Chapter 4 Situational bad drop

Chapter 4

Situational bad drop

As the morning broke like ice over Lake Geneva, Rodrick stared out the window of his suite. Despite the city's deceptive clarity, chaos was raging within him. He'd built empires on calculation-on clean spreadsheets, offshore accounts, and dead-eyed denials. However, Mikhael had now flipped it all upside down with a single envelope. His phone rang. Two missed calls from Ivan, his most trusted associate. There were no messages; all Rodrick heard was a quiet request for a conversation he wasn't ready for. Everyone would want to know why he suddenly hesitated, why the man who had nodded and authorized airstrikes was now gazing at a photograph of a child like it was holy scripture. He made his way to the minibar. vodka was poured without ice. He hadn't touched the stuff in five years, but this wasn't about control anymore. It was about the revival of history. Rodrick had unanswered questions. What name was Mara living under? How long had Mikhael known? And why now? Was it sentiment or strategy? He knew Mikhael too well to believe in coincidence.

A single message flashed across his burner phone: "Valencia. Tuesday. 3 p.m. Alone."

There is no sign. None needed.

Rodrick took another look at the photograph. He had a boy around the age of nine. This indicates that Mara was still alive prior to Mikhael's alleged "final exit" from the Balkan operation. Which meant Mikhael had lied all these years. not only in relation to the alliance but also to Mara's fate. Was this leverage or a twisted act of mercy?

Rodrick pressed the photo to the glass. The boy's face was obscured by the Geneva skyline. He had 48 hours to make a decision. Rejoin the black river of clandestine financing and global destabilization-or let Mikhael erase the last piece of his soul still walking this earth.

And if he refused?

There would be no second envelope. No second chance Slowly, Rodrick exhaled. Clean exits were a legend in his world. The book was covered in blood by everyone. This time, it might be his own.

The stillness outside was broken by sirens. Somewhere below, the summit stirred with delusions of order. But Rodrick felt the weight of a new war pressing inward in this suite, where the past had just knocked on his door. He wasn't ready. However, Geneva didn't care. Furthermore, Mikhael was already moving. Camilla Stone was a woman who was hard to forget. With her platinum-blonde hair always swept into a severe bun, sharp suits that exuded command, and a voice like cut glass, she moved through boardrooms and backroom deals like a specter-elegant, composed, and dangerous. She was Rodrick Langston's business partner, and in his empire, she held a significant but ambiguous position. She wasn't merely an advisor. She was the brain in charge of his more delicate operations, like the acquisitions that required both charm and coercion, the quiet settlements, and the secrets that were hidden in off-shore accounts and ledgers. But Camilla's relationship with Rodrick extended far beyond signed contracts. Twenty years ago, they had shared a feverish affair-one forged in youth, ambition, and a mutual hunger for power. They had been inseparable once, trading whispers between sheets and strategies across glass conference tables. But when Rodrick chose marriage and public respectability, Camilla didn't protest. She was aware of the long game. Even after all these years, their connection remained a simmering thread beneath the icy gazes and whispered discussions. She was too familiar with him-his fears, weaknesses, and the skeletons he believed to be hidden. Camilla didn't just hold Rodrick's secrets. She curated them.

She was frequently mistaken for love and her loyalty for submission. What they failed to see was her price. There was a price to pay for everything Camilla did. And the deeper Rodrick's empire plunged into darkness, the more valuable her silence became.

Why Rodrick always included Camilla in the most delicate interactions was unquestioned. No one dared to wonder why his most damning secrets had never seen the light of day. She was the keeper of his sins-patient, poised, and quietly calculating. And while the world thought Rodrick was the empire's architect, it was Camilla who ensured the walls didn't crumble.

The moment came quietly, like a hairline crack across a frozen lake.

Camilla received the envelope late in the evening. No return address, no markings. Inside, a single photograph-grainy but unmistakable. It was from fifteen years ago. Rodrick, alone, standing outside the warehouse that was later burned to the ground in a "mysterious accident" that killed two men investigating his company's offshore transactions.

A note accompanied it:

The past seeps into the present. To keep it frozen, set a price. While Camilla sat by herself in her penthouse office, the city skyline glittered like distant embers beyond the glass. She should have thrown the picture away, but she didn't. She placed it on the table and poured herself a drink instead. The image did not pose a threat. It was an opportunity.

She knew who might've sent it. There were only a few players smart enough to reach her without setting off Rodrick's alarms. Even fewer people would seek retribution rather than leverage from the past. This wasn't blackmail. It was negotiation.

Rodrick called an hour later. He wasn't sure about the picture. He wanted her to smooth over a potential acquisition, one involving a politician's family and a messy scandal. She said she would handle it. Her voice was calm, clipped. But something in her tone made him pause.

"Camilla?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said. "Not yet," Camilla once more stared at the picture after she disconnected. She remembered that night clearly. The flames. The cover-up. When Rodrick begged her for assistance, the fear in his voice. She had buried the evidence, risked her own reputation, and saved him. It had been found recently. And she intended to find out who.

However, the most important thing was for her to decide what she wanted in return for her silence. Money was too simple. Power too temporary. What she desired now was legacy.

---

Tension Arises

(Final 300 words)

By morning, Rodrick had learned of the photo-through Camilla.

"You told them?" he asked, alarm threading through his voice.

"I didn't tell them. I showed them what will happen if they ever try to come for you again," she said coolly, handing him a second copy of the image, now marked with red pen.

"Camilla, this could bring everything down. We're too exposed."

She responded, "No, Rodrick," moving closer, her scent clouded with memories. "You are exposed. I'm protected. Because I'm the one they negotiate with, not you."

Rodrick's jaw clenched. "Why are you doing this?"

Camilla stared at him. Because I have preserved your empire for twenty years. I've silenced the past. But I won't do it for free anymore."

His voice dropped. "What do you desire?" She leaned in, eyes gleaming with quiet threat. "I want complete control over the legal arm of Langston International." Every document, every name. I want the power to clean house before anyone else does."

Rodrick hesitated.

"You owe me this," she added. "You have always done." He said nothing. He didn't need to. They were aware that she was correct. Outside, the city stirred to life. But there was something more icy in the room between them-a survival-based, secretive, and dangerous promise-based understanding: Rodrick wouldn't betray Camilla Stone. Not unless he provided a reason for her to.