The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 90- Other Perspectives

AUTHOR

The air in the Rimestone Co. boardroom was thick and stale, smelling of expensive coffee, polished mahogany, and cold fear. The long, gleaming table was a battlefield, and the soldiers—executives and minor shareholders—sat stiffly in their leather thrones, their faces masks of practiced concern.

At the head of this dying empire sat Shunsuke Rimestone.

He was remarkably composed, a statue of cold authority in a custom Kiton suit. But beneath the surface, a volcano of rage was brewing. His company, his life’s work, was bleeding out, its value draining away by the hour.

And he knew exactly who was holding the knife: that gardener’s son, Reomen Daki, and his own treacherous daughter. The thought was a poison in his veins.

"The simple fact is, Shunsuke," a bald man named Higgins was saying, his voice reedy with nerves, "we need a liquidity injection. A massive one. The lenders are getting skittish. The stock price is in freefall. We must consider a merger, a buyout... something."

A murmur of agreement traveled around the table. These were men and women with small, petty shares, their fortunes and their futures tied to a ship they now saw was sinking.

Fools, Shunsuke thought, his face a mask of stone. Spineless, bleating sheep. They couldn’t see the larger game. This wasn’t about money; it was about legacy. It was about power. And he would not let a pair of upstart children steal his from him.

His eyes flicked to the empty chair reserved for Yamada Fujii. Where was he? Yamada’s thirty percent was the anchor, the one solid block of loyalty he could still count on to crush any dissent in this room.

"A merger is a sign of weakness," Shunsuke stated, his voice cutting through the nervous chatter. It was calm, but it carried the sharp edge of a blade. "We are Rimestone. We do not beg. We acquire."

"With what capital?" a woman named Adebayo shot back, her frustration breaking through her professional facade. "Our assets are leveraged, our credit lines are strained. We are fighting ghosts! Daki Tech isn’t even making hostile moves anymore; the market is just... abandoning us! It’s a whisper campaign, and it’s working."

It’s not a whisper campaign, Shunsuke seethed internally. It’s a targeted annihilation. He could feel Reomen’s hand in every plummeting stock tick, could see Paige’s brilliant, traitorous mind in every negative press leak. They were orchestrating his ruin from the shadows, and these idiots in this room were too blind to see it.

He could stand it no longer. He needed his general. He snatched his phone from the table, the movement unnaturally sharp. All conversation ceased as he pressed the phone to his ear, the eyes of every person in the room locked on him.

The line rang once, twice.

"Yamada," Shunsuke said, his tone forcibly even. "The meeting has begun. As a major shareholder, your presence is required. When will you be here?"

There was a brief pause on the other end. Shunsuke expected immediate obedience, the usual respectful assurance.

"Shunsuke," Yamada’s voice came through, calm and strangely distant. "My apologies for the delay. Do start without me."

Shunsuke’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the phone. Start without him? That was not the response of a loyal ally. That was the tone of a man who had already checked out.

"We are discussing the revision of shares and our future," Shunsuke pressed, a hint of steel entering his voice. "Your vote is critical."

Another pause, this one heavier, more deliberate.

"I understand," Yamada said. "And I am on my way. I will be there... to cast my vote."

The line went dead.

Shunsuke slowly lowered the phone, placing it carefully back on the table. A cold trickle of unease, the first he had allowed himself to feel, dripped down his spine. ’To cast my vote.’ Not ’to support you.’ Not ’to save the company.’ Just... to cast his vote.

The other shareholders watched him, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. The confident king on his throne now seemed... uncertain. The foundation of the room, once so solid, gave a terrifying lurch.

"Well?" Higgins prompted, his voice small. "Is Yamada coming?"

Shunsuke didn’t answer. He stared at the empty chair, his mind racing, re-evaluating every assumption. He had believed Yamada’s shares were his failsafe. But a terrifying new thought was beginning to form, a monstrous possibility he had refused to even consider.

The twenty minutes felt like twenty hours. The boardroom’s grand clock ticked with agonizing slowness. Shunsuke’s composure, once a solid wall, now had hairline fractures.

