Duke Davorin’s declaration echoed across the floorboards, pinning Oswin Jerrick to the carpet. Oswin, still on his knees with his nose practically grazing the stone tiles, began to shake. He looked up, damp cheeks smeared with mucus, his gaze fixed on Davorin. “Your Grace… a misunderstanding, surely. Jerrick Consolidated is merely… restructuring. A temporary liquidity issue. We can arrange a payment plan. I have… assets.” His words rasped thin and ragged. Minola, however, merely hummed, picking up another cocoa bonbon with delicate precision. “Assets, Oswin? Like the one you were planning to harvest from me?” She rolled the dusted chocolate between her fingertips and popped it into her mouth. Davorin turned his amber gaze toward her, eyebrows raised in tacit amusement, before settling back on Oswin. “A payment plan?” Davorin chuckled, the sound rich and melodious, utterly devoid of sympathy. “My dear fellow, that’s precisely what your creditors offered before I swept in with a more… comprehensive solution. You see, I prefer to own the entire chess set, not just a pawn or two.” He gestured vaguely at Oswin. “And speaking of pawns, Minola, what do you say to a little game? Something to pass the time while we decide what to do with our… acquisition here?” Minola arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “A game, Duke? My schedule is rather full, what with monopolizing the global luxury technology market and all.” She leaned back in her chair, a picture of effortless power. “Oh, this won’t take long,” Davorin promised, pulling out a sleek, disposable phone from the inner pocket of his shimmering jacket. It was a model from the budget tier of his own rival corporation, Solarian Systems—a deliberate jab. “I propose a little challenge. Oswin here still maintains a few paltry foreign vaults, squirreled away like a particularly unpleasant rodent. Who among us can siphon them dry faster, using only these delightful, untraceable little handsets?” He tossed a matching device onto the polished onyx table before Minola. It skittered to a stop beside her half-eaten gold-foil carton. Minola picked it up, turning the cheap plastic shell over in her palm. The itch to escalate a ridiculous bet sparked through her ribs. “Siphon them, you say? That hardly seems challenging enough. Anyone with a halfway decent algorithm can do that. What’s the *real* stake, Duke?” Her stare locked onto his. Davorin’s smile widened, a flash of pure mischief. “Ah, Minola Vespari. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint. Very well. The loser… must attend the upcoming Valerand Philanthropic Gala dressed as a particularly distressed garden gnome. And the winner… gets to choose the color of the gnome’s hat.” Oswin, who had been listening with a mixture of terror and bewildered hope, let out a strangled gasp. “You… you can’t! Those are my… my legacy funds! My children’s future!” Minola’s lips twitched. “Your children, Oswin? Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning them when you were trying to auction off my left kidney. But a garden gnome, Duke?” She scoffed, a bright laugh bursting out. “Hardly a fitting punishment for a captain of industry. Let’s raise the stakes. The loser doesn’t just wear the costume; they must publicly endorse the winner’s least profitable subsidiary for a full fiscal quarter. And the victor gets to personally select the gnome’s accessory, a truly heinous item of their choosing.” Davorin clapped his hands together, his laughter echoing through the vast boardroom. “Minola, you are a woman after my own chaotic heart! Agreed! Oswin, do try to look less like a deflated soufflé; your financial ruin is about to be a spectacle.” Side by side, Davorin and Minola tapped at the numeric pads, routing wire transfers through Shell corporations in three separate hemispheres. Oswin watched his last hidden portfolios drain to zero with each screen chime. He slumped sideways onto the carpet, moaning into the woven silk pile. Hours later, Minola sat in her personal aerie, the Executive Solarium atop the headquarters tower. Davorin had trailed along, claiming he enjoyed the lingering atmosphere of bankruptcy. The sky outside stretched deep violet above the neon spires of Valerand. They had bled Oswin’s balances down to sixty-four copper Cels. Minola chewed the remaining chocolate praline, pleased with her work. She had already selected neon-pink, rhinestone-encrusted spectacles for Davorin’s gala ensemble. “A truly inspired choice,” Davorin admitted, leaning back on a plush chaise, a half-empty goblet of scintillating amber wine in hand. “Your company maintains a formidable infrastructure, even for… creative financial maneuvers.” The massive holoscreen covering the eastern wall flared to life. It was a live broadcast from 'Gala Global', the city’s premier gossip and society channel. The headline blared in shimmering script: “Saskia Lunde’s Mysterious Ailment: A Cry for Corporate Compassion?” On screen, Oswin’s mistress, Saskia Lunde, reclined across a velvet chaise in an ultra-private clinic suite. Powder dusted her cheeks to an ashen gray, and clear tubing tethered her wrist to an infusion pole. Oswin hovered at her shoulder, pressing a handkerchief to his brow while glancing repeatedly at the teleprompter. A celebrity cosmetic surgeon stood nearby, wringing his hands under studio floodlights. “It’s a rare, devastating cellular degradation,” Saskia sobbed, her voice breathy and fragile. “Only one hope remains. The Lux-Vitae prototype vial from Gilded Mantis Holdings. It’s my only chance.” She clutched Oswin’s hand, her gaze pleading into the camera. “Please, Minola Vespari… you hold my life in your hands.” Minola watched, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Brava, Saskia. A truly Oscar-worthy performance.” She knew the Lux-Vitae was Gilded Mantis’s experimental medical tech, still years from public release. It was also, crucially, the very thing Oswin had been trying to get his hands on for months. The burner handset vibrated against the candy container. An encrypted ping lit the screen: ‘He took the bait; he’s planning a heist.’ Tarkus had delivered right on schedule. Oswin, frantic to secure the serum for his theatrical invalid, was marching straight toward the vault door. Davorin noted her expression and shifted closer along the cushions. “Such a delightful schemer,” he murmured. His thumb brushed a trace of powdered sugar from the corner of her lips. “You truly are ruthless.” He leaned down, bringing the scent of cedarwood, cardamom, and cold night air with him. Minola stilled, muscles tense as his face drew within inches. Her knuckles, resting on the cardboard package, bumped a hard metallic nub tucked beneath the rim. A faint mechanical tick sounded against the foil. A magnetized surveillance bug. Her jaw set, cold fury burning away the distraction. Oswin had planted a wire.

Billionaire Burner Phones