Asher woke up a billionaire.
Technically, he hadn't slept. The night had been spent in the oversized penthouse armchair, drifting in and out of consciousness. The air still smelled like incense and expensive scotch... like Julian's ghost.
Outside, the city was waking up. As if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had.
Twelve billion, six hundred million dollars...in offshore accounts alone. Along with a business empire valued at a price he didn't dare look into. Every cent of it was tied to a man that no longer existed. Marrick was a myth now and Asher...he was left with the weight of this newfound wealth.
He stood, despite the protest of his stiff limbs and made his way to the bathroom. He stared in the mirror, realizing he had the same tired eyes. The same calloused hands. The same scar from the warehouse job that nearly took his right eye. But with a net worth that put him amongst the 1% of the country.
The mirror didn't show a different man, but it should have.
He washed his face over a basin that probably cost more than his rent. The briefcase still sat on the coffee table, contents intact.
He opened the red envelope again, even though he'd already memorized the numbers, the accounts, the keys and Julian's legacy neatly summarized in his leatherback journal.
There was a smaller card tucked into the final page, something he hadn't noticed last night.
~It's safe to say you're the talk of the town by now. With Vincent incarcerated, you have 72 hours to show up before the board sharks circle to determine succession. Move fast. Hire smart and trust no one~
Signed at the bottom was a side note from Julian.
~Before you consider hiding away in your pathetic existence and not showing up as my legal successor, letting one of those slimy old geezers take over my empire, remember, breaking a promise with a ghost is against Broker Union ethics~
And I'll be watching.
The warning veiled in the message sent a chill down Asher's spine. He exhaled slowly.
So, this was it.
He flipped to a blank page in the journal. Grabbing a pen, he wrote a short sentence.
'Death To Asher Knox '
Then he got to work.
---
A matte-black Kessler was waiting outside the tower. Along with a driver and a young man who looked to be in his late twenties.
The whole world now knew Asher Knox had taken over the rebranded empire, Knox Holdings. It had taken just one call to Beck, Ronin & Co. to set things in motion.
"Mr Knox." The young man greeted. "I'm Rick Tanner. Your assigned secretary from HR. George is your assigned driver."
"As instructed, Mr Hale's previous secretary and driver were reassigned to other departments."
Asher nodded. Julian had said to hire smart. After two decades, it was difficult to predict how much his empire had changed under Vincent Hale's leadership.
How many would be welcoming of Julian Marrick's protege?
He knew he couldn't fire everybody. But for those who would work closely with him, he had made careful selection from the company's website after extensively stalking their socials.
But it was best they never knew that. A coincidence was just right.
He got into the car and made to shut the door himself, but like a shadow over his mind, he could sense Julian's glare. His hand dropped to his side and he sat up straighter, letting Rick shut it instead.
"Ri...Mr Tanner. George." Asher said. "I don't think I have to say it, but we're in the same boat now. Sink or float. So I want to believe you didn't come empty handed."
George eyed him from the rearview mirror. Rick flashed a grin from the passenger's seat.
The drive to the Knox Holdings corporate tower was a silent one, save for Rick's detailed briefing. The streets on this side of the city were lined with buildings older than the country's last regime and newer than tomorrow's scandal. Every inch of the central district screamed of wealth and influence.
By the time George pulled up to the private executive entrance, the Knox logo gleamed like a blade in the morning sun.
They were already expecting him.
An assistant, barely older than twenty-five, dressed in a standard black suit, greeted him with a practiced smile on her face and a clipboard.
Her perfume flooded his senses. Most likely a limited edition, more expensive than her paycheck could likely afford.
It drew his mind back to Julian's journal entry 'How to identify spies'.
"Mr. Knox, welcome. The board is assembling. We've arranged for a walk-through and your first security briefing before the 9 a.m. succession call. Would you like coffee?"
"No," Asher said. His voice didn't tremble. "I want privacy. And a list of everyone who's been digging through Marrick's files."
The assistant's smile tightened. "Right away, sir."
The building's interior smelled like money and cold steel. Glass walls, obsidian floors, clean lines everywhere. A place designed for kings who smiled in press conferences and slit throats in boardrooms.
The elevator ride to the 71st floor was fast and silent. His reflection stared back at him from the polished chrome...still Asher. But not really.
The doors opened to a panoramic office. Not Julian's, but the new one prepped for the CEO. Everything gleamed. Every surface screamed precision and control. The city stretched out like a living map below.
He walked straight to the massive desk.
He could picture Julian sitting behind it, that cocky smirk on his lips like the world was beneath his feet.
"You've got seventy-two hours to bleed or bite, Knox. Everyone's watching. Especially the ones who smile to your face."
"You just wait and see." Asher sat.
There was no point questioning his sanity. He was a ghost broker, being sane wasn't a requirement.
He turned to the glass, watching the empire Julian had built. The empire he now owned.
He didn't feel powerful.
He felt hunted.
But he also felt ready.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the journal again.
He flipped to the next blank page.
First order of business: Cut the rot before it learns to smile.