Chapter 194: The Dr.
The banquet hall slowly settled back into its rhythmic cadence as the heavy silver platters of the main course were cleared away. Waiters moved in near-silent efficiency, replacing wine glasses and pouring dark, aromatic coffee to signal the end of the evening’s formal proceedings. The waiters began replacing wine glasses with small cups of espresso.
Leon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last hour, stood up to adjust his cuffs. "I’m going to step out for a smoke before the closing address. The ventilation in here is terrible."
"Don’t take too long," Adrian said, checking his watch. "People are already starting to leave. We should head out before the main lobby gets packed."
Leon nodded and walked toward the eastern exit. The long corridor leading toward the terrace was relatively quiet, lit by low wall fixtures. Just as he approached the glass doors, the private service exit at the very end of the hallway pushed open.
A tall man in a dark bespoke suit stepped out. The man was walking away from the stage lounges, his posture carrying a rigid, calculated elegance. Even in the half-light, the tailored cut of his dark bespoke suit and the sharp, methodical stride were unmistakable. For a fraction of a second, the man paused beneath a wall sconce, his profile catching the light before he disappeared down the secure VIP stairwell.
Leon stopped dead in his tracks.
The color drained from his face instantly. His hand, still reaching for the terrace door handle, began to tremble. His chest heaved as his breath caught violently in his throat, his eyes wide and tracking the empty space where the silhouette had just been. He looked exactly as if he had just seen a ghost standing in the middle of the Republic’s grandest pavilion.
He didn’t go out for his smoke. Turning on his heel, Leon walked back into the main banquet hall, his stride stiff and rushed.
When he reached Table Nine, he slid back into his chair, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.
Noah, who was in the middle of laughing at a joke from his phone, caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused, his smile fading as he took in Leon’s pale face and erratic breathing, his brow furrowing. "Leon? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Leon looked around the table, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. "I just saw a silhouette near the service exit. The Dr. is here."
The reaction was instant.
Noah froze mid-breath. Across the table, Marcus’s fingers completely stopped typing on his terminal screen, his head snapping up. Adrian paused with his espresso cup halfway to his lips, his grip tightening around the porcelain as he locked his eyes onto Leon.
The three of them stared at Leon in absolute silence.
Jake looked at his friends, thoroughly confused by the sudden drop in the table’s mood. The name meant absolutely nothing to him. He set his water glass down. "Who is ’the Dr.’?"
Noah, Marcus, and Adrian all turned their heads at the same time, staring at Jake like he had just asked a completely stupid question.
"Are you serious right now?" Noah whispered fiercely. "Jake, you really don’t know who the Dr. is?"
"No," Jake said plainly. "Who is he?"
Adrian slowly lowered his cup back to its saucer. "Jake... if you think Elizabeth Roys is powerful, the Dr. makes her look like a little girl."
Jake’s brow furrowed slightly. The confusion didn’t leave his face. In every database, every report, and every political brief he had analyzed since taking over the family assets, the Roys family stood at the absolute apex of the Republic. How could someone possibly overshadow that kind of leverage?
Jake frowned. "That doesn’t make sense. Nobody has more backing than Elizabeth."
"That’s because he’s Elizabeth’s older brother," Leon clarified, his voice still tight. "Derrick Roys. He’s the next patriarch of the Roys family."
He didn’t need further explanation to understand the raw panic radiating from his friends. If Derrick Roys was officially back in the capital, the entire political landscape of the Republic was about to undergo a violent realignment. Being the designated next head of the Roys family didn’t just mean inheriting vast corporate monopolies; it meant Derrick was heavily favored to take over as the next Chief Commander of the country’s military forces.
That explained the sheer terror on his friends’ faces, but it didn’t explain his presence tonight.
"What is he doing at a Ministry of Commerce dinner?" Jake asked, looking back toward the VIP lounge. "The Roys family usually doesn’t involve themselves in standard trade tenders."
"Exactly," Marcus muttered, closing his terminal. "Why would he be here? Is he checking up on Timber, or is the military branch looking to seize control of the Northern Freight Corridor data?"
"Maybe he’s meeting with the President privately," Noah speculated, rubbing his chin nervously. "If the Roys family is moving their main piece into the capital on a Friday night, something massive is happening behind the scenes. We just don’t know what it is yet."
Adrian stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Whatever the reason, his presence changes things. We need to move fast on the Steel Refinery paperwork before anyone else gets involved. Let’s go."
Meanwhile, back in the dim private ministerial corridor behind the main stage, the heavy oak exit door clicked shut.
Alex stood completely frozen against the wall, his chest still heaving from the adrenaline of being dragged by the guards. He looked at Duke Timber, then at Director Kaelen, completely baffled by what had just happened. A minute ago, Timber was ready to destroy his family; now, the Minister was staring at the closed door with a cold sweat on his forehead.
