The boardroom felt different today.
Heavier.
The long mahogany table gleamed under sterile lights, lined with faces trained to show nothing—and yet, I saw everything. The barely concealed annoyance in Ms. Thanawan's eyes. The calculating silence from Prasong. Even Taeng, seated beside him, offered a venomous smirk as I entered.
The chairman's seat remained empty.
I didn't need him here.
I took it anyway.
Silence echoed as I sat down, shoulders square, the city of Bangkok stretching behind me in sharp reflections of steel and sky. Power wasn't a gesture. It was posture.
"I'm calling this emergency meeting to address a matter of corporate governance," Ms. Thanawan began, adjusting her blazer with pretentious precision. "Concerns have been raised regarding the overreach and unilateral decisions made by our interim CEO."
Interim? Cute.
"Specifically," she continued, "The sudden reinstatement of a shelved biotech program and the aggressive redirection of internal audit resources toward unnamed 'investigations.'"
I let her finish. Then I stood.
"The audit results of those unnamed investigations will be presented shortly," I said, my voice calm but commanding. "In the meantime, let's talk about biotech, shall we?"
I tapped the tablet in front of me. The large screen behind me lit up. A series of graphs, figures, and projections glowed into existence.
"What you see here," I gestured to the screen, "is a comparative forecast of projected long-term growth for the AI-based cancer detection platform—versus the outdated drug patent renewal strategies your 'golden boy' favored."
A few board members leaned forward. Ms. Thanawan frowned.
"The biotech initiative will not only outperform the latter by 300% within six years, but it also places C Group on the international map for innovation-based philanthropy. That means tax breaks. Global recognition. And the first major positive press this family has had in over a decade."
I tilted my head. "Now tell me, Ms. Thanawan, what part of that feels like overreach to you?"
Silence.
Then Prasong leaned back in his chair, smirking.
"And what about the supposed audit you're so eager to present, Niece? Are we expected to believe you've magically uncovered something damning?"
I turned toward him, smiling slowly and sharp. "Oh, I didn't uncover it. Your son did. By accident."
The room stilled.
A soft murmur ran down the table like a shockwave.
I reached for a second tablet, handed it to the board's legal counsel. "You'll find verified documentation of Kylan's unauthorized transfers of company funds, routed through dummy accounts and laundered via offshore holdings. Signed off under fake vendor contracts."
Prasong's face drained. Even Zachary's mask cracked—eyes darting to her ex-husband, then to me.
"This is slander," She spat. "That data is doctored."
"Impossible," I said coolly. "The whistleblower came from your own department, Zachary. Shall I share their statement?"
Ms. Thanawan gripped her chair's arm. "This should have come to the board directly—not revealed like a drama show."
"Funny," I said, locking eyes with her. "Because this board never seemed to mind when secrets protected your interests. But now that the secrets don't serve you—you call it drama."
I stepped forward, both palms flat on the table, gaze sweeping the room.
"I'm not here to tiptoe around power games and family nepotism. I'm here to fix this company. If that makes you uncomfortable, resign. If you're afraid of the truth, step aside. But if you believe in this company more than your pride—then follow me."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the youngest board member, Mr. Vichai from International Relations, cleared his throat. "I second the motion to initiate a formal inquiry into Mr. Kylan's conduct."
Another voice. "Seconded."
And another.
Even those who hadn't dared side with me before… began to shift.
The tide had turned.
Kylan wasn't just exposed—he was undone.
And so was the illusion that I was just a temporary figurehead.
I took my seat once more, calm returning like a storm at rest. "Good," I said quietly. "Let's begin."
—--
The boardroom had barely emptied when Thanawan made her move.
She didn't storm in like Kylan. She didn't even knock. She glided into my office with the grace of someone who's bled empires dry and never left fingerprints.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she stepped closer, a leather folder in one hand and something colder in her eyes.
"You were impressive today," she began, settling into a chair across from my desk without permission. "A bit theatrical, but effective. Almost made me feel proud."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said, not bothering to offer her tea.
"Don't," She smiled. "It wasn't one."
She placed the folder on the desk, slid it toward me with her index finger. "A gift. Since we're playing offense."
I opened it.
And froze.
It was a document—a sealed report. Confidential. Addressed to C Group's board of ethics, dated two years ago.
Subject line: Potential Compromise of Stakeholder Trust – Identity Concealment within the Executive Bloodline.
Inside, a name stared back at me like a slap.
Chao-fa Chirapaisarnsakul, a.k.a. Moon Fowler.
Beneath it: records of my adoption, the private name change my mother had filed under a sealed family court. Medical records. School files. The sudden erasure of my original identity.
I'm not surprised as I'm the only one with the truth here. All are my puppets, playing on my chessboard. Punks!
"I was wondering when you'd dig that up," I said, my voice steady, but my fingers gripped the folder harder than I wanted them to.
Thanawan sat back, eyes gleaming.
"You're not legally registered as Chakan's granddaughter in the corporate registry. And the board has rules, Moon. You may have swayed a vote today, but if I push this, you'll be declared an illegitimate heir with no rights to sit at this table." Hilarious!
She crossed her legs. "Poetic, isn't it? You took down Kylan… and in return, I only have to open a drawer to make you disappear."
I met her gaze. "You always mistake paperwork for power."
"I mistake nothing," She said coldly. "You're bold, Moon. But boldness burns fast. Legitimacy, on the other hand... that stays on the books forever."
Just then, the door clicked open.
Taeng walked in.
Every inch of her was carved from elegance and poison. A face like porcelain, eyes like winter. She wore black silk and a subtle smirk.
"Am I interrupting?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
Thanawan stood. "Not at all. I was just giving our CEO a friendly reminder—power isn't real until it's recognized."
Taeng stepped beside her, gently brushing her fingers along the edge of my desk. "And recognition, dear cousin, isn't given. It's inherited. Earned. Backed by signatures. Not by charity... or a dying man's sentiment."
"Grandfather's decision stands," I replied.
"Not if he's declared mentally unfit," Taeng countered, almost playfully. "He is eighty-three. Doesn't speak much anymore, does he? Alzheimer's tests… forgetfulness… We only need two specialists to question his clarity at the time of your appointment."
I felt it then—not fear, but the unmistakable chill of war becoming personal.
These weren't threats.
They were blueprints.
Thanawan smiled softly, touching Taeng's wrist. "We're not here to fight you, Moon. We're here to remind you where the roots of this company truly are. You can keep playing CEO. But the moment you forget who planted this garden—"
I cut her off, voice quiet and lethal.
"—I'll burn it down."
Her smile dropped for a breath. "So be it."
And just like that, they walked out.
---
I stood at the window after they left, the city lights flickering below like dying stars.
They weren't just coming for my title.
They were coming for my blood.
And they were bringing knives I never even saw being sharpened.
But I had something they didn't.
My mother's blood.
My grandfather's will.
And a fire no paperwork could extinguish.
They'd just declared war.
And I had nothing left to lose.