Chapter 211: Wrong Move

Chapter 211: Chapter 211: Wrong Move

The massive iron gates of the Roys estate swept open in silence, closing behind Alex Livingston’s BMW M4 like the jaws of a trap.

He drove up the winding, cobblestone driveway, surrounded by dense, ancient woodland that seemed entirely detached from the rest of the capital. The main manor loomed ahead—a towering structure of grey limestone and floor-to-ceiling glass that screamed absolute, generational wealth.

Alex parked in the circular courtyard, his hands tightening on the steering wheel for a brief second before he stepped out. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He had received a personal invitation from Derrick Roys earlier that afternoon—a message delivered directly by a private courier. He still had no idea why he had been invited. His family was wealthy, but compared to the Roys family, they were practically middle-class.

A butler waiting on the broad marble steps greeted him with a polite, stiff bow. "Mr. Livingston. Young Master Derrick is waiting for you in the west lounge. Please follow me."

Alex followed the man through towering halls lined with priceless art and polished marble floors. Every corner of the estate radiated quiet power. It wasn’t loud or ostentatious; it was a fortress built by people who didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

The butler paused at a pair of heavy walnut doors, pushing them open gently. "Mr. Livingston is here, Master Derrick."

The room inside was a massive, dimly lit executive lounge. Derrick Roys sat on a dark leather sofa by a roaring fireplace, wearing a dark bespoke suit without a tie, looking relaxed yet rigid in his posture.

When he saw Alex enter, Derrick set his glass down on the table and stood up, a warm, polite smile spreading across his face.

"Alex," Derrick said, his smooth baritone voice filling the room as he extended a hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Alex stepped forward, shaking the man’s hand with a firm, careful grip. He kept his expression guarded, cautious not to come across as overly eager or disrespectful. "It’s an honor to be invited, Mr. Roys. Thank you for having me."

Derrick let out a low chuckle, waving his hand as he gestured toward the plush armchair across from him. "Please, sit. And don’t call me Mr. Roys. That’s my father’s title, and unless you’re looking to discuss military budget revisions with a man who hasn’t smiled since the nineties, ’Derrick’ will do just fine."

"Right. Derrick," Alex corrected himself, settling into the armchair. He smoothed down the front of his suit jacket, his mind racing as he tried to read the man sitting across from him.

A waiter stepped into the room from a side door, holding a silver tray. Derrick looked over at Alex. "Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey? Espresso? Or perhaps something cold?"

"An iced espresso is fine, thank you," Alex said evenly.

Derrick nodded to the waiter, who quietly withdrew. Once the door clicked shut, Derrick reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a thick, leather-bound document, and set it down on the glass table directly in front of Alex.

The heavy gold lettering on the front cover immediately caught Alex’s eye: Northern Freight Corridor - Trade & Logistics Authorization Grant.

Alex’s breath hitched in his throat. He stared at the document, his eyes wide. The Northern Freight Corridor was the single largest logistics contract the Ministry of Commerce had put up for tender this decade. It was the exact contract Duke Timber and Troy Husks were desperately trying to secure to regain their footing.

"If you want it," Derrick said casually, leaning back into his seat and resting his ankle over his knee, "it’s yours."

Alex didn’t immediately reach for the file. His eyes darted from the gold lettering back to Derrick’s calm, analytical face.

’Why?’ Alex thought, his brow furrowing as a wave of intense skepticism washed over him. ’This contract is worth billions in guaranteed government revenue over the next fifteen years. Nobody hands something like this over out of goodwill. What is he playing at?’

"I don’t understand," Alex said slowly, choosing his words with extreme care. "A contract of this scale... why give it to the Livingston family? What do you want in return?"

Derrick smiled. It wasn’t a malicious smile, but rather the relaxed, confident expression of a predator watching a young animal try to figure out a puzzle.

"I want nothing from you, Alex," Derrick replied simply, spreading his hands. "And to be completely frank with you, even if I did, there isn’t much a young man in your current position could offer me."

Alex’s jaw tightened slightly at the blunt assessment, but he didn’t voice his irritation. Instead, he stared at the document, processing Derrick’s words.

’He wants nothing... because I have nothing he needs right now,’ Alex realized, the pieces suddenly falling into place in his mind. ’He isn’t looking for a trade. He’s grooming me. He wants to build me up into an asset that owes him.’

