Chapter 280: Vultures: The Untouched Clase Azul Reposado

The forty-second floor conference room felt like the morning after a wild night. The same bottle of Clase Azul Reposado sat on the table, a relic of a celebration that now seemed hollow. The Manhattan skyline glittered beyond the windows, a stark contrast to the tension inside. Three men sat around the table, their faces etched with concern, like they’d just discovered a crack in their otherwise flawless empire. The euphoria of victory had given way to paranoia in a mere twenty-four hours.

Vincent Castellano’s silver hair was perfectly coiffed, as if styled by a precision artist. However, his eyes betrayed a different story - they were hungry, sensing a problem that needed to be devoured. This situation felt too orchestrated, too convenient, and predators don’t like surprises that aren’t on their terms.

Dmitri Volkov hunched over his tablet, his fingers drumming a staccato beat on the mahogany surface. He looked like a man searching for landmines in a rose garden, his trust in spreadsheets and data now shaken. Even the numbers weren’t adding up tonight.

Antonio Rivera, the headline king, projected an aura of triumph. His stock had surged eighteen percent, and the public was eating out of his hand. Yet, beneath the surface, he looked like a man who’d just taken a bite of something foul. The taste of victory was soured.

"Explain to me," Vincent said, his voice a study in controlled precision, "how our private footage of the professors ended up on every Rivera Media platform simultaneously."

"I didn’t release it," Antonio said firmly. "Someone hacked our systems. Every platform, every security protocol, every failsafe was compromised at the same time. This wasn’t some amateur hack. This was a sophisticated cyber attack."

"But it worked in our favor," Dmitri observed, though his tone was laced with skepticism. "The public believes Charlotte Thompson is a fraud. Your stock is up. We’re winning."

"Are we?" Antonio asked, his eyes locking onto the other two men. "Think about it. We had that footage as leverage, as insurance. Now it’s public, and we’re losing control of the narrative."

"The narrative is that Charlotte bought her degrees," Vincent pointed out. "That’s exactly what we wanted."

"Until the wives testify that their husbands were coerced," Antonio countered. "Then Rivera Media becomes the hub for broadcasting false testimony obtained through threats."

The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with unspoken implications.

"The wives are handled," Antonio said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Handled how?" Dmitri asked. "They’re under CIA protection. Ava Voss has her people watching them around the clock."

"Why would Ava protect them?" Vincent asked sharply.

"She knows her sister Helena just lost three operatives in Miami," Dmitri suggested. "Ellis, Sloane, and Kane - all dead. She knows someone rescued those women, and now Ava is keeping them safe while investigating what happened after the professor evidence was released. She smells something fishy and is onto us."

"Who rescued them?" Vincent asked the question that had been haunting them. "Charlotte Thompson doesn’t have that capability. She’s not exactly a mastermind."

"What about that kid she’s been seen with, the one she hired?" Antonio suggested. "Tommy something?"

"Tommy Chen?" Dmitri snorted. "That awkward kid who follows her around? He couldn’t rescue a cat from a tree."

"Then who?" Vincent pressed. "Someone with combat training took out three CIA-trained operatives and extracted kidnapped victims from a secure location. That’s not amateur hour."

"Maybe Charlotte hired professionals," Antonio suggested, though he sounded uncertain.

"With what money?" Dmitri countered. "Her accounts are monitored, her spending tracked. We’d know if she hired mercenaries."

"What really concerns me," Vincent said slowly, "is why Harvard and Stanford aren’t making a move. Charlotte’s press conference is tomorrow, and they’re just... silent."

"Maybe they’re preparing statements," Antonio suggested.

"Or maybe they have something we don’t know about," Dmitri countered. "Documentation, evidence, something that proves Charlotte’s degrees are legitimate."

"Impossible," Vincent said flatly. "We have the records. The payments, the grade changes, everything."

"Then why aren’t they distancing themselves from her?" Antonio asked. "Any smart institution would be in damage control mode by now."

The question hung in the air, a bad omen that none of them could shake. They sat there, three kings in a game where the pieces were being moved without their knowledge. Outside, the city continued to glitter, oblivious to the gathering storm - a fitting backdrop for a dramatic fall.

"There’s something else," Antonio said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This hack on my systems — whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for. They didn’t steal anything, didn’t destroy anything. They just... broadcast that specific footage."

