Chapter 5: Boardroom Bloodlines

Chapter 5: Boardroom Bloodlines

The Venetian hotel room was opulent, all Murano glass chandeliers and silk brocade wallpaper, but Caleb felt like he was in a sensory deprivation tank. His world had shrunk to the glowing 15-inch screen of a laptop and the low, urgent murmur of Elara’s voice in his ear.

“Remember the key phrases,” she whispered, standing just out of the camera’s view. She was a whirlwind of controlled energy, her tablet in one hand, a hastily procured espresso in the other. “Synergy. Proactive oversight. Mitigating exposure. And for God’s sake, try to look like you’ve actually read the quarterly reports.”

Caleb straightened the collar of the crisp white shirt she’d forced him into. The suit jacket was draped over a nearby chair, a silent protest. “I feel like a trained monkey,” he grumbled, adjusting the discreet earpiece. “A well-dressed, corporately-fluent monkey.”

“Just be the monkey for twenty minutes,” she shot back. “You wanted to flush him out. This is the only way. He doesn’t respect fists; he respects stock prices and plausible deniability.”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders. The screen flickered, and one by one, the windows of the Aeturnum Board of Directors popped into existence. It was a gallery of ancient nightmares in business attire. There was Groknar, the Werewolf Alpha of the North American Conclave, his face a craggy landscape of scars, framed by the rustic wood of his lodge. Beside him, the shimmering heat-haze that was Tariq, a Djinni of the Brass City, whose form only vaguely suggested a humanoid shape. Then came the skeletal face of Chancellor Valdric, a Lich Lord from the Shadowfell, twin pinpricks of blue soul-fire burning in his empty sockets.

And finally, Lord Valerius of the Fae Winter Court. He appeared flawlessly beautiful, his skin like moonlit ice, his silver hair braided with frost. He sat in a throne of sculpted ice, and his smile was the most dangerous thing on the screen. It was he who spoke first, his voice like the crackle of a frozen branch.

“Mr. Helsing. To what do we owe the… surprise of your presence? I was under the impression you were engaged in an unsanctioned holiday.” The insult was clear, a direct reference to his own ‘flaming pile of garbage’ assessment.

Caleb took a breath, the first corporate lie feeling like sawdust in his mouth. “Lord Valerius. Esteemed members. This isn’t a holiday. I called this emergency meeting to report on what I would classify as a critical instance of hostile asset acquisition within the Venetian sector.”

The jargon, delivered in Caleb’s deadpan, gravelly voice, hung in the virtual space. Groknar the werewolf grunted, intrigued. Valdric’s soul-fires flickered with what might have been curiosity.

“Explain,” the Lich hissed, his voice the dry rustle of ancient parchment.

This was it. Caleb locked eyes with the camera, channeling every bit of Elara’s coaching. “As you know, Aeturnum has recently acquired several distressed properties in Venice for redevelopment. Standard procedure. However, my on-the-ground investigation has revealed that these are not simple acquisitions. An unknown third party has been systemically liquidating local assets—human assets—connected to these properties.”

He let that sink in. He was describing the murders, but wrapping them in the sterile language of a hostile takeover.

“These liquidations,” he continued, the words feeling alien on his tongue, “are being carried out with a methodology that leaves behind a unique… let’s call it a ‘metaphysical residue.’ One that bears a striking resemblance to certain restricted Fae glamour-weaving techniques, specifically those originating from pre-Seelie traditions.”

He was aiming blind, firing into the dark, but it was a calculated shot. He watched Valerius’s window. The Fae Lord’s serene expression didn’t change, but Caleb saw it. A tightening around the eyes. The smile becoming a fraction more brittle.

“This is an outrageous accusation,” Valerius said, his voice dropping a degree colder. “You are on a rogue excursion, Helsing. Chasing phantoms. These acquisitions were minor, barely a footnote. You have no authority to conduct this ‘investigation’.”

“On the contrary,” Caleb countered, a bit of his own predatory nature bleeding through. “My authority as CEO is to protect shareholder value. This rogue element is not only disrupting a key emerging market but is attempting to synergize our own assets for their own unsanctioned project. A project I believe constitutes a material threat to the stability of this Board. I am exercising proactive oversight to mitigate our exposure.”

A flicker of pride crossed Elara’s face. He was actually doing it.

