The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 13

The Zengent Hotel's polished marble floors gleamed under the delicate ambient lighting. Sam walked slowly down the expansive corridor leading to the Grand Earth lounge, his thoughts buzzing.

It had been only hours since his last meeting with Jones, and the echoes of that encounter still rang in his mind. But now he was here, not as a man seeking redemption, but as one trying to regain control of a rapidly spiraling situation.

Sam’s heart raced as he approached the opulent lounge. He needed to keep up appearances, even if that meant fabricating the very power he had begun to lose.

The Zengent was more than just a hotel. It was a symbol of influence and affluence—places like this existed to remind men of their place in the grand hierarchy of society. Sam might not have been at the top, but booking a room here, in the Grand Earth section reserved for the world’s elite, made him feel as if he was. Even if, deep down, he knew that his wealth was starting to slip through his fingers like sand.

Drake was already there, lounging in a deep, leather armchair, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the table in front of him. The sight of Drake's smug face made Sam’s stomach turn.

Drake was too comfortable in all of this, too calm. He wondered how much of that confidence came from genuine assurance and how much was a facade, just like his own.

Sam cleared his throat and approached the table with a false air of nonchalance. "Drake."

Drake’s sharp eyes flicked up from the glass of water he was holding. “Sam. You’re late.” His voice was flat, emotionless, as if Sam’s presence was of little consequence.

Sam fought the urge to lash out. He had never been one to accept disrespect easily, but in this case, he had to keep himself in check. He sat down opposite Drake, a forced smile stretching his lips. “Time is a luxury we can both afford, isn’t it?"

Drake raised an eyebrow but said nothing, only giving a small, tight-lipped smile. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, and Sam could feel the weight of Drake’s gaze as it bore into him.

Drake was waiting, testing him, and Sam wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand.

"I chose this place for a reason," Sam continued, his voice steady, though his nerves hummed beneath his skin. “Grand Earth isn’t just for appearances. It’s about reminding people of who’s in charge.”

Drake’s eyes flickered with amusement, but it was a cold, calculating kind of humor. "Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re the one trying to convince me you’re still in control."

Sam’s jaw tightened, but he forced a laugh.

“Control isn’t about what you have right now, Drake. It’s about what you’re preparing to take.”

Drake leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took a sip of water. “And what exactly are we taking, Sam? You’ve been awfully vague about our next move.”

Sam glanced around the lavish lounge, as if the walls themselves were listening. "Tomorrow morning, we’re making our move on Jones. His wife—she’s our leverage. Once we have her, he’ll fold. He’ll have no choice but to hand over everything he’s been clawing back."

For a moment, Drake said nothing, his fingers continuing their rhythmic drumming on the table.

The sound was maddening, like a slow ticking clock counting down to an inevitable confrontation.

Then, he stopped, leaning forward slightly, his tone laced with thinly veiled excitement. "And once we have him? What’s next? You know, I’ve always had my eye on that family seat. Becoming the heir to the Mackin family—that's been the goal all along."

Sam tensed. There it was—the ambition that had always simmered beneath the surface. Drake wasn’t just after Jones; he wanted the entire empire.

And Sam knew that once Drake got what he wanted, he wouldn’t hesitate to push him aside. He had seen that look in men before—men who craved power so badly they would destroy anyone in their way to get it.

Drake grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “I can already see it now. The day after we take Jones down, we’ll flood this place with a celebration that will make the city bow. Imagine it, Sam. The Mackin family’s wealth, their influence—all of it, ours.”

“Hun,” Sam grunted. He hadn’t expected Drake to be so bold in his ambitions, not so openly at least. But he quickly composed himself. “Let’s focus on tomorrow first. We take Lana, and the rest will follow.”

Drake shrugged nonchalantly, as if this entire conversation was nothing more than a business transaction. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But remember, Sam, we’re partners. I expect equal shares when this is all over.”

Sam nodded, though in his mind, the word ‘partner’ felt like a noose tightening around his neck. He couldn’t let Drake gain that kind of power, not without keeping a firm grip on the reins.

The meeting ended soon after, both men parting with the kind of polite farewells that only masked the growing tension between them. As Sam left the hotel, his mind churned. He had to keep Drake close—close enough to watch, but not close enough to let him take control.

Sam’s thoughts lingered on Jones and the looming confrontation. Tomorrow was pivotal, and he couldn’t afford any missteps.

Across town, Jones sat in his office, the contract spread out before him. Lambo stood by his side, silent but watchful as always. It had been a long day, filled with negotiations and meetings, but Jones’s mind was on something else entirely. Lana’s parents had called, their voices dripping with regret and fear.

"Mr. Jones, we are so sorry for our misbehavior," Lana’s father had said over the phone, his words stumbling over one another. "It...it was done out of ignorance."

Jones had nearly laughed. Ignorance? No, they had known exactly what they were doing. They had connived, manipulated, and betrayed him, all in the name of their daughter’s greed. But now, the tables had turned, and they were at his mercy.

Even now, their words echoed in his mind, particularly Lana’s mother’s meek voice: “Even if we aren’t given any house or money, the contract is enough for our lives.”

Yes, they were desperate. And Jones had them exactly where he wanted them.

"Sir?" Lambo’s voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. The document Lambo held in his hand was more pressing than the groveling of Lana’s parents.

“This is the contract from Penultimate Investment Company,” Lambo said, handing it over. “The transfer of management files is complete. You now own the company.”

Jones took the file and scanned it quickly, satisfaction blooming in his chest. “Good. This will shake things up.”

Lambo shifted slightly. “There’s one thing, sir. Should we inform Drake?”

Jones smiled coldly. “No. Let him think he’s still playing the game. We’ll let him believe he’s one step ahead, right until the moment we pull the rug out from under him.”

Lambo nodded, understanding the unspoken plan. “And the wedding, sir? Zengent or Emperor Hotel?”

Jones paused for a moment, considering his options. “Zengent. It’s the best. And I’ve just learned something interesting—it’s connected to my family.”

“Your family, sir?”

Jones’s gaze hardened. “The Mackin family owns part of the hotel. Find out who exactly, and keep it quiet. I want no one to know my connection to it until I’m ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jones leaned back in his chair, his mind already spinning with possibilities. The pieces were falling into place, but the game was far from over.

Tomorrow, things would begin to escalate. Tomorrow, Sam and Drake would make their move—but Jones would be ready.