Chapter 77: The President's Seat

“Boyfriend?” Grover was startled, glancing at Phoebe with a peculiar look, then turned an even odder gaze toward Hans, as if he couldn't believe it and needed to confirm again: “He really is your boyfriend?”

“Of course!” Phoebe nodded affirmatively, her face flushed as she slipped her arm through Hans’s left, as if to prove their relationship.

Hans, mouth agape like someone forced to swallow a whole egg, was left dazed. Only when he felt Phoebe’s hand tighten around his arm did he come to his senses, forcing a laugh and nodding, though he offered no explanation.

An elder of the trading firm, previously engaged in lively conversation with Grover, glanced suspiciously at him and whispered, “Who is this young man?”

Grover said little, merely exchanged a look with the elder, then stepped aside and smiled, “Since he’s your boyfriend, Phoebe, there’s no issue. Come in quickly.”

Dragging Hans along, Phoebe maintained a composed expression as they entered the hall. She smiled and greeted several elders along the way, then led Hans toward a quieter corner.

Inside the hall, attendants carried trays of fruit and fine wine, setting them on a broad square table at the center. Above hung a grand chandelier, casting brilliant light. The entire hall was opulently furnished, leaving Hans, a country bumpkin, thoroughly impressed.

Yet what astonished Hans most was Phoebe’s earlier declaration. Once they found themselves alone, he gave her a wry smile and asked, “Miss Phoebe, what was that all about?”

Phoebe casually picked up a tall glass, poured herself a ruby-red wine, and took an elegant sip before replying, “Don’t overthink. I merely needed a cover for your identity—nothing more. If I hadn’t said that, you wouldn’t have been able to enter at all.”

Hans sighed helplessly, nodding, “I knew coming with you wouldn’t mean anything good!”

“Just act natural. I’ll handle things. This is our trading firm’s annual gathering, all the elders are here. Even Grover, bold as he is, wouldn’t dare make a move at a time like this, so we needn’t worry,” Phoebe spoke softly, her eyes scanning the surroundings.

Hans, too, poured himself half a glass, savoring the sweet and tart taste. Observing carefully, he noticed many of the trading firm’s people had brought their families; the hall held about twenty or thirty people. There were elderly gentlemen, handsome youths, a few graceful ladies, and dignified young women.

All were impeccably dressed and behaved with polished manners, the very image of high society. Grover, wine glass in hand, moved among them, warmly greeting everyone, clearly familiar with them all.

“The trading firm has always been controlled by our family,” Phoebe quietly explained as Hans observed the hall. “Originally, my father was the president. But as I traveled outside, when my father died, that old man temporarily took over. Don’t be fooled by his seeming camaraderie with the elders—what goes on in the shadows, no one truly knows. Otherwise, my return would be pointless!”

Hans was stirred by her words and asked, “Your father—how did he die so suddenly? You had no warning at all?”

Phoebe’s eyes flashed with murderous intent as she lowered her voice and replied coldly, “I’m still investigating how my father died; I haven’t found any evidence yet. I was absent from the trading firm, so much remains unclear. The elders evidently don’t trust me. Their attitudes are unpredictable. My goal now is to win their support; alone, I can’t shake that old man’s position within the firm.”

It was clear to Hans that Phoebe suspected foul play in her father’s death. He said nothing further, sipping his wine as he watched the crowd, pondering silently.

After a while, a few more people arrived. The last was an elderly man with silver at his temples, entering with the help of a butler.

His arrival prompted many in the hall to greet him. Phoebe, upon seeing him, immediately pulled Hans along, whispering quickly, “That’s Andrew, who founded the firm with my grandfather. He’s now the oldest elder—Grover wouldn’t dare act out in front of him. If he helps us, we won’t be so passive.”

Phoebe approached Andrew, respectfully bowing with a joyful smile, “Grandpa Andrew, what brings you here today?”

“Oh, it’s our beautiful little Phoebe! Grandpa hasn’t seen you in ages. You’ve grown so tall,” Andrew said, leaning on his cane, supported by the butler, smiling warmly.

“My dear niece, don’t just stand and talk—let the old man sit. After such a long journey by carriage, he must be exhausted,” Grover said, heading toward Andrew, apparently intending to lead him to his side.

Andrew, however, waved off Grover’s assistance and raised his cane, walking toward Phoebe and Hans instead.

Grover watched Phoebe’s delighted face as she led Andrew away, his brows furrowing as his gaze lingered thoughtfully on Andrew.

