Wall Street's Nate Dawson left.
He had no reason to stay. His shares in Victor Industries had changed hands—what was he sticking around for, a free meal?
As for the three remaining minority shareholders?
Michaela bought them out at triple the current price. Compared to the stock's current value—crashing below twenty bucks—it was still a savior's deal.
Soon enough.
The meeting room, styled like a beast's lair, grew quiet.
Michaela glanced at the transaction documents in her hand—priceless on paper, worthless in reality—and smiled faintly. She looked up at the silent Victor, "Mr. Von Doom, it's clear you've got a new backer now."
Victor stayed mute.
Those words...
They made it sound like he'd been kept by someone before, only to be handed off to a new keeper—and all right under his nose.
After a long pause.
Victor spoke in a low voice, "Who are you, really?"
Michaela chuckled softly, "Looks like you really zoned out, Mr. Von Doom. Medusa—you can call me Medusa."
Victor's face remained blank, "So why is Zeus helping me?"
Michaela stood, "Let's put it this way, Mr. Von Doom. I don't think much of you, but Zeus does. He sees you as a partner worth investing in. So, congratulations—you've caught Zeus's eye. He asked me to pass along a message: Victor Industries is still yours. That won't change."
With that.
Michaela turned, leading her two sunglass-wearing Blackwater guards and the two lawyers she'd brought toward the meeting room door.
Just as she was about to exit, Victor turned and called out, "When can I meet Zeus?"
"Mr. Von Doom, Zeus is a god. He'll show up when he wants to see you."
"..."
Michaela tossed the line over her shoulder without looking back, then stepped into the elevator with her entourage. Victor stood alone in the meeting room, lost in thought.
Half an hour later.
Michaela entered Star Tower, stepping out of the top-floor elevator. She spotted Lake—hands clasped behind his back, dressed in a black suit—facing away from her, looking every bit the living embodiment of a suited thug.
Lake turned, smiling at Michaela as she approached, "All done?"
Michaela set her bag on the bar counter, "I get why you need to hide from your wives, but why am I the one running your errands?"
Lake laughed, "You'll be my vassal god someday. Isn't it only right for a vassal to handle tasks for their main god?"
Michaela blinked, "So, you basically need a maid?"
Lake burst out laughing, "In your eyes, gods and maids are the same thing? Michaela, do you know how many mortals in the Valoran universe knelt before me, begging for a chance at immortality? Or how many mortal women tried every trick in the book to serve me?"
Michaela shrugged, "Fine, whatever a god says is right. You're in charge—you do you."
Lake shook his head.
Only the stars knew why he'd promised to make Michaela a god back then. If he could turn back time, he'd swear to think thrice before making such a vow.
But the promise was made. What could he do? Breaking his word wasn't his style—especially not for a grand male god like him.
There was still time. He'd mold her slowly. One day, Michaela would understand the proper attitude a vassal god should have toward her main god...
With that thought.
Lake turned from the floor-to-ceiling window, walked to the bar, and pulled out some bourbon. As he poured himself a glass, he glanced at Michaela, "Want some?"
Michaela sighed, "I know gods don't care about age, and I've got a killer figure, but I should remind you—I'm only eighteen. In America, the drinking age is twenty-one."
Lake grinned, "Is that you bragging?"
Michaela shot a glance at the smirking Lake, "If I looked like a squash, would you have promised to make me a god?"
Lake thought for a moment, then shook his head honestly, "Probably not."
Michaela spread her hands, saying nothing.
She knew it. Mortal or god, it was all about looks. Good thing her mom left her with a pretty face.
Michaela muttered inwardly.
Lake, meanwhile, poured two glasses of bourbon anyway, sliding one to Michaela, "I'm a god, and you'll be one too. Remember what I told you? Gods act on whims."
Michaela stared at the bourbon, opened her mouth to protest, then rolled her fox-like eyes and took it, sipping lightly.
Arguing would just end up like yesterday—pointless. Better save her breath. Sure, he said it was her choice until she became a god, but he was still trying to get her drunk and drool over her body...
She was a Queens girl. Getting her drunk wouldn't be that easy.
Michaela downed the glass in one go and set it on the counter, "Another."
Lake chuckled but didn't move. He was the main god—pouring once was courtesy, twice was a problem.
Holding his glass, he said casually, "Agatha, located them yet?"
Agatha's voice chimed in, "Location confirmed."
Lake took a sip and settled onto the sofa, "Project it."
"Just a moment!"
After Agatha's reply, a whoosh sounded, and a projection splashed across the minimalist, expansive wall.
Whirrrr!
A red helicopter's blades spun as it soared over snow-capped mountains.
Michaela walked over, eyeing the snowy peaks on the screen, "Whistler Ski Resort?"
Lake gave her a curious look.
Michaela explained, "Before my dad went to prison, he took me there once."
Lake asked, "Skiing?"
Michaela smiled faintly, "Sort of."
Her dad worked with cars. Whistler, near Vancouver, was nicknamed the "rich man's ski resort." The wealthy loved parking their cars at the base and choppering up the mountain...
Michaela reminisced about those happier times, then frowned at the projection, "Where's your camera?"
Lake chuckled softly.
Did a god need a camera for remote surveillance?
Agatha had tapped into this planet's database. That meant Lake could watch a live feed of the Earth's core if he wanted.
Of course.
To avoid Caitlyn pinpointing him, Agatha couldn't go full throttle right now. But scoping out some snowy terrain? That was doable.