Timber turned around slowly. The furious, dangerous anger was gone, completely replaced by an expression of pure disbelief. He walked over to Alex and clapped a heavy hand onto the young man’s shoulder.
"Livingston," Timber breathed, his voice rough. "Your luck is absolutely off the charts."
Alex blinked, pulling his shoulder back slightly. "What? Duke, what are you talking about? He just threatened to audit my family."
"You idiot, do you even know who that was?" Timber hissed, looking down the corridor to ensure the guards were out of earshot. "That was the Dr."
Alex stared at him, still lost. "The Dr.? Who is that? A medical advisor?"
Timber let out a sharp, tense laugh, shaking his head. "Derrick Roys. His initials form D.R., so everyone who matters calls him the Dr. He’s the next head of the Roys family, Alex. The future Chief Commander."
Alex’s breath caught in his throat. His mind scrambled through everything he knew about the capital’s hierarchy. The Roys family was untouchable. And the man who had just stood inches away from him, telling him his father spoke highly of him, was the apex predator of that bloodline.
"He... he said he would handle Jake himself," Alex stammered, the realization finally hitting him.
"Exactly," Timber said, a smug, dark smile returning to his face as he straightened his tie. "I don’t know why he’s tracking Rivers, but if the Dr. is taking an interest in your data division, your little mistake on the mezzanine doesn’t matter anymore. Get yourself cleaned up, Alex. The game just got a lot bigger."
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The quiet rustle of shifting chairs and the low murmur of conversation in the hall began to fade as the stage lights brightened. Minister Troy Husks stepped up to the mahogany podium, tapping the microphone to signal the start of the night’s closing address.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as we wrap up this evening’s distinguished gathering, I want to emphasize the importance of strategic alignment between our commercial infrastructure and state compliance—"
At Table Nine, Adrian didn’t even look toward the stage. He calmly slid his leather cardholder into his inner vest pocket and checked his luxury watch. He looked at Jake, giving a slight nod.
"Let’s move," Adrian said, his voice entirely flat and clear under the swell of the Minister’s amplified voice.
Without a second glance at the stage or the surrounding tables, Jake stood up. He buttoned his charcoal-grey suit jacket with an unhurried, smooth precision. Beside him, Marcus calmly closed his phone, sliding it into his pocket, while Noah and Leon stood up, adjusting their cuffs.
The collective movement of all five core figures at Table Nine instantly drew eyes.
In a high-society banquet where protocol was everything, leaving right as a senior Minister began the closing state address was a massive, blatant insult. It was the corporate equivalent of slapping the Ministry of Commerce across the face in public.
"Are they actually leaving right now?" a senior board director from a rival infrastructure firm whispered at a neighboring table, his wine glass freezing halfway to his mouth. "During Husks’s speech? They have no respect for the bureaucracy."
"Look who it is," his colleague muttered, watching Jake’s tall frame lead the group toward the center aisle. "That’s Aurelia Capital’s inner circle. They aren’t even pretending to play nice anymore."
As Jake walked past the middle seating tiers, his posture relaxed and his gaze fixed straight ahead, the hushed gossip rippled through the crowd like wildfire. Guests leaned across their tables, their eyes tracking the group’s synchronized exit. Some looked completely scandalized by the sheer arrogance of the move, while others looked on with a tense, quiet awe. Aurelia Capital wasn’t just breaking etiquette; they were signaling to the entire room that the Ministry’s proceedings were beneath their time.
Up on the stage, Minister Troy Husks caught the movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes locked onto Jake’s departing silhouette, and his voice faltered for a microsecond. A sharp line of absolute fury tightened his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the podium. He had to force himself to keep reading from his notes, his face flushing a dangerous dark crimson under the stage lights as the very people he wanted to freeze walked out of his pavilion completely unscathed.
The heavy, soundproof double doors of the grand hall clicked open as the security detail rushed to pull them back for the group.
As they stepped out into the cool, marble-lined lobby of the Grand Pavilion, the stifling atmosphere of the banquet vanished. The clicking of their dress shoes echoed sharply against the high ceilings.
"The media teams are stationed right past the main glass doors," Noah warned, looking through the massive front windows where the flashing lights of the paparazzi were already cutting through the dark Friday night. "They’re waiting for a statement on the tender audit."
"Ignore them," Adrian said, his voice cold and unyielding as they approached the exit. "Don’t stop for photos, and don’t give them a single word. Jake, text your legal team to have the final Steel Refinery environmental variance draft ready by 8:00 AM tomorrow."
"Already on it," Jake replied, his thumbs moving swiftly across his phone as the grand entrance doors slid open, letting in the sharp chill of the autumn air and the immediate barrage of camera flashes.
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