Alex Sinclair
The sleek aircraft cut through the sky, carrying him towards Kuwait and the lucrative deal that awaited him there.
He set aside the tablet and gazed out the window, a small smile playing on his lips.
The Burgan Field oil mine shares would be a significant addition to the Sinclair portfolio, diversifying their holdings beyond media and into the energy sector.
It was exactly the kind of move his father would approve of, though Alex knew he'd surpass even David Sinclair's expectations.
A flight attendant approached, her crisp uniform accentuating her curves.
"Mr. Sinclair, your meal is ready," she said, her voice low and sultry.
Alex nodded, watching as she set up the table with practiced efficiency. The aroma of perfectly cooked wagyu steak filled the cabin as she unveiled the main course. Crystal glasses clinked softly as she poured a deep red wine to accompany the meal.
As Alex savored the first bite of the tender steak, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. This was the life he was born for, the power and luxury that came with being a Sinclair.
He was halfway through his meal when the flight attendant returned, this time with a worried expression on her face. In her hand, she held a satellite phone.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Sinclair, but you have an urgent call," she said, extending the phone towards him.
Alex's brow furrowed slightly as he took the phone. Urgent calls were rarely good news, especially when one was about to close a multi-million dollar deal.
Alex's jaw tightened as he brought the phone to his ear.
"Alex Sinclair speaking."
"Mr. Sinclair, this is Fahad Al-Sabah from Kuwait Petroleum Corporation," a deep voice replied, tinged with regret.
"I'm afraid I have some... unfortunate news regarding our share purchase agreement."
Alex's grip on the phone tightened.
"What kind of news, Mr. Al-Sabah?"
"I regret to inform you that the agreement has... fallen through."
Alex's eyes narrowed.
"Fallen through? We agreed on terms just last week. I'm en route to sign the contract as we speak."
"Yes, I understand, and we deeply apologize for the inconvenience," Fahad said, his voice strained. "
There have been some... unexpected developments."
"What kind of developments?"
Alex demanded, his free hand clenching into a fist.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, Mr. Sinclair. But it seems there has been certain shots called… within the energy sector."
Alex's mind raced.
This wasn't just a simple change of heart.
Something, or someone, had interfered.
"Mr. Al-Sabah, we had a deal. The Sinclair Group isn't one that can simply be dismissed. Surely you understand the implications of backing out now?" Alex threatened.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"We do, Mr. Sinclair. And believe me, this decision wasn't made lightly. But our hands are tied. It seems... well, the Sinclair name doesn't carry weight especially not in our circle."
Alex felt a cold fury building in his chest.
"I see," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
"And I suppose you can't tell me who's responsible for this sudden change of heart?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sinclair. Truly, I am. But perhaps it's best if you... reassess your position in the market. Times are changing, after all."
*Beep*
Alex stared at the phone in disbelief for a moment before hurling it across the cabin. It smashed against the wall, pieces of plastic and circuitry scattering across the plush carpet.
"Goddammit!" he roared, slamming his fist on the table.
The crystal glasses rattled, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
The flight attendant appeared, her eyes wide with concern.
"Mr. Sinclair, is everything—"
"Get out!" Alex snapped, his face contorted with rage.
The woman scurried away, leaving him alone with his fury.
He stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the cabin. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Who the hell had the audacity to interfere with a Sinclair deal?
And more importantly, who had the power to do so?
Alex ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, messing up his usually impeccable appearance. This wasn't just about the oil shares anymore. This was a direct challenge to the Sinclair name, to their power and influence.
'Times are changing,' the man had said.
The words echoed in Alex's mind, mocking him. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Who could it be? The Rothschilds?
No, they were supposed to be allies in this.
The Vanderbilts? Possible, but unlikely.
They didn't have that kind of pull in the energy sector.
Then a chilling thought struck him.
Could it be... the Blackstones?
But that was impossible. They were supposed to be in disarray…
Alex's mind raced as he paced the cabin, the realization hitting him like a freight train.
The assassination attempt on the Blackstone twins - could it have failed? His heart pounded in his chest as the pieces began to fall into place.
He lunged for the satellite phone, only to remember with a sickening jolt that he had smashed it against the wall in his earlier fit of rage.
Fragments of plastic and circuitry littered the plush carpet, a stark reminder of his impulsiveness.
"No, no, no," he muttered, running his hands through his hair, further disheveling his usually impeccable appearance.
"Rita!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with panic.
"I need another satellite phone! Now!"
The woman appeared almost instantly, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and fear.
"Mr. Sinclair, is everything-"
"The phone!" Alex snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"Just get me another damn satellite phone!"
She scurried away, returning moments later with another sleek black device. Alex snatched it from her hands before she could even fully extend her arm.
His fingers trembled as he punched in the familiar number, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The dial tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity, each second feeling like an hour.
Finally, a click.
"David Sinclair speaking."
"Father," Alex said, his voice tight with barely contained panic.