~Bonus Chapter for today:
This Chapter is dedicated to "ESinfo". Thank you so much for the review and for recomnding my books to other readers!
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Nick hadn’t slept a wink the night before. His office lights had burned until dawn. He only went ho for a quick shower and change.
Today, he would stand before the company as the new CEO of Knight Fleet Mariti. His first battle: a room full of executives and managers, half of whom still questioned why he was the one standing there instead of their forr leader.
The host’s voice bood across the conference hall. "Ladies and gentlen, let us welco our new CEO, Nicholas Knight."
Chairs scraped. Applause filled the room. Dozens of eyes tracked him, so in awe, others in doubt, a few whispering behind hands. Many hadn’t seen him in years. A good number had never seen him at all.
But one thing is for sure, the majority of them see him as a nepo baby who threw tantrums at daddy to get the CEO position from soone whom they believed to be more capable than him. And Nick knows that very well.
Nick entered with steady strides, dressed in a crisp navy suit that fit him like it had been sewn onto his skin. His tie was sharp, his shoes glead, and yet, he carried himself with a kind of effortless confidence that didn’t co from the clothes, but from the man inside them.
He stepped up to the podium, tablet in one hand, projector clicker in the other. He didn’t need anything else.
"Please, take your seats," he said, voice smooth but commanding. "Thank you for the grand welco. I hope everyone is doing fine today... and looking forward to working with , and not the other way around."
A ripple of laughter broke through the room, though so of the older and tenured executives and managers remained stone-faced, their loyalty still chained to Clinton Hayes, the man Nick had just replaced.
Nick smirked, tilting his head slightly as if amused by their lack of amusent. "You know, everything I’m wearing right now is brand new—the shirt, the suit, even these damn shoes. And let tell you, it sucks. It’s too tight, I can’t breathe, and by the end of the day, my feet are going to hate . But this is how to doll up when you are on your first date, right?"
That earned a genuine chuckle from the crowd. Shoulders eased. Even a few of the stiffer n and won allowed the corners of their lips to twitch upward.
"But here’s the thing," Nick continued, his voice lowering into sothing firr. "I get it. My arrival was sudden. Abrupt. Everything feels... new. To you, to , to this company. And believe when I say—I know how uncomfortable change feels. Right now, I feel as uneasy in this room as I do in these damn shoes."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over them. His gaze swept the hall—sharp, assessing, daring anyone to look away.
"But change," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, "is the only thing constant in this world. And there’s no better way to accept it than embracing it and making the most of it for the betternt of everyone and everything. Wouldn’t you agree?"
Heads began to nod, murmurs of agreent stirring through the room. Nick saw it—the subtle shift. Suspicion was softening, doubt bending. The first cracks in the wall of resistance had ford, and he hadn’t even shown his first slide yet.
Nick tapped the screen of his tablet, projector humming to life behind him. "Now, let’s get to the presentation," he said, his lips quirking into a wicked grin. "I know you’re all dying to see just how boring it is."
A ripple of chuckles moved through the hall, though not everyone joined in.
He clicked to the first slide. "First on my list... We’ll be adding fifty new modern ships to our fleet. And when I say modern, I an brand new. Not repainted junkyard rescues."
He leaned into the podium, voice rolling with confidence. "We’re talking advanced navigation and safety systems, double-bottom hulls for ballast and fuel, energy-efficient propulsion, state-of-the-art cargo handling, refrigeration for sensitive goods, crew anities worth bragging about—the works."
He was about to continue when one of the gray-haired executives slamd his palm on the table. "That’s outrageous! The cost of one brand-new vessel alone is astronomical. Multiply that by fifty? Ridiculous!"
"He’s right!" another chid in, voice shrill with disbelief. "Our current ships are fine! And extra anities for the crew? They don’t need luxury—they need discipline!"
The room erupted. Voices overlapped, executives barking protests, managers muttering in agreent. Papers shuffled, fists thudded against the table. The air thickened with resistance.
Nick didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the podium as if watching a circus he had already paid for. Only when the host nervously banged the mic, begging for order, did Nick finally move.
His gaze swept across the hall, sharp and calculating, until his mouth curved into a devilish smirk that silenced more than the host ever could. The tension shifted, everyone holding their breath.
"Tell this..." His voice was calm, almost too calm. "How many of you have been stuck onboard during a storm—no, not for a few hours—let’s say... three months. Three months of relentless waves, deafening thunder, black skies, and rain so heavy it feels like the ocean itself is trying to crush you. Raise your hands."
The room went still. Slowly, hesitantly, a handful of veterans raised their hands.
Nick’s smirk deepened into a smug, knowing grin. He already had them where he wanted them.
Nick let the silence hang heavy, then leaned in with a grin that was half challenge, half mockery. "And I bet, at one point, you thought you were going to die out there. Didn’t you?" His eyes darted to the veterans who’d raised their hands. "And that’s not even counting the fun extras—pirates, rogue waves, chanical failures. You know... the usual hell buffet."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and more heads nodded this ti, reluctant but honest.
Nick straightened, his voice cutting sharp. "Yes, it’s expensive—for now. But in the long run? We save on repairs, upgrades, and constant patch jobs. We save on downti. We even double our trips because these ships don’t crawl like your grandfather’s tugboat.
Faster ships, better safety, less wasted fuel, more profit. The math is on our side, and if you don’t believe —" He smirked. "My office door is open. I’ll happily walk you through the numbers myself. Just don’t cry when the spreadsheets bully you."
A low laugh rose from the younger managers, though the older executives stiffened, jaws tight.
Nick leaned casually against the podium, his tone dropping into sothing more dangerous. "Now... may I continue? Or does soone here feel brave enough to humiliate themselves further in front of —and everyone else?"
The words landed like a gauntlet thrown to the floor. So execs swallowed hard, others avoided eye contact, and the hall went quiet as tension clawed at the air.
Nick waited. The silence stretched. No one spoke.
"Good," he finally said, flashing a wicked smile. "I like it better this way. Now let’s continue..."
The audience sat straighter, alert, as though they already knew this was no ordinary eting—this was Nicholas Knight staking his claim.
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