Chapter 40 Smoke With A Fire
Mark’s POV
The TV light flickered against the glass walls of my office, washing everything in a cold, blue haze.
“The DNA test confirms it , Mark Simmons and Daniel Simmons share identical blood markers.”
The words from the anchor sliced through the silence like a blade.
On-screen, Daniel was shaking hands with the lab director, cameras flashing, microphones crowding around them.
His smile was clean, measured, and practiced. A man reclaiming a legacy that was never his to begin with.
I sat there, gripping the remote until my knuckles whitened. Each word from the reporter felt like another nail in the coffin.
“In light of recent corporate controversies, sources suggest the Simmons Group board might soon consider Daniel Simmons as the rightful successor…”
The screen blurred for a second. I didn’t realize I’d thrown the remote until it shattered against the wall.
He’d played me perfectly, from the inside.
The room spun with half-drunk memories of brotherhood that never existed.
All this time, I thought I had bought Daniel’s silence when I paid him to disappear.
But I hadn’t bought silence , I’d bought time. And now that time has run out.
Collins burst in without knocking. He looked as if he’d sprinted the whole way up the building.
“Sir, you need to see this.” He tossed a stack of documents onto the desk, his voice hoarse.
I flipped through them. My lawyer’s signature stared back at me, attached to a notice of share transfer approval.
“What the hell is this?”
“Daniel transferred seven percent of his shares to Davenport Holdings last week. That gives them near-majority control.”
I froze. The number hit me harder than the DNA reveal. Davenport now had control, not influence.
They were literally sharing the company in equal half with me.
For a long second, all I could hear was the faint hum of the air conditioner.
The empire I built from sweat, nights without sleep, and the illusion of loyalty was slipping into someone else’s hands.
“Can it be reversed?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Collins exhaled. “Not legally. But…” he hesitated, lowering his voice, “..I found something. Davenport used a proxy firm to buy those shares. I traced the payment chain; one of the accounts was routed through a blacklisted shell company.”
My pulse spiked. “Meaning?”
“If we expose that, the transfer becomes void. It’s technically a fraudulent acquisition.”
I looked up. “So, we hit back. Quietly.”
He nodded,
“But Sir,we will need enough funds to go through the process, the finance department don't have so much,”
“Meet Martins, Pull everything from the Lisbon account. I don’t care what it costs.”
“Sir, you were saving up for the mega project,”
“I said pull everything from the Libson account,” I stressed.
Collins didn’t argue. But when he turned toward the vault room, I caught a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
He didn't trust my decision.
The metallic click of the vault echoed through the office. Inside lay the emergency reserve I’d sworn never to touch , a fortune sealed behind reinforced glass, meant for worst-case scenarios.
This was it.
The worst case.
As Collins loaded the metal briefcase, I stared at the gold bars gleaming beneath the fluorescent light. They didn’t look like money.
All my sacrifice and blood over the years, I had to use it to save myself and the company.
“Once the buyout starts,” Collins said quietly, “Davenport will retaliate. Daniel too.”
“Let them,” I muttered. “I’m done being the prey.”
Hours later, I was on the plane, the city shrinking beneath the clouds.
I was flying over to Georgia, there was someone important I wanted to meet there.
The adrenaline had faded into something darker; exhaustion, maybe.
I leaned back, loosening my tie, staring blankly out the window. For the first time in years, I didn’t know what tomorrow looked like.
I was lost in the music world with my earbuds on .
The moment was interrupted with my message notification.
A voicemail from an unknown number.
“Who the heck want to ruin this moment,”
I frowned.
The signal flickered once, then the message auto-played.
At first, I only heard static. Then,
“Mark…”
Her voice. Becca’s.
My stomach clenched. She sounded out of breath, frightened.
“If you get this… please, don’t come for me.”
I could read the code beneath her message. She wanted me to come save her.
The cabin felt colder. Every muscle in me went still.
I turned up the volume, pressing the phone close.
In the background, there were muffled noises, maybe a car door slamming, or someone pacing.
Then I heard another masculine familiar voice.
“Keep her calm until the exchange.”
Daniel.
The message cut off with a faint gasp and the sound of footsteps retreating.
For a long, suspended moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Becca has been kidnapped.