Derek eventually agreed to settle out of court with Chad Powers.
Truthfully, he didn't care about the legal back-and-forth. He had already won the real battles—humiliation, fear, and leverage. The lawsuit was just cleaning up the leftovers.
So when Alan informed him that mediation was scheduled for Tuesday morning, Derek simply nodded and said:
"Handle it."
He didn't attend. He didn't need to.
He spent that morning in the gym, finishing another round of his brutal conditioning regimen, while teams of high-priced lawyers tore into each other in a conference room downtown. Hobbs, Shaw & Smith had decades of reputation behind them, but now they were working for Derek—directly or indirectly.
By noon, the settlement was finalized.
Derek received thirty million dollars.
A ridiculous number given the Powers family's net worth, which hovered in the tens of millions, not hundreds or billions. But the threat Alan presented had been… persuasive.
The lawyers representing Chad were reminded—with quiet politeness—that the police report of his drug possession and trafficking arrest was under seal.
That seal could break.
And if it did, the resulting headline would destroy the Powers family brand, tank what remained of their business reputation, and attract federal attention they absolutely could not afford.
Thirty million suddenly looked cheap.
Chad sat silently through most of the meeting, face pale, jaw clenched. Only after the signatures were stamped and copies distributed did he whisper to his lawyer, voice cracking:
"How… how did it come to this?"
No one answered. None of them had the heart to say:
You did this.
You picked the wrong person at the wrong time.
Just last month, Derek had been a tiny scholarship student in worn-out sneakers—a charity case Harvard admitted to look good in brochures. Chad chose to bully him because it was easy… and because Veronica Sanders was watching.
That single decision had now detonated his whole life.
Their family business was being swallowed, their finances bleeding out, and their reputation dissolving like salt in boiling water.
All because he wanted to flex for a girl.
---
Across the city, Derek sat alone in a small African restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. The air smelled of pepper, onions, and slow-cooked meat. Soft highlife music played from an old speaker in the corner.
He lifted a spoonful of goat-meat pepper soup to his lips. It was spicy enough to burn, but he welcomed the heat.
A few minutes later, Alan Payne stepped inside. He scanned the place with a faint grimace—as if the décor offended him—before approaching Derek's table.
"Good evening," Alan said, adjusting his tie. "Apologies for taking long. Traffic was brutal."
"Have a seat," Derek replied. "You want something to eat?"
Alan shook his head quickly.
"No, no… food like this isn't really my style."
Derek smirked.
"What a shame. You might be missing out."
Alan managed an awkward smile before sliding a slim envelope across the table. "Your check. Thirty million, as negotiated."
Derek didn't even touch it.
He continued eating.
Alan raised a brow. "You're not going to look?"
"I trust you," Derek said. "And it's not why I called you here."
Something in his tone made Alan straighten.
Derek finally pushed the envelope back across the table—slowly, deliberately.
"Alan," he said, "I want you to leave Hobbs, Shaw & Smith."
Alan blinked.
"…I'm sorry?"
"Come work for me," Derek continued. "I want you to head the legal departments for The Raven Corporation and Blackfire Technologies. I need someone competent running things, someone I don't have to babysit."
Alan stared at him.
The offer was absurd.
And yet Derek spoke as if he were discussing the weather.
"What about the check…?"
Derek tapped the envelope lightly with one finger.
"Use it," he said. "All of it. Build me an army. Not mid-tier attorneys—elite ones. Lawyers who can slit throats with paperwork, who understand corporate warfare, who don't flinch at impossible cases."
Alan exhaled sharply.
"And if I say no?"
Derek finally looked up, the faintest smile touching his lips.
"You won't."
Alan felt the room shrink.
For the first time, he realized—fully realized—what kind of person he was dealing with. Derek wasn't reckless. He wasn't emotional. He wasn't even angry.
He was calculating.
Cold.
Patient.
The kind of man who planned in layers, who turned misfortune into traps, who buried enemies without raising his voice. And now he was inviting Alan into the center of that storm.
Alan picked up the envelope with trembling hands.
"Fine," he whispered. "I'll assemble the best team I can."
"I know you will," Derek replied, returning to his meal. "You're smart enough to understand the opportunity. And the danger."
Alan stood to leave. As he turned, Derek called out casually:
"And Alan?"
"Yes?"
"I'll need invoices and receipts."
Derek said it like a joke.
But Alan didn't laugh.
Because deep down, he suspected Derek wasn't joking at all.
He walked out into the cold Boston air, clutching the envelope like a lifeline. For the first time since stepping into law school, he was genuinely afraid.
It felt like he had stepped into a pond… and there was a crocodile smiling at him from beneath the water.
---
Derek finished his soup, paid the bill, and walked out of the restaurant with hands in his pockets. The night was cool, the street buzzing with distant traffic and murmured conversations.
Reindeer Logistics was deep in audit procedures. That would take weeks, maybe months. He had already seen enough from the preliminary documents to know the Powers family was finished.
And now that chapter was closing.
He finally had breathing room—time to build something new.
Something ambitious.
Something world-changing.
Derek smiled faintly to himself as he stepped onto the sidewalk and disappeared into the night.
His next project…
would shake the world.