He snapped at a junior executive for misquoting a figure, his voice a whip-crack in the tense silence. Every second Yamada was absent felt like a small victory for his unseen enemies.

When the door finally opened, a collective, subtle relief washed over the shareholders. Yamada Fujii walked in, his expression unreadable, his movements calm and deliberate. He offered a slight, general nod to the room and took his seat, the empty chair no longer a symbol of absence but a new, unsettling presence.

"You’re late," Shunsuke said, the words tight and clipped. It was an accusation, not a greeting. He needed to reassert control, to remind everyone—especially Yamada—who was in charge.

Yamada settled into his chair, arranging a notepad before him with infuriating calm. "My apologies. I was... caught up." He did not elaborate. He did not offer a reason about traffic or a prior meeting. The vagueness was a deliberate shield.

Caught up? Shunsuke’s mind screamed. Caught up with what? With whom? The cold trickle of unease he’d felt earlier now became a steady stream. This was not the behavior of his most loyal supporter. This was the behavior of a man with a secret.

"We’ve wasted valuable time," Shunsuke complained, his voice echoing in the too-quiet room. "We are in the middle of a crisis, and you are ’caught up’."

Yamada finally looked at him, and his eyes were not those of a friend or ally. They were the eyes of a banker assessing a failing investment. "The crisis will not be solved by a few minutes, Shunsuke. Patience."

He then did something that sent a fresh jolt of alarm through Shunsuke. He glanced at his watch. A quick, discreet flick of his eyes. Then he did it again two minutes later.

Why is he watching the clock? Shunsuke thought, his paranoia spiking. Is he waiting for something? For the market to close? For news to break?

The meeting dragged on. They talked about asset liquidation, restructuring, everything. Yamada participated, but his contributions were vague, non-committal.

He spoke in circles, asking questions that led nowhere, offering solutions that solved nothing. He was a placeholder, a ghost at the table, his true attention focused on the passage of time.

Finally, Shunsuke had enough. The charade was over. It was time to force a vote, to use Yamada’s shares to push through his own desperate plan for a merger—a merger that would save his face, if not his company.

"I think we have deliberated enough," Shunsuke announced, his voice cutting off a meandering point from Higgins. "We are running out of time and options. Let’s call the vote. All in favor of the proposed merger with the Orion Group—"

"Why the rush?"

Yamada’s voice was calm, but it cut through the room like a knife. All eyes turned to him. He was leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled, looking for all the world like a man who had all the time in the world.

"The company is bleeding, Yamada," Shunsuke said, his patience evaporating. "This is not a rush. This is triage."

"And sometimes," Yamada countered softly, "rushing leads to amputation when a bandage would suffice. I see no harm in waiting a few more moments. Perhaps... for other perspectives to arrive."

Other perspectives. The words hung in the air, chilling and ambiguous.

Shunsuke’s blood ran cold. The pieces were clicking into a horrifying picture. Yamada’s lateness. His vague answers. His constant watch-checking. He wasn’t just distracted. He was stalling.

"Why the wait?" Shunsuke’s voice was low, dangerous. He was losing control of his own boardroom, and he could feel it slipping away. "What are you waiting for, Yamada?"

He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table, ready to demand the vote proceed, to reclaim his authority by force of will.

Click.

The sound of the boardroom door opening was soft, but in the dead silence, it was as loud as a gunshot.

Every single head turned.

And there they stood.

Paige Isumi Rimestone, in a sharp black blazer, her chin held high, her eyes blazing with a cold fire. And beside her, a wall of dark, intimidating power, Reomen Daki. They were a united front, a perfectly matched pair of predators who had just walked into the henhouse.

For a moment, there was absolute silence, broken only by a sharp, shocked intake of breath from one of the shareholders.

Then, from the head of the table, Yamada Fujii let out a soft, audible sigh of pure relief. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips as he looked at the two people who held his future.

"Finally," he said, his voice clear and carrying in the stunned quiet. "I was beginning to think you two wouldn’t show."

The trap, carefully laid and patiently waited for, had finally sprung. And Shunsuke Rimestone was right in the center of it.