Anatol Reznik's stance on the polished aggregate was an intrusion carved in charcoal wool. He surveyed the skeletal columns and exposed conduit with a proprietary smirk, boots planting firmly beside the limestone turnstiles. The two drivers flanking him held back near the turnstile stanchions, overcoats unbuttoned. Teodor, still at the obsidian slab upstairs, watched the display feeds. "He’s not here to tour," Teodor remarked without looking away from the monitors. "He’s here to make a play." "A hostile buyout," Renia murmured. Before Teodor could answer, the desk terminal pinged. A receptionist's dry transmission crackled through the speaker: "Mr. Beren, the visitor on the concourse demands an immediate audience with the trust committee, citing structural viability." Teodor glanced at Renia. "He brought consultants. And our committee is already downstairs, eager for theater." He rose, smoothing his cuffs. "Shall we indulge them?" Downstairs, the raw chill of curing concrete hung over the gathering. Seven trustees and equity partners clustered near the circular reception ring, their murmured debates breaking as Reznik lifted a slate tablet. Milosz Kertesz hovered behind a fluted pier, pallid and damp-browed. He caught Renia’s gaze, looked down at his own shoes, and stepped deeper into the shadow of the pillar. The visitor turned as Teodor and Renia stepped off the riser. "Beren, right on schedule for an inquest." His coarse baritone bounced between the bare ribs of the ceiling. "And Klara. Though I fear your latest design is remarkably unstable." He tapped his tablet, projecting a series of highly detailed, but manipulated, structural integrity reports onto the massive display screen that usually showcased architectural renderings. The reports, emblazoned with the logo of a dubious third-party engineering firm, cited critical stress fractures, foundational weaknesses, and an egregious miscalculation of load-bearing capacities. The numbers flashed crimson across the glass panels, prompting sharp whispers among the trustees. "Independent testing indicates," the raider continued smoothly, "that the central spine could buckle under dead-load testing. A collapse in capital, if not stone. The site is untenable, gentlemen." He turned toward the cluster of suits. "Vespera Holdings will offer an outright cash settlement to assume liability before construction halts entirely." Muffled dissent rose among the partners. Renia stepped past Teodor, her tone dry and precise. "Your subcontractors appear to have misplaced their decimal points, Reznik." He paused, brows drawing together. "Certified structural assessors provided these calculations." "I drew the specifications," Renia said evenly, stepping closer to the terminal projection. "These load models assume homogeneous mild steel. The alloy specified for the central sleeve yields twenty-seven point three percent higher shear tolerance. That happens to match the deficit your report fabricated." She swiped to the next slide with a clean flick of her fingernail. "Your seismic simulations also strip out the tuned mass dampeners seated beneath the bedrock slab. They damp lateral harmonic oscillation by a ratio of nearly two to one. You modeled an unanchored shell." The partners turned their attention from the display to the man in the wool coat, whose smug posture hardened into a scowl. He drew breath to speak, but Renia spoke over him without raising her volume. "And as for the valuation," she added, turning toward the trustees, "your bid clips fourteen percent off fair value by ignoring the civic development tax offsets already locked into escrow. It is an opportunistic discount, not a rescue." A brief murmur of amusement ran through the trustees. The interloper stiffened, his collar flushing dark red. Near the east service bay, Milosz Kertesz backed silently toward the freight lifts, slipstreaming into the unlit service corridor. "This isn't over, Beren," the intruder snarled, gesturing sharply to his drivers. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out through the glass entrance, leaving behind a sudden, sharp quiet. Two trustees exchanged quiet nods, several voices offering brisk congratulations as the group drifted toward the exits. Renia turned to Teodor. His gaze held hers squarely, stripped of the usual calculated distance. For three long seconds, he studied her line by line—not as a patron inspecting an architect, but as someone who had recognized an equal dissecting a kill. He took a step closer, his voice a low, resonant murmur meant only for her. “I think it’s time we opened Klara’s room.”

An Unwelcome Investor