't know it would mean giving him free rein over the company. Over you!" Her voice rose. "Over everything!"

Tom leaned against the desk. "Don Alaric has all the power now, not me. He sets the rules. If you refuse, the whole deal falls apart."

She pressed her hands to her temples. "But I can't work under him. I'm not strong enough."

Tom's gaze hardened. "You owe me."

Hermosa jerked. He didn't need to elaborate. She saw the unspoken threat in his eyes. He had saved her father's life, paid off debts, perhaps even covered up details she didn't want to know. She was trapped in that unbreakable bond.

"You owe me for saving your father," Tom said softly. "And you owe this company, your family name. You will do this job, or you'll answer to me."

Hermosa's shoulders slumped. She realized her options had closed like trap doors. She nodded, voice barely a whisper. "I understand."

Tom let her see his satisfaction, then hardened his face. "Good. Get back to it."

She left his office, feeling the walls close in tighter.

---

The next morning, Hermosa arrived at her desk to find an envelope sealed with a silver crest she recognized immediately: Don Alaric's personal monogram. She tore it open with shaking fingers.

Inside was a terse note:

> Ms. Rodriguez,

Pack a bag. We depart at 9:00 AM tomorrow for a week-long business trip to Zurich. Just the two of us. Prepare your presentation materials and travel documents.

- D.A.

Hermosa's breath caught. One week. Abroad. Alone with him.

Her heart thundered in her chest. The boardroom conditions, Tom's threats, and now this. She was caught in a vise of obligation from two ruthless men.

She pressed her palm to the cool wood of her desk and closed her eyes.

The conditions of control were clear, and there would be no escape.