Chapter 27 Thinking Bout Tomorrow
Chapter 27 Thinking Bout Tomorrow
The morning of the Zhang Holding Company board meeting arrived with a quiet, clinical precision. There was no thunder, no dramatic shift in the atmosphere—just the same gray Manhattan light creeping over the skyline, illuminating the sterile perfection of Leo’s study.
Leo didn't attend. He didn't need to be there to be felt. He had cast his votes through the Aethelgard proxy, a silent, legal ghost sitting at the mahogany table in his stead. While Zhang Wei was likely adjusting his tie and preparing for the most uncomfortable four hours of his career, Leo spent his morning training.
He didn't push for new skills or test the limits of Void Step. He simply drilled the basics, the rhythmic thrum of his blade through the air acting as a metronome for his thoughts. Afterward, he showered, ate a breakfast that Foxy actually approved of, and sat down to review the Zephyr Global Rotterdam contract amendment.
He focused on the clauses regarding logistics insurance and maritime law. He didn't check the clock. He didn't look toward the Zhang Tower, though it was visible from his window. He processed the board meeting the same way he processed a mission: from a cold, calculated distance. He knew exactly what was happening in that room. He knew the questions that were being asked, the way the air would taste like copper and desperation, and the way Wei’s jaw would tighten with every resolution read aloud.
He didn't show it, but he was there. He was the silence between the questions.
Maya’s updates began hitting his secondary device at 10:15 AM.
She was efficient, as always. Her contact inside the proxy firm provided a play-by-play that was professional, detached, and utterly devastating.
10:45 AM: Resolution 1 — CFO Appointment Review. Passed. 8-4 vote. Ming’s authority is officially under independent evaluation.
Leo read the text, his face a mask of indifference. He turned the page of the Rotterdam amendment.
11:30 AM: Resolution 2 — Independent Audit of Foundation Grants. Passed after heavy debate. Wei tried to block on grounds of proprietary confidentiality. Overruled by the board majority.
That was the pincer closing. With that audit, the trail Leo and Clara had laid would become part of the official record. It was no longer a leak; it was a discovery.
12:10 PM: Resolution 3 — Green Energy Subsidiary Governance Review. Tabled pending further documentation. Wei argued for a thirty-day window to provide internal logs.
A partial victory for Wei, but a hollow one. Tabling a resolution in this climate wasn't a win; it was just a stay of execution. It kept the story in the news for another month.
Foxy, who had been pacing the length of the sofa, finally stopped and jumped onto the coffee table, looming over the tablet. He looked at Leo, who hadn't so much as blinked at the news of Ming’s impending professional demise.
"You’re no fun," Foxy grumbled. "You should see what I’m seeing. I bet Ming looks like he’s swallowed a live eel. I imagine his face is doing that thing where the skin around his eyes gets all tight, and he’s probably sweating through a three-thousand-dollar shirt. 'But Chairman, the philanthropic legacy!'"
Leo didn't look up. "Stop."
Foxy went quiet for exactly two minutes. He groomed a paw. He looked out the window. Then: "And Wei? Oh, I bet Wei is a statue. He’s probably staring at the proxy representative like he’s trying to set them on fire with his mind. He’s wondering who owns the ghost. He’s wondering if the ghost is in the room with him right now."
Leo didn't tell him to stop the second time. The fox’s narration was a distraction, yes, but it was also a reminder of the humanity of the carnage. Behind the spreadsheets and the legal filings, people were breaking.
"Twelve o'clock," Leo said quietly, finally closing the Rotterdam file. "They’ll be breaking for lunch soon. Wei will try to make his calls now."
The intelligence network flagged the call at 1:22 PM.
Wei had retreated to his private study behind the boardroom. He had placed a call to a high-ranking contact within the regulatory agency—a man named Harrison who had been on the Zhang payroll in one way or another for fifteen years.
The report was brief: Call placed. No answer. Voicemail reached.
Wei called again at 1:28 PM. No answer.
On the third attempt at 1:35 PM, the call was finally picked up, but not by Harrison.
"Mr. Zhang," a polite, young assistant said, her voice sounding crisp and entirely too cheerful. "Director Harrison is currently in a series of sensitive briefings. He asked me to let you know that he will return any non-urgent inquiries by the end of the week."
Non-urgent.
Leo closed the report, the words echoing in his head. In the world Wei built, his calls were the definition of urgent. Being told to wait until Friday was more than a snub; it was a quarantine. It meant the Director had seen the wind changing. It meant someone—likely the "Aethelgard entity"—had already provided the agency with enough documentation to make Harrison’s friendship with Wei a liability instead of an asset.
Wei was already more isolated than he realized. The network of favors and "contributions" he’d spent thirty years weaving was snapping, one thread at a time. He was standing in a room with a hundred doors, only to find that every single one of them had been locked from the outside.
Leo didn't allow himself to feel the satisfaction. Not yet. Satisfaction led to complacency, and complacency was how people ended up in ditches. He simply picked up his pen and went back to the Rotterdam amendment, checking the font size on the addendum.
The sun had long since set when Leo decided to leave the penthouse.
He didn't call the driver. He didn't even bring Foxy, who looked offended as the door clicked shut. Leo just walked. He headed toward Midtown, moving through the thick, humid crowds that he usually avoided with a physical revulsion. He wanted the noise. He wanted to feel the sheer, overwhelming indifference of a city that didn't know who he was or what he was doing.
He ended up standing across the street from a restaurant—not the one where he’d crushed the seal, but another. One of those places with heavy velvet curtains and golden light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Through the window of a private dining room, he could see a group of people laughing. They were drinking wine, leaning in close, their faces relaxed in the particular way of people who have never had to fight for the right to exist.
He looked at them for a long time, expecting to feel a surge of triumph. He had spent four years working to dismantle the system that protected people like that. He was currently winning. The man who had tried to erase him was sitting in a darkened office right now, watching his legacy turn to ash.
But as Leo watched the dinner party, he didn't feel satisfied. He felt... tired.
It wasn't regret. He searched for it—poking at his conscience the way one might poke at a bruised rib—but there was nothing. He didn't feel sorry for Wei, or Ming, or the board. He didn't wish he’d stayed in the blizzard.
It was just the weight. The project was massive, and he was still in the middle of it. He was a man who had been running a marathon for four years, and while he could see the finish line, his lungs still burned. He wasn't the boy in the undershirt anymore, but he wasn't quite a person either. He was still a mission.
He turned away from the window and began the long walk back to the penthouse.
When he arrived, the apartment was silent. Foxy was draped across the "good" armchair, one eye cracked open to watch Leo enter. He didn't make a comment about the late hour or the lack of a snack.
Leo did something he never did: he put a kettle on. He made a cup of tea, the steam rising in the dimly lit kitchen, and sat on the couch in the dark.
It was quiet. Not the heavy, expectant silence of the storage room in the Bronx, but a good quiet. A clean one.
"You're thinking about tomorrow," Foxy murmured from the chair.
"I'm thinking about the next move," Leo replied.
"The audit starts tomorrow. The investigators will be at the Zhang Tower by nine."
"I know."
"You should sleep, Leo. Let the man rest."
Leo sipped his tea, watching the city lights flicker outside. He didn't feel like resting. He felt like he was finally, for the first time in four years, breathing the same air as everyone else.