Liam’s POV

The silence was the loudest thing in the building.

I stepped off the elevator and into the twelfth-floor executive lobby of Veriton Dynamics, and every pair of eyes behind glass office doors or cubicle partitions darted toward me. Then back to their screens. Pretending. Horribly.

Even the receptionist — usually robotic in her tone — stammered out, “Good morning, Mr. Prescott” as though saying my name would somehow summon the axe faster.

They know who I am.

They know what I do.

The headlines had already made their rounds three days before the acquisition was finalized.

“Liam Acquires Veriton: What Will Survive?” CNBC called it.

“Vulture or Visionary?” asked the tabloids.

I didn’t bother correcting them. You don’t get to choose the myths people tell about you — only the results you leave behind.

And I have a habit of leaving results.

Three years ago, I bought a consumer electronics firm that was bleeding out faster than its press releases could deny it. Laid off 50% of staff. What remained became a streamlined engine. Profitable in 18 months. I did it again in textiles. Then healthcare tech. Every time the same pattern: layoffs, restructure, profit.

Now Veriton is mine.

It made sense on paper. A legacy manufacturing company with outdated logistics, bloated payrolls, and more VPs than viable product lines. But the bones were good. Strong supply chain roots. Loyal  accounts. Deep patents. They just hadn’t adapted — and they were paying the price.

I didn’t come here to gut it. Not if I didn’t have to.

But they don’t know that. Not yet.

As I made my way to the glass-walled corner office that used to belong to Ellis Vance  the now-former CEO. I could feel the weight of tension thick in the air.

Conversations halted as I passed by. The sound of typing slowed down. Phones were answered in hushed tones. Nobody was relaxed.

No one knew if they’d still be here tomorrow.

Good.

Fear isn’t the goal. But it’s serves as a powerful motivator and clarity never comes without tension.

The office was bare, my new office . Vance had taken everything he owned. I don’t blame him. He built this place, then drove it into the ground with the arrogance of someone who still thought he mattered.

A knock.

“Come in.” I replied.

It was Nora Hayes, HR Director, looking as though she hadn’t slept in a week — probably hadn’t.

“Morning, Mr. Prescott. We’ve had… several teams request clarity about the future of their divisions.”

She didn’t say it, but I heard what she meant: “They’re scared. You’ve done this before. We’re expecting the worst.”

I nodded and gestured to the chair across from my desk. She hesitated before sitting.

“I’ll be addressing everyone at 10 a.m. in the main auditorium,” I said. “Transparency starts now. But we’ll do it my way.”

Nora looks relieved.

“There are rumors already,” she said. “About departments getting cut. Some are updating résumés during work hours. One manager in R&D locked himself in his office.”

I leaned forward. “Let them panic. That’s not your job to fix. Just hold the line.”

She blinked. “And what is my job right now?”

I offer a honest smile.

“To help me identify which 30% of this place is dead weight and which 10% is the reason we’re keeping the doors open.”

Her face tightened. She wasn’t used to bluntness.

I wasn’t here to be liked.

The main hall held about 300 seats. Nearly every one was filled, and the few standing near the back gave me the same wary look I’d seen all morning.

I stood on the stage with a single microphone.

“Let’s get straight to it,” I begin. No greetings. No preambles. “Yes, I’ve acquired Veriton Dynamics. Yes, I have a reputation. No, I’m not here to confirm your worst fears — yet.”

A ripple of uneasy chuckles spread across the room. Nervous laughter always shows you who’s still hoping.

“I bought this company because it has potential. Not because I enjoy taking it apart. That said—” I paused, scanning faces “—we can’t pretend things are working. You’ve seen the numbers. The decline in contracts. The lawsuits. The delays. We’re fifteen percent less efficient than the industry average. That’s not sustainable.”

I could see the older managers stiffen. They hated numbers used like knives. They liked playing it safe, well that’s about to change.

“I’m not making decisions today. Not all of them. But layoffs will happen.”

Murmurs. Audible tension. A woman in the back row stood up abruptly and walked out. No one stopped her.

“Here’s the difference this time,” I continued. “When I make cuts, I do it fast, and I do it once. No slow death by attrition. No two-year death march. Within three weeks, we will restructure this company from the inside out.”

Silence. Total silence.

“But if you’re still in this room when it’s done, you’ll know two things. One, that you’re part of what makes Halston worth saving. And two, that this company has a future again.”

I stepped down.

By noon, the building was a hive of whispered speculation and corporate paranoia. I’d left the office and taken the stairs down three flights just to feel the rhythm of the place. Watch people when they didn’t know I was watching.

I passed the break room — dead quiet.

In the open sales bullpen, two junior staffers pretended to discuss numbers while sneakily scrolling job boards on a second screen.

IT was silent. Phones buzzed, but no one picked them up.

I stepped into R&D. A young engineer looked up, recognized me, and flinched so hard she nearly knocked over her monitor.

“You’re Emily?” I asked.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You’re the one who filed the patent draft for that modular shipping latch system?”

Her eyes went wide. “You read that?”

“Twice,” I said. “It’s good work.”

She didn’t know whether to smile or panic.

“Don’t update your résumé just yet.”

And then I walked on.

My office was dim now, the city a dull glow through the window. The building had half-emptied. Still, I could hear clusters of voices on a floor below. People strategizing. Plotting. Grieving. Hoping.

I welcomed it.

Change, real change, always begins in chaos. And I had thrown the first stone.

There would be fallout. Some good people would go. Some bad ones would stay — for a while. But Halston would survive. More than that, it would become something new.

Not because I was a savior. But because I knew the truth that no one liked to admit:

Sometimes the company that needs saving has to burn before it can rise. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

And it’s a good thing i’ve never been afraid of fire.

It’s been five years since grandfather’s people found me after I went missing when I was 3 years old .

I’ve never gone into the details of what my life was like all those years and most importantly never mentioned her.

It has been four years since he issued the succession war that whoever has the most personal achievements in a span of five years becomes the heir to Prescott Empire.

It’s been in the family for generations so I understand his reason for wanting to pass it on to the most capable one.

Though that doesn’t stop my cousins from trying to sabotage my work. My grandfather Alister Prescott took over the company at 27 and made it better, he could have passed it on to one of his children but apparently none of them sparked his interest.

My dad would rather be a prosecutor than a CEO though I can’t say that I blame him. My uncle Douglas, though he can’t admit it has no mind for business.

He still works at the company but it’s an open secret that he isn’t becoming the next CEO and Aunt Cassandra would rather keep her hands free from all these shenanigans, can’t say I can say the same about her husband though but grandpa would rather skip a generation than pass the family business on to an outsider.

The participants in the succession race include me and my Cousins Theodore and Adrian are my uncle’s kids apparently he thinks having more people on his side increases his odds at winning.

Then there’s Marcus who is my Cousin from my aunt’s side, though I know he is the only one whom I consider competition.

After a hard day’s work, I head back home to unwind. As I step into my house I am greeted by the silence, just the way I like it. I walk in the direction of my liquor cabinet to pour myself a drink.

Then proceed to take a sit on the custom Italian leather armchair still dressed in the suit I wore to the office.

As I leans back, glass in hand, eyes unfocused. One leg over the other.

A fleeting memory comes to mind, something that feels like it happened a whole other lifetime ago.