While the entire school was having a chaotic day—from students too distracted to focus in class, to teachers who weren't in the mood to teach, to the guards waiting in the rec room, and even the parents still reeling from the shocking expulsion of a student—soone else, far removed from the school, was dealing with an even bigger problem.
That person was none other than Switzerland's president, Frédéric Zeller.
Unlike many other world leaders, the president of Switzerland doesn't have an official residence. Instead, they live in their private hos, and on this particular day, Frédéric found himself hosting an impromptu crisis eting right in his own house.
Seated in his ho office, Frédéric was silently grateful that he had recently renovated the space to be larger—because now, he had six other people cramd inside. Each one of them was a mber of the Swiss Federal Council, the very council Frédéric himself was part of before his presidency.
Despite holding the title of president, his actual power hadn't increased much. In Switzerland, the Federal Council, made up of seven mbers, collectively decides the fate of the nation. The president is rely the face of the country at important functions—but beyond that, his influence remained the sa.
And today, all seven council mbers were gathered to discuss an urgent matter.
"I'm telling you, we need to mobilize the KSK—Kommando Spezialkräfte—to guard the Zug. You can't seriously believe we have enough security already," said Luca ier, a 53-year-old council mber, clearly displeased with the current arrangents.
"Luca, the school has already assured us that they're fine and don't need additional forces. Plus, they brought their own security, and we've already been more than generous allowing them to carry weapons in our country—not to ntion the tactical military helicopter we approved for them," countered Sophie Huber, the youngest mber of the council at 36, who had been appointed just a year ago.
"That's funny, Sophie," interjected Fabian Keller, the oldest in the room at 64. "You talk as if we actually had a choice. Now, I'm not necessarily siding with Luca on deploying special forces, but at the very least, the MP Spezialeinheit police force should be moved in. If anything happens at that school, it won't just be their problem—we'll be responsible too. We have to take precautions."
"What are you guys talking about? We shouldn't even be discussing security—no one would be foolish enough to attack them. What we need to focus on now is how to capitalize on their presence."
Lena von Stein, the 47-year-old board mber, leaned forward, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room. "Just this morning alone, the sheer number of powerful figures in our country has already begun shifting the economic landscape. The stock market is reacting, with key sectors seeing an uptick in value. Foreign investors, sensing opportunity, are already making inquiries about potential partnerships, and luxury goods sales are surging as high-net-worth individuals flood into the country. their arrival has placed us at the center of the financial world, and with the right moves, we can turn this mont into long-term prosperity."
As the discussion turned in Lena's favor, Frédéric observed silently. Ever since his election earlier this year, narrowly defeating Lena, his disdain for her had only grown. The council had already decided he would be president for the year, yet Lena had challenged him regardless. It was an open secret that she was the frontrunner to replace him next year, but until then, he would antagonize her at every opportunity. That said, he wasn't foolish—Lena had a point, and ignoring an opportunity of this magnitude would be shortsighted. (Swiss presidency is for one year)
The room buzzed with debate when Frédéric cleared his throat, instantly drawing attention. He gave a smug grin before speaking.
"Well, Lena, I have to admit—you're not wrong. Which is why I've already taken steps regarding this. After this eting, I'll be sitting down with Alexander Blackwell to discuss shifting part of his portfolio into our banks. That alone should inject hundreds of billions into our economy. If we secure even a fraction of his assets, it will strengthen our financial institutions, increase liquidity, and attract more ultra-high-net-worth individuals who follow his lead. The credibility boost alone could result in long-term investnts from hedge funds and multinational corporations."
A ripple of excitent spread through the room. The proposal was brilliant. Securing Blackwell's assets would not only boost the country's financial standing but also nd a long-standing wound. Swiss banks prided themselves on being the best in the world—discreet, secure, and prestigious. Yet, despite this, the wealthiest man on the planet, Cassius Blackwell, had famously snubbed them. He had left only a fraction of his net worth—roughly $18 billion—in their institutions and, in a now-infamous interview, openly regretted even that. He had vowed never to use Swiss banks again, calling them "rigid and outdated" compared to their competitors in places like Singapore and the Cayman Islands which in what was called a Cassius Joke he didn't even use those banks.