A sharp burst of prideful pride flared in Alex’s chest. He hated the thought of being someone else’s project, of being looked down upon as a charity case. But as his mind flashed to Jake Rivers—to the smug, unbothered way Jake had looked down on him during the banquet, to the overwhelming financial wave Golden Investments was riding—Alex swallowed his pride.

’If taking this contract gives me the muscle to stand on the same level as Rivers... I don’t care what Derrick’s long-term play is,’ Alex thought bitterly. ’I need this.’

"That’s exceptionally generous," Alex said, his tone steadying as he met Derrick’s eyes.

"Actually," Derrick added, casually tapping the glass table, "there is a second logistics tender tied to the northern rail network. But as things stand today, your family’s core infrastructure firm simply doesn’t have the capital depth or administrative capacity to manage two massive state contracts at once."

Derrick paused, tilting his head slightly as if considering a minor technicality. "Of course... that balance sheet would look entirely different if the Livingstons were to formally execute a corporate merger with the Brodick family."

He looked directly at Alex, his sharp eyes pinning him. "So... perhaps you should speed up your wedding."

Alex’s breath caught again. ’He knows about the merger details? He’s really thought this entire line through...’

A surge of confidence replaced Alex’s earlier doubts. Derrick Roys wasn’t just throwing him a bone; he was actively paving a path for him to rise. He was serious about backing him.

"The merger is already locked in," Alex said, a sharp, determined edge entering his voice. "Our legal teams are finalizing the paperwork by next week. And the wedding is actually set for tomorrow evening."

Alex reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an elegant, gold-embossed invitation card, and carefully slid it across the table. "If your schedule permits, I would be deeply honored if you attended."

Derrick picked up the card, glancing at the gold print before offering a light, approving nod. "Congratulations in advance, Alex. But I wouldn’t want to draw attention away from the newlyweds on their big day. If I find a break in my schedule tomorrow night, I’ll drop by."

Derrick then reached beside his chair and pulled out a plain, unsealed white envelope, placing it on top of the heavy leather document.

"Consider this your second contract—and my personal wedding gift to you," Derrick said softly.

Alex looked down at the white envelope. The sheer weight of what was happening began to settle in. Two massive state tenders, handed to him in a quiet room over coffee. Without opening the envelope, Alex leaned forward, picked up both documents, and placed them neatly on the table next to him.

"Thank you, Derrick," Alex said sincerely, looking the older man in the eye. "I really appreciate this."

Derrick let out a light chuckle, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. "You’re not even going to check what’s inside the envelope?"

Alex closed his briefcase with a clean snap. "There’s no need. I trust your word."

Derrick laughed, a genuine, amused sound that echoed through the quiet lounge. "Fair enough, Alex. Fair enough."

A few minutes later, Alex bowed politely and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the marble hallway as the butler escorted him back out toward his car.

Derrick remained seated on the leather sofa, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip. He stared into the fire, a faint, thoughtful smirk playing on his lips.

’An ambitious young man with a chip on his shoulder,’ Derrick thought. ’So easy to push in whatever direction you want.’

The heavy walnut doors creaked open again.

Elizabeth walked into the lounge. She was wearing a perfectly tailored ivory suit, her dark hair falling gracefully over her shoulders. Contrary to her usual cold, distant demeanor when dealing with her brother, her lips were curved into a warm, almost radiant smile, and her posture was relaxed.

"Well, well," Elizabeth said softly, stepping over to the bar cart and pouring herself a glass of chilled sparkling water. "Look at you, playing mentor to the local nobility."

Derrick turned his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her bright, cheerful mood. It was completely unnatural. Elizabeth only ever acted this bubbly around him when she was either trying to extract a major political favor or when she was convinced she had backed him into a corner.

"You’re in a surprisingly pleasant mood," Derrick remarked dryly, leaning his head back against the sofa cushions. "Did someone repeal the corporate tax laws, or did you finally find yourself a boyfriend?"

Elizabeth took a delicate sip of her water, leaning against the edge of the mahogany bar. "Can’t a girl just enjoy a quiet afternoon in her own home without being cross-examined?"

Derrick watched her for two solid seconds. He knew her better than anyone alive. ’She did something,’ he thought, his sharp instincts sounding an immediate alarm. ’She’s far too pleased with herself.’