Once Phoebe, Andrew, and Hans had settled in a corner of the hall, Grover raised his glass, smiling as he addressed the room, “Esteemed elders of the trading firm, today is our annual gathering. I’m pleased to see you all again this year. Sadly, due to illness, my beloved brother passed away—a most grievous loss.”

“Don’t be disheartened, Grover. Under your management, everything is orderly. I’m sure the president would be pleased to see your efforts,” one elder spoke up, with two more echoing his sentiment.

Hans watched their performance coldly, already surmising these men were Grover’s close allies, merely declaring their stance.

At that moment, Hans, seated beside Phoebe, clearly heard Andrew emit a faint snort. Phoebe, sitting even closer, heard it too and looked at Andrew with surprise, exchanging a glance with Hans.

“The president is gone, but our trading firm cannot remain without a leader. Taking advantage of this gathering, we should discuss the matter of a new president. What do you all think?” the same elder spoke up, and his two prior supporters quickly agreed. Grover, calm-faced, sat surveying the hall, his gaze lingering longest on Phoebe and Andrew.

“Indeed, the president’s position cannot remain vacant for long. But who should assume it—that’s a crucial question!” spoke another elder, large-headed and broad-shouldered, in a deep, resonant voice.

“There’s nothing to discuss—it should obviously be Grover. After the president’s passing, Grover has managed the firm’s affairs with stability and order. No one else is qualified for the role,” the loyalist declared loudly, prompting agreement from the other two.

Grover rose, smiling humbly, feigning modesty while uttering words of limited ability and unworthiness. The trio, however, insisted he was the only choice, their coordination almost seamless.

“Uncle Andrew, who do you think should be the new president?” the deep-voiced elder asked, looking toward Andrew.

As the question was posed, all the elders turned their attention to Andrew, awaiting his stance.

Andrew glanced at Phoebe, who tried to appear calm, stood slightly and chuckled, “It certainly isn’t me, old as I am. I haven’t many days left!”

His remark drew kindly smiles from the crowd; Grover also smiled, appearing relieved, as if he feared Andrew might vie for the presidency.

“But,” Andrew continued, sweeping his gaze across the elders, “I believe young Phoebe is grown now. As the president’s daughter and a member of the family, she is, by rights, the most qualified for the role. Why hasn’t anyone mentioned her?”

“No, absolutely not. Miss Phoebe is too young, and has been traveling, unfamiliar with the firm’s affairs. If she were president, she might ruin our business,” protested Grover’s staunch supporter.

“Keelo, that’s not necessarily so. Though young, Miss Phoebe is sensible and prudent. With her at the helm, the firm could thrive even more,” another elder said. Several others, previously silent, now echoed this sentiment, while three or four remained mute, indicating neutrality.

“This—this can’t be! We can’t gamble the firm’s future on her learning curve,” Keelo, Grover’s supporter, objected loudly.

“Why not? If memory serves, the old president was only twenty-three when he took charge. With the help of Andrew and the other elders, he grew rapidly and led the firm to great success. I believe Miss Phoebe can do the same, especially with our support,” the elder replied.

From the moment Andrew spoke, Grover’s face darkened. Now, he suddenly stood and addressed Phoebe, “Dear niece, your boyfriend was once a menial at Babylon Magic Martial Academy, and even a slave. Don’t blame your uncle for meddling, but being with him could harm the firm’s reputation.”

His words shifted the focus onto Hans, many elders openly displaying disdain and contempt.

Hans was startled, realizing Phoebe’s worries had been justified. He had underestimated Grover and the ‘Shadow’s’ reach—just a name had revealed his history. Thankfully, he’d spent most of his time in the Death Cemetery; had he stayed at the academy, he might already have been targeted by assassins.

“Uncle, what do you mean?” Phoebe suddenly stood, her face icy as she glared at Grover, ready to break all pretense.

“Don’t be angry, dear niece. I merely want everyone to see that your judgment is questionable. To lead the trading firm, one must be wise and farsighted. If you can only choose a husband from among slaves, I doubt anyone would feel confident in you as president,” Grover replied, his face still serene but his words vicious.

“A man who, for profit, can murder his own brother and repeatedly send assassins to harm his niece is even less fit for the presidency,” Hans stood as well, unfazed, sneering coldly at Grover. His words stunned the room. Hans continued, “Remember, I am now a student at Babylon Academy, no longer a slave—and I never will be again.”