CHAPTER 97: AIR TELECOM.

The maple leaves rattled like soft applause as Miles ran. Morning light threaded through the branches in thin gold ribbons; the air tasted of sap and something like promise. He slowed as two familiar figures broke through the trees—Dion, steady as ever, and Flora, still carrying that calm that made everything feel less urgent.

Flora smiled, breath fogging in the cool air. "Last night I never saw you had a mini forest all to yourself. Maple trees and everything. This place is amazing."

Miles wiped his face with the back of his hand and returned the smile. "You should have taken a rest."

Dion shrugged and stretched. "Routine. Graveyard habits die slowly. I work out every morning. Keep your head clean."

Miles laughed, the sound light and easy for once. "That’s true, comrade."

Flora’s laugh followed, a bright ring that chased the last of the sleep from the morning. They fell into an easy stride together, the three of them moving across the dappled path like it was always meant to be this way.

By the time he reached Cinder Square the city had found its rhythm. Glass towers drank the sunlight, and traffic braided through avenues below. In his cabin June had already set up the floppy drive reading driver.

Miles sank into his chair, the floppy warm for a moment in his palm. He slid it into the reader and the monitor blinked awake. Lines of text and symbols flickered until a single document filled the screen: research notes, chemical diagrams, a careful hand that threaded logic and hypothesis through each page.

He read slowly, every line reassembling a past he had only half believed in. The formulas were precise, the thought process elegant and ruthless in its clarity.

"You were a genius, Dad," he said before he realized he had spoken aloud. His voice was softer than the sentence deserved. "You predicted things no one else saw coming."

June appeared at the doorway as if on the cadence of that moment, posture composed, eyes already listing the day ahead. "Good morning, boss," she said, folding into the room like she belonged to the light.

Miles did not look up immediately. He let the words on the screen sit with him a heartbeat longer. Then he turned and smiled at June. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

June returned the smile with the efficiency of someone who had learned to weather sleepless nights. "I slept well boss, The weapons and arms division will be shifted this evening. The floor plan and logistics are ready."

She inclined her head toward the file she carried and laid it on the desk. Miles ran his hand over the binder, the leather warm beneath his fingers. June opened it and the room filled with possibilities: acquisition targets, company histories, shareholder breakdowns.

"Here are the profiles you asked for," June said. "We did the due diligence. There are a few promising options."

Miles leafed through pages until his finger paused on one. He tapped the page and the big screen flared to life with the telecom’s logo and financials. The company was a leviathan in its field, towers of infrastructure and contracts that threaded continents together.

"This is Air Telecommunications," June explained, voice steady but alive. "One of the top network providers. Global reach, reliable cash flow, market cap in the billions. If we control this, we don’t just buy a company. We buy influence."

Miles let the word sit. Influence. He pictured networks of light, signals traveling across oceans, a possibility of leverage that reached far beyond balance sheets. "Who has a controlling stake?" he asked.

June tapped the screen and a table of shareholders spilled into view. "We need fifty-one percent to control it outright. No single party holds that share. If we approach the shareholders individually, offer them a clean exit or an attractive swap, we can assemble control without a hostile takeover."

A slow grin spread across Miles’s face, the expression of a man who had learned to see chessboards hidden beneath ordinary tables. "Target the shareholders separately. Offer them incentives they can’t refuse. Keep Monica in the loop at every step."

June nodded. "I’ll prepare the plan boss".

They worked through the morning with the practiced calm of people shaping futures out of paper and conversation. Outside, the city moved, oblivious to the quiet decisions that rearranged power like planets shifting orbit.

Office Cacafeteria

The cafeteria hummed like a comfortable engine, the clatter of cutlery and low conversations wrapping around them. Sunlight pooled on the tabletop where Miles had set his tray. April slid into the chair across from him, her smile easy but honest.

"May I sit here," she asked.

"Of course, have a seat," Miles said, pushing a napkin toward her.

She looked around for a beat, taking in the room of familiar faces—editors, anchors, technicians—then leaned forward as if confiding a small truth. "To be honest, I have never seen a workplace this happy. When the employees see you they actually light up."

Miles blinked, surprised and a little amused. "Really? Why though?"

April shrugged, cheeks tinting the barest shade. "You are a good chairman to us. You take care of us. Being successful at this age, people look up to you. Also, there are women who think about the young, handsome chairman all the time."

He coughed and tried to hide the grin. "Do I need to worry about my security, then?"

