At that mont, without wasting a second, Jas leaned slightly forward on the table and glanced around at the n sitting with him. His eyes, sharp and focused now, moved from one familiar face to another. The room had fallen into a thoughtful silence, the kind of silence that cos just before decisions are made—serious decisions.
Jas adjusted his cufflinks slowly, a smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, with a calm and deliberate voice, he finally spoke.
"Well," he began, his tone laced with gratitude and pride, "since you were the first ones to call after what happened back there... since you didn’t waste ti, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t laugh behind my back like most people probably are doing right now... I’ll say this."
He looked directly at Bartholow Ainsley as he continued.
"You reached out to , you invited to your table, and you still saw value in even when everyone else thought I had already lost. That matters. I won’t forget that."
A few of the n nodded, so even relaxed a little in their chairs, realizing the weight behind those words.
Jas then leaned back again, folding his arms with a look of renewed authority.
"So," he continued, "when the Victor contract finally gets announced... if I am the one who gets it, which I still believe I will... I’ll make sure I work with you. I’ll see what I can do. Not just for but for you too. I don’t believe in walking alone when those who stood with in the storm still remain."
There was a brief pause, then Jas gave a smirk.
"Of course, it shouldn’t be all about . That’s not how partnerships are built, right?" He chuckled lightly, a sound filled with charm and new confidence.
"So... what kind of business do you want to discuss with ?"
At that mont, Bartholow Ainsley straightened in his chair and cleared his throat, preparing to address everyone at the table. His fingers lightly tapped against the polished surface as the room fell silent once more, every eye focused on him.
"Well," he began, his voice deep and commanding, "we all know this contract from the Victors isn’t just another opportunity—it’s a once-in-a-decade kind of deal. The numbers we’re talking about here are massive. We’re not just discussing expansion; we’re talking about transformation—for any company that holds it."
The n nodded quietly, and Jas leaned in, clearly interested.
"So, we’re just going to go straight to the point," Bartholow continued, folding his hands together with precision, the air around him tightening as if sothing significant was about to be unveiled. "We—"
Suddenly, the sharp chi of his phone pierced the mont.
Bartholow’s eyes flicked down to the device, irritation flashing in them for a split second. He was never interrupted during etings, especially one like this. But then, upon seeing the caller ID, his expression subtly shifted. It was his personal secretary.
The fact that his secretary was calling him now—after clear instructions not to—ant only one thing.
Sothing was wrong.
Bartholow hesitated. He looked at the others, then back at the phone, and finally at Jas, giving a subtle nod as if to say forgive the break.
"I never take calls during etings," he muttered under his breath, "but this..."
Without another word, he answered the phone and placed it to his ear, his tone professional but cautious.
"Speak," he said calmly, masking the tension in the room that had suddenly thickened.
At that mont, when Bartholow answered the call, he didn’t even wait for pleasantries. His voice was sharp and low. "I’m in a eting—"
But before he could finish his sentence, his secretary cut him off, his tone shaky and urgent.
"Sir... there is fire. There is big trouble!"
Bartholow narrowed his eyes. "What nonsense are you—"
"Sir!" the secretary cried. "Have you not seen the news? We’ve just been blacklisted by the Victor family. Your na... it’s on the list. Five nas were announced by the Victor Group monts ago—and yours was among them."
Bartholow froze.
The room seed to still around him, as if ti itself had paused.
The secretary’s voice pressed on, panicked. "And it’s not just the Victor family. Global Investnts also issued a joint statent. They’ve blacklisted the sa five individuals. Sir... the loan you secured last quarter? They’ve canceled it. Effective imdiately."
Bartholow felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine. "What...?"
The others at the table were watching him now, noticing his face drain of color.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" he barked at the phone as he shot up from his seat. His chair screeched behind him. "What do you an blacklist? That’s impossible!"
But his voice cracked—just a little.
The weight of the mont was starting to sink in. His breathing beca shallow as he turned to the side wall where the mounted screen rested. With trembling fingers, he snatched the remote and pressed the power button.
The screen flickered to life, For a second, nothing happened. Just a soft hum and the startup logo.
Then—Breaking News plastered across the screen in bold red letters.
A female news anchor, clearly reading from a prompt, looked solemn.
"We interrupt this program with an urgent financial bulletin. The Victor family, in collaboration with Global Investnts, has released a blacklist of five individuals and companies banned from further business relations, contracts, or financial engagents effective imdiately."
On the screen, five nas began scrolling. Each na was accompanied by company logos, photos, and registration numbers.
The second na to appear...Bartholow Ainsley – Ainsley Holdings
The room went deathly quiet.
Bartholow staggered backward, gripping the edge of the table. "No... no, this has to be a mistake."
But the next nas that followed turned every head in the room cold.
Every man seated at the table.
All of them, all five present in the room.
Jas’ mouth dropped open. He looked from the screen to the n around him, his own heart beginning to race.
The air turned suffocating.
Bartholow’s lips trembled. "This... this can’t be happening."
Richard Halley fell back into his seat like his knees gave way beneath him. Gideon Blythe gripped the back of his chair to steady himself. Alfred Crowley rubbed his chest like he couldn’t breathe properly.
Nobody spoke.
They just stared—stared at each other in disbelief, in confusion, in silent horror—trying to understand what was going on.
So of them couldn’t even stand again. They were just falling to their seats, while so of them were using the chair for support.
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