Bastian Thorn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The sealed ruling still lay on Victoria's desk. She had told Bastian to sit and name his price. But her eyes measured him, not the document, and Bastian knew the deal could still slip away. If he asked for the wrong thing, she would push the box back and show him the door. He needed to know what she truly wanted before he spoke. So he stalled. He proposed they finish this somewhere neutral. Victoria studied him, then agreed. That evening they met at a rooftop lounge, glass railings ringing the tables, lanterns swinging in the wind. Below them the city glowed. Victoria came with two others. The first was her assistant, a small woman in glasses who never set down her tablet. She poured Victoria's water before Victoria reached for it. "The eastern route figures, ma'am," she said, sliding the screen over. She knew every number Victoria cared about. Bastian watched her and understood she knew what her boss wanted too. The second guest confused him. A soft-spoken woman in a wrinkled beige blazer stood at the bar's edge, holding coffee she did not drink. No one introduced her. She had no papers, no title, no reason to be there. She only listened. Bastian opened with money. He offered Victoria the larger share of the new deepwater profits. Victoria's face went flat. "Is that all," she said. It was not a question. He had guessed wrong, and she reached for her coat. Then the assistant spoke, quiet and careful. "Ten years, Mr. Thorn. She fought for these rights for ten years. Not for the profit." She glanced at Victoria, waiting to be stopped. Victoria did not stop her. "For the name. So no one could ever grant or deny her passage again." Bastian understood. Victoria did not want a bigger cut. She wanted to never need permission again. She wanted the ruling in her own hands, made permanent, her name on the record forever. He pushed the sealed box across the table. "Then take it," he said. "The rights go under your name alone. Not mine. I don't want a piece of your fleet. I want to build the next thing with you, as partners, on new ground we make together." Victoria stopped moving. She looked at the box, then at him, and something in her shoulders eased. "You listened," she said. She drew a pen from her coat and signed the partnership terms on her assistant's tablet. She turned the screen to him. Bastian signed beneath her name. The deal was real now, binding, done. But as he set down the pen, the woman in the beige blazer slipped from the bar and vanished down the stairs. She had heard every word of a private deal. Victoria followed her with a hard stare. "Who was that," Bastian asked. Victoria's jaw tightened. "I thought she was yours."