"Like they wanted it public," Dmitri said slowly, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Like they wanted us to think we were winning," Vincent corrected, his eyes narrowing as understanding dawned. "We’re being played."

"We’re in this mess because of you!" Dmitri snapped, his anger boiling over.

"And I’ve told you, I didn’t release it," Antonio said, his frustration evident. "Why would I release footage that implicates us in coercion?"

"Because you’re either incompetent or compromised," Dmitri suggested, his accent thickening with anger. "Which would you prefer we believe?"

Antonio’s hands clenched into fists, his face reddening. "Neither, because neither is true. Someone hacked our systems. Every platform, every security protocol, every failsafe was compromised simultaneously. This was a sophisticated cyber attack."

"Convenient," Vincent observed, swirling his untouched tequila. "The media expert gets hacked at the exact moment it causes maximum damage."

"Maximum damage to who?" Antonio shot back. "My company’s stock will plummet if evidence against me is out! The FBI will be crawling through our servers! I’ve got journalists facing potential criminal charges for broadcasting coerced testimony!"

"Testimony that you assured us would be clean, no matter how we got it," Dmitri reminded him coldly. "Professional interviews, you said. No visible coercion, you said. Completely deniable, you said."

"It was clean!" Antonio insisted. "The footage shows standard journalistic interviews. There’s no evidence of—"

Antonio’s gaze locked onto his partners, men he’d worked with for over a decade. They were calculating whether he was worth saving or sacrificing.

"You know what the really messed up part is?" Antonio said quietly. "We had her. Charlotte Thompson was finished. The scandal was perfect, the execution flawless. And then someone turned our own weapon against us."

"Someone who knew exactly what we were planning," Vincent observed. "Someone with inside information."

"You think we have a mole?" Dmitri asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I think we have an enemy we didn’t account for," Vincent replied. "Someone smart enough to use our attack as cover for their own agenda."

"What agenda?" Antonio asked, his curiosity piqued.

"That’s what we need to find out," Vincent said. "Before they make their next move."

Dmitri’s phone buzzed. He checked it, his face darkening. "Charlotte Thompson’s press conference is in two days or less."

"Where she’ll present evidence of her legitimate degrees," Antonio said. "Harvard and Stanford are backing her."

"Let them," Vincent said. "Public opinion is already set. The professor footage is all anyone will remember."

"Until the wives testify that it was coerced," Antonio reminded them.

"If they testify," Dmitri corrected.

"When they testify," Antonio insisted. "Because whoever’s protecting them isn’t going to let this opportunity pass."

Vincent walked to the window, joining Dmitri in staring down at the city. "Then we need to accelerate our timeline. Marcus meets with Helena tonight at the Meridian Club. We’ll have them implement the final phase immediately."

"What final phase?" Antonio asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"The one that ensures Charlotte Thompson can’t run Quantum Tech, regardless of what evidence she produces," Vincent replied.

"You’re going to kill her?" Antonio’s voice was barely audible.

"Such ugly accusations," Vincent said mildly. "We’re going to ensure a leadership transition that benefits all stakeholders."

"All remaining stakeholders," Dmitri added, his tone dripping with menace.

Antonio understood the implication. He was being warned. Play along or join the list of problems to be solved.

"I need to handle the media situation," Antonio said, moving toward the door. "Damage control, legal strategy, all that."

"Of course," Vincent said. "We all have our roles to play."

As Antonio reached the door, Vincent’s voice stopped him. "Antonio? Remember — we’re in this together. All of us. Until the end."

The threat was clear. Antonio nodded and left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like a countdown to destruction.

Once he was gone, Dmitri turned to Vincent. "He’s a liability."

"He’s a loose end," Vincent agreed. "But a useful one. For now."

"And when he stops being useful?"

Vincent’s smile was cold enough to frost the windows. "Then we’ll handle him the way we handle all problems. Permanently."

Down on the street, forty-two floors below, Antonio Rivera walked quickly toward his waiting car, his phone already in hand. He had calls to make, lawyers to contact, and evidence to secure.

Because he knew, with the certainty of a man who’d destroyed others for a living, that his partners were already planning his elimination.

The only question was whether he could eliminate them first.

The vultures were turning on each other, and the feeding frenzy was about to begin.

Above them all, unseen and unknown, a teenage god and his sarcastic AI watched the destruction unfold, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Three Vultures thought they were apex predators.

They were about to learn they were just prey with delusions of grandeur.