Before he could demand an answer, the heavy silver phone sitting on the side table began to buzz softly.

Derrick glanced down at the illuminated screen. The caller ID displayed a private, high-encryption line—a number reserved for less than three people in the entire Republic.

His relaxed posture vanished in an instant. His face hardened, every trace of warmth evaporating into absolute, rigid seriousness. He looked up at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth didn’t flinch. Her smile only widened slightly, her eyes twinkling with triumph as she casually swirled her glass.

Derrick picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear, his voice dropping into a tone of quiet, unyielding respect. "Yes, Sir."

He didn’t speak another word. For thirty seconds, Derrick simply listened to the deep, authoritative voice speaking on the other end of the line. His jaw tightened once, his eyes fixing coldly on the floor, but he offered no argument, no pushback, and no excuses.

"Understood, Sir. I will depart for the northern border tonight," Derrick said plainly. "Yes, Sir. Good day."

He ended the call and set the phone back onto the table with a soft click.

The silence in the lounge was deafening.

Elizabeth took another slow sip of her water, looking at him with mock curiosity. "My goodness, Derrick... whoever could that have been to make the terrifying future Chief Commander look like a disciplined cadet?"

Derrick stood up slowly. He didn’t look angry, but the air around him had turned frigid. He buttoned his suit jacket with deliberate, slow movements, staring directly into his sister’s eyes.

"Stop playing games, Lizzy," Derrick said, his baritone voice dangerously low. "You actually called Father on me? Over a pawn?"

Elizabeth set her glass down on the bar with a sharp, clear click. The bubbly, cheerful facade vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, fierce authority that made her feared throughout the capital’s political circles.

"He’s my pawn, Derrick," Elizabeth corrected him coldly, taking a step toward him. "And none of this would have happened if you had simply stayed out of my way like I told you to."

’She actually pulled Father into something as small as this,’ Derrick thought, his mind rapidly assessing the strategic board. ’She went behind my back the moment I mentioned testing Rivers. She really is terrified I’ll crush him.’

A slow, dark chuckle escaped Derrick’s throat. He shook his head, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"I was actually planning on letting the boy be," Derrick said softly, stepping closer to her. "I was going to let him build his little financial playground in peace while I handled some military logistics. But seeing just how desperately you’re trying to protect him... seeing how much you actually care about Jake Rivers..."

Derrick paused, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "...maybe I really do need to make a move or two."

Elizabeth’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, a sudden, sharp spike of frustration and dread piercing through her chest.

She knew her brother. Derrick Roys was not a man who bluffed. When he was annoyed, he was dangerous; when he was genuinely intrigued, he was relentless. By using their father to force him out of the capital, she hadn’t sidelined him—she had turned Jake Rivers into Derrick’s primary target.

"Derrick, I’m warning you," Elizabeth said, her voice dropping into a lethal, trembling whisper. "Stay away from him. Don’t touch what’s mine, or I swear—"

"Or else what?" Derrick interrupted, his tone light, almost playful, completely cutting her off.

He leaned down slightly, looking into her icy eyes with a condescending smile. "You’ve already played your grandest card, Lizzy. You ran to Father to order me back to the northern line. You’ve used your turn. Now... it’s time for me to play mine."

Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her jaw trembled with pure, unadulterated frustration, but no words came out. She had no counter-move left to stop him from taking action once he returned.

Derrick chuckled softly, enjoying the rare sight of his sister completely outmaneuvered by her own panic. He turned and began walking toward the grand exit of the lounge.

As his hand touched the brass door handle, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"When I come back from the border," Derrick said smoothly, "there are going to be a lot of unlucky people getting caught in a game they never even knew they were playing—all because you panicked, little sister."

His smile faded, his face settling into a sharp, cold expression as he looked at her.

"Honestly, Lizzy... I’m disappointed in you," Derrick said quietly. "I really thought I taught you better than to meddle in my affairs."

He turned his head toward the door, taking a single step before tossing one last sentence over his shoulder, his voice completely void of emotion.

"You really should visit your best friend’s grave more often. Maybe then you won’t forget how dangerous it is to get attached to things you can’t keep."

He opened the door and stepped out, the heavy walnut doors clicking shut behind him, leaving Elizabeth standing entirely alone in the massive, freezing silence of the lounge.

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