The Hidden Tycoon

relu

eted down, heavy and gray, turning the glass wall

at the floor-to-ceiling glass, his hands resting lightly in the pockets of his tailored charcoal trousers. The fabric was spun from micro-gauge Italian woo

sed the Dunns family name, nor had he touched a single cent of the trust fund locked away in the family vaults. He had built his overseas logistics and ar

and possessed an eye that could spot

a heavy, gravelly voice echoed off the polishe

ach in the dark glass. The old man walked with a deliberate, heavy thud of his polished mahogany cane, h

ied softly, his voice a low, smooth baritone trained in the quiet art o

gainst the floor-a sharp crack that had terrified executives for forty years. "Your cousins are vultures, Lucian. They see Dunns Enterprise as a pig t

ray eyes fixing on the old patr

ed a leather-bound folio, tossing it onto the glass coffee table between the

, pointing a gnarled finger. "Sienna Sterling. Granddaughter of the Chief Justice. Any one o

in diamond chokers, framed by galas and private yachts. He knew the type. He had spent his twenties dodging them in Mayf

around the table. "They want a press release. They want th

It is stability! You have been back in this country for less than forty-eight hours, and already the press is speculating on your loyalties.

ucian stared at his grandfather, measuring the old man's resolve. Arthur wasn't bl

onths," Lucian

his eyes. "Six m

g to sharp slits. "Someone genuine. Someone who doesn

Among the vultures we cultivate? You're chasing a ghos

ips. "Six months, Grandfather. If I bring home a woman who passes my test, you hand over the Chairman's seat wi

ess. Finding none, the old man leaned heavily on his cane

led into a damp, bitter chill that clung t

ys near the old wholesale market was absolute. Here, the air smelled of exhaus

f 4th and Main, leaning his ba

ed cuffs, a pair of washed-out jeans with grease stains near the knee, and scuffed, heavy work boots that had seen better days. Over h

actory worker or a displace

oss the street didn't even glance at him; when they did, their eyes darted away in instant, practiced disgust. One woman in a fur coat deli

andfather was right about one thing, he thought silently, shift

f the way, please

ice sliced through

as a figure burst around the

powdered sugar and flour. Her dark hair was pinned up haphazardly with a wooden clip, a few stray, curling strands clinging to her da

d was running on

f. From there, she had sprinted six blocks to a small, rented kitchen space to finish a custom order of forty hand-decorated flo

e cold rain. But as she rounded the corner, her

ho

y. She didn't care about falling; her entire body contor

a heavy, rough hand shot out, catching her by

eet. The box wobbled, but the delicate but

oting, and looked up into the fa

place against his scruffy stubble and faded, rain-soaked clothes. His gray eyes were intense, observing her with

and deeper than she anticipated, roughened delib

ng as she pulled the box closer to her chest. She

an umbrella, the worn-out boots, and the dusty bag at his feet. But

iting for the familiar flash of disgust or pity.

d to push

is tall frame, "I haven't had a proper meal since yesterday. You w

er expression. Her eyebrows knit together-not in anger, bu

orgia sa

a familiar, bitter

face. "These were ordered and paid for by a client for a birthday party. If I open this box or give away a single one,

orwardness of her answer. There was no mockery in her t

said slowly. "

r delivery was due in eight minutes. Then she looked back at Lucian, he

ding toward the tower down the street. "It will take me ten minutes. If you are actually hungry an

d an eyebrow

back to my family's bakery kitchen down on 8th Street. I have half a loaf of day-old sourdough, three boiled