Page 11 of Ruins
Stepping inside, I take my time.
The panoramic windows stretch wide, framing the city like a painting. A reminder of what’s mine.
My city.
The office is expansive. Every detail deliberate. Artifacts, records, relics of Popov’s reign clutter the space. Most of it will go.
A large wooden desk anchors the room—grand, butoutdated.
I already see the replacement.Glass. Sleek. Modern.A desk that belongs to a man who doesn’t just run a company—he controls an empire.
My eyes drift to the plush chairs circling the space. Comfortable, but not too comfortable.
Inviting, but notwelcoming.
I settle behind the desk, leaning back in the chair as if it’s already mine.
It fits.
The knock at the door comes sooner than expected.
Popov steps inside, wearing a calm, polite smile. His eyes flick briefly to me, seated inhischair.
“Powerful feeling, isn’t it?” he asks, gesturing toward the office with an easy familiarity.
“It is,” I reply, watching him carefully.
He lowers himself into the chair across from me, sliding a thick folder across the desk.
“Everything you need is here.” His tone remains even. “Passwords, protocols, schedules—I’ve sent copies to your email. I have no doubt you’ll lead NovaRael well.”
Not a flicker of regret. No sadness in passing over his empire. No reluctance.
Onlycalm resignation.
Odd.
“I look forward to it.”
“I’m sure.” His smile is tight-lipped, unreadable. “Sandra will serve as your secretary until you hire a replacement.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You didn’t have one before?”
“I did. He left recently. Maksim requested my retirement before I could hire someone new.” A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—edges his voice, but he smooths it out as quickly as it appears. “This is all yours now. I’ll clear out my personal belongings, but you’re welcome to keep anything else.”
My gaze sweeps over the artifacts again. The remnants of his reign.
“I won’t need them.”
Popov’s eyes narrow, studying me. Then, he nods. “It will all be out by noon. Congratulations again, Mr. Amato.”
I stand as he does, shaking his hand. His grip is firm, his demeanor polite, but there’s no warmth in it. Just a transaction. A man handing over the keys to something he no longer owns.
At the door, he hesitates.
“My retirement party is coming up. You’re welcome to join.”
I offer a nod. “I’ll be here.”