Valerius sneered. “You are overstepping, Slayer. You will cease this foolishness at once, or I will table a motion for your immediate removal. I assure you, the votes are there.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and final. Caleb’s bluff was about to be called. His brief, disastrous tenure as CEO was about to come to a screeching halt.

And then, a new window chimed into existence on the screen.

The face that appeared was elegant, ancient, and radiated an authority that silenced the entire call. Silver-streaked hair, piercing eyes, and the backdrop of a grand Venetian palazzo. Massimo Bruneli, the Doge of Venice, had crashed the party.

“Lord Valerius,” Massimo said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He inclined his head, a gesture of politeness that was somehow more intimidating than a threat. “Perhaps I can offer some clarity. Mr. Helsing is in my city at my personal invitation.”

A collective, silent shock rippled through the Board members. Massimo was a power unto himself, an outsider who had never shown the slightest interest in Aeturnum’s internal politics.

“My own people were troubled by these… liquidations,” the vampire Doge continued, his gaze sweeping over the other members before landing on Valerius. “But we lacked the specific expertise to identify the responsible party. Mr. Helsing’s presence here is not a rogue action; it is a joint venture to protect Venetian sovereignty and, by extension, Aeturnum’s investments within it. His actions have been swift, decisive, and are already yielding promising results. I, for one, commend his leadership.”

Checkmate.

The public backing from a power like Massimo completely changed the board's calculus. It legitimized Caleb’s entire trip, reframing it from a reckless jaunt to a shrewd political maneuver. Valerius’s face was a mask of frozen fury. He had been outplayed.

“If that is all,” Caleb said, seizing the moment, “I will continue my work. A full report will follow. Meeting adjourned.” He cut the connection before anyone could object, the screen going black.

He slumped back in his chair, the adrenaline draining out of him, leaving him feeling hollowed out. “Did it work?” he asked, pulling the earpiece out.

“It worked,” Elara breathed, a wide, triumphant grin on her face. “He’s rattled. He revealed nothing, but his reaction, his defensiveness about the Fae magic… that was everything. While you had him pinned down, I was able to slip past his personal firewalls. They were momentarily weakened while he diverted processing power to the call’s security protocols. I’m in.”

Caleb watched as her fingers flew across her tablet. The corporate jargon and Boardroom posturing faded, replaced by the grim reality of the hunt. Elara’s expression shifted from triumph to intense concentration, and then… to sheer horror.

Her face went pale. “Caleb…”

“What is it? What did you find?”

“This isn’t about property. It was never about the property,” she whispered, her eyes wide behind her glasses. She scrolled frantically through encrypted files, her breath catching. “Valerius… he acquired those palazzos because they are built on nexuses of chthonic energy. The murders… they weren’t just killings. They were consecrations. Preparing the sites.”

“Preparing them for what?” Caleb demanded, standing up, the air in the room suddenly feeling cold.

Elara looked up from her tablet, her face ashen. The key tattoo on her wrist stood out like a brand. “It’s a ritual. One of the old, forbidden ones. A resurrection.”

“Resurrection of what?”

“Not what,” she corrected, her voice barely a whisper. “Who. A dead god. One of the old devourers the Fae worshipped before the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. A being of immense, chaotic power.”

Caleb felt a cold dread seep into his bones, a feeling he hadn't experienced since the darkest days of the Dracule War. This was bigger and worse than any corporate conspiracy.

“But why?” he asked. “Why would Valerius risk everything for that?”

Elara’s finger tapped one last file. A page of ancient, runic text filled the screen. It was a ritual schematic, detailing the components needed: the consecrated ground, the celestial alignment… and the catalyst. The power source to ignite the entire process.

“Because the ritual requires a unique spark,” she said, her voice trembling as she turned the tablet towards him. “A bloodline potent with generations of fighting and killing the supernatural. A power strong enough to be a conduit between the world of the living and the world of the dead gods.”

Caleb stared at the screen. He didn’t need to read the twisting, ancient runes. In the center of the arcane diagram, one word was written in a script he could understand, a word that made the entire conspiracy snap into terrifying, personal focus.

HELSING.

The murders, the call from Massimo, the properties, the ambush—it was all bait. The perfect, bespoke trap. It wasn’t a random pestilence. It was an invitation to his own sacrifice.