Chapter 6 - The Council of Wolves
The private boardroom on the top floor of the Langford Tower was a fortress of dark mahogany, bulletproof glass, and digital security monitors. Below, the glittering expanse of downtown Denver stretched out like a circuit board of wealth and power. Inside, four men sat around a massive obsidian conference table: Arthur Langford; Judge Thomas Vance, whose rulings had systematically dismantled northern district property titles for two decades; Director Robert Sterling of the State Banking Commission; and General Marcus Vance, commander of the regional state security reserves.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. A shattered crystal tumbler lay in a wet circle on the polished table where Arthur had slammed it moments earlier.
“You let a starving teenager walk out of the heritage hall with the central anchor of the entire foundation?” Director Sterling asked, his voice shaking slightly as he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “Arthur, do you realize what happens to our stock value—to our political leverage—if the public finds out that artifact isn't under our absolute control? The entire foundation’s legitimacy is built on the myth that the Langfords hold the Dragon’s mandate!”
“He didn’t just walk out with it,” Arthur said, his voice dangerously quiet as he stared at the digital surveillance feed frozen on a wall monitor, showing Adrian stepping out of the northern railyards. “The sword bonded with him. The mountain stone split cleanly in two the second his skin touched the hilt. That hasn't happened in over a hundred years.”
General Marcus Vance leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on the table. His chest was heavy with medals earned during corporate suppression campaigns across the western territories. “If the blade has chosen a direct bloodline heir, then the legal decrees we drafted twenty years ago to seize the Mercer estates are legally void under territorial charter. If he takes that sword before the state legislature, every transfer of property, every rail concession, and every mining title we stripped from his family reverts back to him automatically.”
Judge Thomas Vance nodded slowly, his face grim. “Which means we cannot afford to let him reach the capitol, or a courthouse, or even a public square. He has to be stopped permanently. Accidental death during an attempted armed robbery in the railyards.”
“My enforcers already tried,” Arthur said, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “He took down two of my best men in under a minute without breaking a sweat. The sword is amplifying his physical capabilities. He isn't just a boy anymore; he’s a walking weapon.”
“Then we don’t send enforcers,” General Marcus said, standing up and reaching for his heavy wool overcoat. “We send a full tactical unit with suppression gear. We seal off the southern district, cut the power grids, and sweep every alley until we separate that blade from his hands.”
Arthur raised a hand, stopping the general in his tracks. A dark, calculated smile touched the corners of the older man’s mouth.
“No. A military sweep creates too many witnesses, too many variables,” Arthur said softly. “We draw him out. We use what he cares about most—or rather, we lure him into a trap where he has no choice but to bring the sword directly to us.”
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“And what bait could possibly bring him straight into the Langford Tower?” Judge Vance asked skeptically.
Arthur tapped a finger against the obsidian table. “His mother’s final ledger. The one my father swore was destroyed in the warehouse fire. It’s sitting right here in my private vault. Broadcast it across the secure city feeds. Let him know we have the last remaining proof of his family’s original land grants. He won’t send an army; he’ll come alone to get it.”