She laughed, the sound bright. "They are not going to eat you. Anyway, I am very thankful for this job."

Miles watched her for a moment. April had steadied the jewellery operations faster than anyone had expected.

"Are you doing well, though," he asked more softly.

"Yes," she answered, then added with a smaller smile, "June helps me a lot. And Mom is improving. Doctor Dwight says the recovery will take time but she is responding to treatment."

A weight seemed to lift from Miles. He folded his hands on the table and let himself feel the small victory. "Tell her I said hello," he said.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Around them the office world moved on—laughter at a nearby table, a late intern rushing past with an armful of scripts—but the pause felt like its own kind of work: building trust, creating space for people to breathe.

A soft buzz on Miles’s wrist snapped the moment. He glanced down, saw Monica’s name flash, and then looked up with a quick, businesslike shift in his face. "I need to take this," he said, rising. "Give me two minutes and then tell me about the new display you want for the Brightvale showcase."

April rose as well, smoothing the napkin on her lap. "You plan everything, Mr Sterling," she teased lightly.

Miles smiled, already moving. "Only the important things," he said, and stepped aside.

The cafeteria buzz fell away as Miles stepped into a quiet alcove, phone pressed to his ear.

"Yes Monica," he said.

"Boss, we have detected a strange pattern in the Pacific trade routes," Monica answered, her voice crisp over a faint bed of office noise.

"I am listening."

"We have been monitoring the coordinates of the old master’s base. A few cargo ships have been rerouting to skim that location before resuming course. It is not random. We pulled a month of data and the pattern repeats."

Miles paced to the glass "Is that relevant?"

"Yes boss. Manifest checks show the containers eventually reach different ports, scattered across regions. Another red flag. And it is almost entirely one shipping company. The detours were approved on paper, which suggests someone inside helped grease it."

"So he is moving something from the base," Miles said, eyes narrowing. "It sounds like he is producing something there."

"That is our read. We are already digging into the shipping company. I will push an update as soon as we have a solid lead."

"Any confirmation on the old master himself?"

"Not yet. No visual confirmation yet. If we strike now, we might hit empty steel and lose the trail."

Miles exhaled, a sharp breath fogging his reflection on the glass. "Then let him walk a few more days."

"Understood, boss."

The line clicked off. He slipped the phone into his pocket, jaw set, and walked back toward the hum of the cafeteria.

The lunch ended and the office hummed back to life, glass walls catching afternoon light like blades. Miles stepped into his cabin, skimmed the dashboards, and his mouth curved into a thin line.

"The money is pooling," he said, half to himself. "We need more power, not just profit."

A knock. June eased the door. "Boss, Mr. Dion and Miss Flora are here."

"See, a bigshot is sitting," Dion teased, dropping into a chair.

"Young chairman," Flora added, amused.

"You two are late," Miles said, deadpan.

"We went to see a house," Dion replied.

"So early? You can still stay at my place."

"I love it there," Flora said, "but we should find a home anyway."

"Sit. Have you found one yet?"

"Not really anything," Dion shrugged.

"I know a property dealer," Miles said. "I’ll connect you."

"Lifesaver," Dion grinned.

"Your office will be ready by evening," Miles continued. "Meet your team, feel the floor."

"I’m excited," Flora said. "First time doing something corporate."

"Me too," Dion admitted.

"I’ve got something to show you." Miles turned the screens on. Blueprints, timelines, secure stamps bloomed across the glass.

"What is this?" Dion leaned forward.

"Defence research project," Miles said. "A collaboration project with the government. Presidential approval."

"A private weapons development program for the government?" Flora’s voice steadied, curious and careful.

"Exactly."

"Right," Dion chuckled. "President’s favorite mercenary."

Flora shook her head, smiling. "I know that story."

"He also gave me a job," Miles added, casually.

"What do you mean?" Dion asked.

"Honorary general. Provincial army."

Flora blinked. "A general. Are you kidding me."

"Yess," Miles said, letting the softness of the word carry a grin.

"So you’re legally the most popular man," Dion said, mocking solemnly.

"I wouldn’t say that."

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

Flora let out a breath that was half laugh, half relief. "This is the most surprises I’ve had in two days in my entire life."

"But they’re good surprises," Dion said.

"Exactly," she replied, fingers brushing his.

"We will start working on the project soon" said Miles.

"I can’t wait" Dion replied.

They rose together. Plans waited.