Negotiations End

Brandon smirked at Alaric's response, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and determination.

"Oh, Headmaster," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "you do understand that that response means that you've lost all rights to bargain moving forward."

Alaric's jovial expression remained unchanged, but internally, he cursed Brandon's slyness.

'Clever boy,' he thought.

'He knew I wouldn't answer that question, but he brought it up anyway to ensure his real demands would be fulfilled. Well played, young Blackstone.'

Despite his frustration, Alaric's face remained a mask of cheerful obliviousness.

"My dear boy, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.

"Now, why don't you tell this old man what it is you want from NOA?"

Brandon leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. He could see the wheels turning behind Alaric's twinkling eyes.

'This sly old fox, still playing the fool huh?' Brandon thought.

Brandon's smirk widened as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on Alaric's. The tension in the room thickened, almost palpable.

"What I want, Headmaster," Brandon began, his voice low and measured, "is for NOA to assist in a rather... delicate matter."

Alaric's eyebrows raised slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

Brandon paused, savoring the moment. He could see the old man's mind racing behind that facade of cheerful indifference.

"I need NOA to help liquidate the Blackstone family's real estate assets," Brandon finally revealed, his words hanging in the air like a bombshell.

Alaric's jovial expression faltered for a split second, genuine surprise flashing across his face before he could mask it.

'Liquidate? The Blackstone real estate empire?' Alaric's mind reeled.

'What game is this boy playing?'

"And not just any liquidation," Brandon continued, his voice steady. "I need it done within a month, completely under wraps. No one can know about this, Headmaster. No one."

Alaric leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Brandon.

"Tell me, young Blackstone," he said, his voice deceptively light, "do you even comprehend the extent of your family's real estate holdings?"

'What the hell is the boy thinking?' Alaric's thoughts raced.

'Liquidating tens, possibly hundreds of billions in assets in a month? It's madness!'

Brandon shrugged, raising both open palms to his sides in a gesture of nonchalance.

"All I need to figure out," he said, his voice cool and confident, "is if the effort is worth the legacy of NOA."

Brandon watched as Alaric's demeanor suddenly shifted.

The headmaster sprang up, his diminutive frame barely visible over the massive desk as he stood on his chair. His wispy white hair seemed to bristle with indignation.

"Impossible!" Alaric exclaimed, waving his arms dramatically.

"Absolutely preposterous! Do you have any idea what you're asking, young man? Liquidating billions in assets in a month? It's like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon!"

He continued his tirade, his voice rising to a comical pitch.

"We'd need an army of lawyers, accountants, not to mention the number of favors we'd have to call in! And to keep it quiet? HAH!!!"

Just as Alaric was reaching the crescendo of his rant, a soft "Ahem" cut through the air.

Brandon turned slightly to see Annabelle, who had been silently observing from behind him.

Her eyes narrowed, fixing Alaric with a threatening glare.

Alaric froze mid-gesture, his mouth hanging open. His mind raced.

'Damn that Reginald!' he thought bitterly.

'This is precisely why we have rules against meddling in these families' affairs. Now look at the mess we're in!'

He locked eyes with Annabelle, feeling the weight of her silent threat. The memory of the Montclairs' earlier warning echoed in his mind, sending a chill down his spine.

With a heavy sigh, Alaric sank back into his chair, suddenly looking every bit his age.

"Very well," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

"We'll do our best to accomplish your request, Young Blackstone. Heaven help us all."

Brandon leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I knew we could come to an understanding."

Alaric's eyes narrowed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I must ask, young Blackstone, why the sudden urgency to liquidate the cornerstone of your family's empire? And on such short notice?"

Brandon's mind raced.

'Is this old fox genuinely unaware of the impending threat, or is this a ploy to gauge how much we know?'

He decided to play along, opting for a dramatic approach.

With an exaggerated sigh, Brandon threw his hands up in mock despair.

"Oh, Headmaster!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with feigned distress.

"After that dreadful assassination attempt, we Blackstones are simply shaking in our boots! With such a dangerous and mysterious enemy lurking about, we figured it best to run and hide!"

He clutched his chest dramatically, eyes wide with mock fear.

Alaric rolled his eyes, inwardly cursing at the boy's theatrics.

The image of Brandon coldly shooting Reginald flashed through his mind, a stark contrast to this ridiculous display of cowardice.

'This damned brat belongs on the stage indeed,' Alaric thought, 'one moment a cold-blooded killer, the next a trembling coward. Does he think me a fool?'

Behind Brandon, Annabelle pressed her lips together, barely containing a chuckle at the absurd performance.

She caught Alaric's eye, her amusement clear despite her attempts to remain stoic.

Brandon stood up, smoothing out his suit as he turned to leave. He had taken only a few steps when he stopped in his tracks, turning his head slightly.

"Oh, one last thing," he said, his voice casual yet laced with intent.

"I'm sure you'd agree that it's in both our interests that the Sinclairs take the blame?"

Alaric's eyebrows shot up, his mind racing to catch up with Brandon's implication.

Brandon continued, his tone nonchalant.

"Perhaps NOA should take action. Expelling the Sinclairs, or banning them from the school? To make an example out of them, of course."

Alaric's face remained impassive, but internally, he was in turmoil.

'Ah, Sinclairs, I apologize,' he thought.

'You'll have to take the fall for this one. But this boy... his wit, his ruthlessness. Using the future of an entire family as a mere distraction... Clever, indeed. Petty, but clever.'

The old headmaster studied Brandon, a newfound respect mingling with his wariness.

Alaric nodded slowly, his twinkling eyes betraying a hint of admiration.

"I believe we can arrange something along those lines, Young Blackstone."

Brandon's lips curved into a satisfied smile.

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the office, Gordon trailing behind him with a look of approval.