If they could persuade Alexander Blackwell to change that narrative, it would be a monuntal win. Swiss banks had long been admired for their confidentiality, stability, and ability to cater to the ultra-rich with exclusive financial services. However, in recent years, their dominance had been challenged by other financial hubs offering better flexibility and tax advantages. Blackwell's endorsent would restore credibility, attract a new wave of elite investors, and solidify their place at the top of global banking once more.
Lena frowned, tapping her fingers against the polished table. "I see your point, but I wasn't thinking about Alexander Blackwell. I had soone else in mind—Wei Zhiyuan. If we could secure his approval, we wouldn't just be dealing with one individual's wealth. A financial agreent with China would open up trade routes, increase foreign direct investnt, and provide us with long-term economic leverage far beyond what a single-family fortune can offer."
Murmurs of agreent spread across the room. Several board mbers nodded, clearly seeing the appeal of Lena's proposal.
Frédéric, however, leaned back in his chair, an amused smile playing at his lips. "A lone fortune, you say?" His tone was laced with mock disbelief. "Lena, with all due respect, you're severely underestimating the Blackwells. Calling their wealth 'a lone fortune' is like calling the sun 'just a light source.' Let's not forget that they already control our sixth-largest company—Nestlé. And where do you think most of those funds go? Certainly not here. Their money flows into foreign investnts, hedge funds, and tax havens, bypassing our economy entirely."
Lena exhaled sharply. "That's precisely my point. Even if we all agree on the potential gains, the Blackwells have an established partnership with the Morgans. Their wealth isn't fully independent—it's intertwined with Morgan Bank. There's no scenario where they beco full investors in our system."
Frédéric's grin widened. "Ah, about that." He let the words hang in the air, enjoying the shift in the room's energy. "That's where my next move cos in. I plan to convince the Morgans to acquire one of our private banks—Credit Suisse. If they take control, it changes the dynamic completely. And as it happens, I already have a eting scheduled with Mr. Morgan." He spread his hands. "Their involvent would stabilize our financial standing and bring in even more high-net-worth clients. So that particular obstacle… won't be a problem."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "If you're referring to David Morgan, then I hate to break it to you, but he doesn't have the authority to make that decision."
Frédéric chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Lena…" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the mont dramatic. "I'm not talking about David Morgan."
The room fell silent for a brief mont before hushed whispers broke out, the implications of his words sinking in.
Lena's frown deepened, but for the first ti in the discussion, she had nothing to say.
anwhile, in the school, everyone stood there, stunned. The words that had just co from the acting headmaster, Amélie, had sent shockwaves through the room.
But in a room filled with business and political leaders, the shock didn't show on their faces. Still, they were baffled. They had known about the threat, but most of them had co tonight not just because of that, but out of respect for the Montgory family and the school—a school that had housed many from their lineage.
They hadn't truly believed the threat was valid, assuming it was just a way to scare the kids. But now, it was being invoked. And not just that—it was being invoked against the Morgan family, no less.
The Morgans held a unique position among the elite families. Unlike their counterparts, who relentlessly pursued power and influence, the Morgans mostly kept to themselves, focusing on their business. They were respected by all, even seen as the keepers of the families' wealth, granting them an almost untouchable status. Seeing this happen to them was nothing short of shocking.
In the entire room, only two people showed their emotions.
The first was Susan Beaumont, her lips forming an "O" as she muttered, "How can that be? Poor Daphne…" thinking of the girl she had co to know as her daughter's best friend.
But the most shocked of all was David Morgan. His usual friendly smile had vanished, replaced by a deep frown. His voice, usually light and kind, turned cold as he spoke.
"What did you just say?"
Amélie, unshaken by his tone, t his gaze. "Like I said, for breaking the rules, Daphne has hereby been permanently rusticated from the school. We advise you to help her pack her belongings so she can leave with you."
David's jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, his voice sharp. "You—"
But before he could finish, a loud voice rang out from the back of the room.
"That wouldn't be needed."
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