The interior of the Bentley was what happened when British restraint fucked Arab oil money and had a baby raised by Swiss banks.
Hand-stitched leather that probably required sacrificing endangered cows. Wood paneling from trees that had personal names and security details. The kind of silence that only twenty-seven layers of soundproofing could buy. Even the air was imported—alpine oxygen mix with hints of money and subtle dominance.
Jayden sat across from his father, the space between them feeling like a negotiation table despite being a car interior. The speedster's hum was muted here, dampened by whatever awakened-tech was woven into the vehicle's frame.
His Level 30 aura pressed against Marcus's Level 135 shadow field, creating a neutral zone of competing power.
Neither had spoken for the first five minutes. Marcus sipped forty-year-old scotch that cost more than a car per bottle. Jayden watched Los Angeles blur past, cataloguing escape routes out of habit.
"You look like shit," Marcus finally said.
"You look old," Jayden replied.
"I'm one hundred and twelve. I've earned it." Marcus studied his son over the crystal tumbler. "You've earned... something. The question is what."
This was the dance. Not father welcoming son, but predator evaluating predator. Jayden understood the game—he'd been trained for it at board meetings disguised as family dinners.
His mind shifted into the same mode he used for high-stakes trades. Calculate risk. Assess positions. Find the optimal move. The Dragon Metaphor, as he'd started thinking of it—when dragons circled, you didn't get to stay neutral. You picked which one took a bite and prayed it wasn't fatal. He'd seen this coming and knew what to do.
"The Sterling family made inquiries," Marcus said, shadows curling around his fingers. "Diana Sterling personally offered to 'rehabilitate' you. Very generous. I had to decline by threatening removing her nephew's liver. He got better. Eventually."
"Touching."
"The government issued three separate capture orders. I had the senators who signed them reminded about their more interesting browser histories. The Apex himself sent a formal invitation to join the Five's training program." Marcus's smile could have frozen hell. "I have delt with anything that could hinder you, son."
"You've been busy."
"You've been expensive." Marcus pulled up a holographic display showing cascading numbers. "Twelve assassination attempts intercepted. Six Legacy Families probing our defenses. One hundred and thirty million in bribes, blackmail, and 'political contributions' to keep you off official radar. Your two-week vacation cost me more than some countries' GDP."
"Send me the bill."
"I'm sending you home." Marcus leaned back. "The question is whether you stay."
Here it was. The real negotiation. Not whether Jayden would return—he was already in the car. But under what terms.
"Let's talk reality," Jayden said, laying cards on the table. "I'm Level 18. My aura reads 30, but that's just Apex Grade multiplication, might hit higher at higher levels. Real combat? I can take a Level 50 if they're stupid and I'm lucky. Anyone Level 100 plus? I'm dead in thirty seconds."
"Accurate assessment. Continue."
"Every faction would want to own me, father. Government sees a weapon—use me up, black site accident when I'm inconvenient. Heroes see a recruit—leash me with rules, put me down if I color outside the lines. Villains see a tool—burn bright, die young, very profitable. Foreign powers?" Jayden laughed. "Beijing would dissect me for the Apex Grade genes. Moscow would weaponize me until I burned out."
"Also accurate. Your point?"
"My point is family math." Jayden leaned forward. "Luther Cross Industries stock jumps 20% just on rumors I'm alive. Confirmed return? 35% minimum. My existence is worth forty billion in market cap. Dead, I'm worth nothing. That's an incentive structure no other faction offers."
Marcus's smile was pure predator recognizing predator. "You always did understand numbers better than powers. Speaking of which..." He pulled up another display. "Mozart's operation. Quite impressive."
Jayden's eyes narrowed. "You know about Mozart."
"I know he's cornered 80% of the low-level monster parts market. I know every dungeon clear you did fed his supply chain. I know you're splitting 70-30 because you're not greedy enough to kill the golden goose." Marcus swirled his scotch. "I also know I don't care."
"Bullshit."
"Boy, I run a twelve-trillion-dollar empire. Your side project is a rounding error. Profitable rounding error, but still." Marcus's shadows rippled with amusement. "As long as it doesn't compromise family interests, your business is your business. I don't micromanage success."
"And if it grows beyond a rounding error?"
"Then we discuss vertical integration. But that's future math." Marcus set down his glass. "Present math is more interesting. You need protection while you grow from Level 18 to whatever monsters Apex Grade becomes. We need our forty billion in market cap to mature. Aligned interests."
"That's cold, even for you."
"That's honest. Would you prefer lies wrapped in affection?" Marcus studied him. "Your mother, by the way, has been... difficult since you disappeared years ago."
"Difficult how?"
"She stopped attending galas. Refused three board positions. Her light dims when she thinks no one's watching." Marcus's shadows flickered—the closest to discomfort Jayden had ever seen. "She also kept every trading award you won. Has them in her office behind a light shield she thinks I don't know about."
That was... unexpected.
"Apparently, even disappointments can be missed." Marcus continued. "She's attended your old races. Sent Level 120 healers to the Vasquez boy's mother, although I stopped them. Very unlike her."
"And Melody?"
"Convinced herself she's now heir apparent. Spent two weeks planning your memorial service. Already had the caterers selected." Marcus's expression suggested what he thought of that. "Adrian told her to fuck herself. At Sunday dinner. In front of the family. Then he threw a fireball at my head when I suggested he show more decorum."
"You didn't kill him."
"He's my son. And he was defending you. Called me, and I quote, 'a shadow-fucking sociopath who drove away the only interesting Luther in three generations.'" Pride flickered in Marcus's voice. "Terrible aim, but impressive conviction."
The Bentley took an exit toward Del Air. Time for the real terms.
"Full family resources," Marcus began. "Every gate, every trainer, every connection. Complete autonomy in your operations—Mozart remains yours. Protection from all external threats."
"In exchange?"
"You're a Luther Cross. Act like it when it matters. Defend family interests when required. And when the time comes..." Shadows deepened meaningfully.
"Succession based on merit."
"Exactly. Your siblings will adapt or be marginalized." Cold. Brutal. Perfect.
"The Vasquez family," Jayden added. "They're under protection."
"Already done. Anyone loyal to a Luther Cross when they had no power is valuable when they gain it." Marcus's tone brooked no argument. "Besides, your mother insisted. Something about 'loyalty being rarer than Apex Grades.'"
The estate gates loomed ahead. Jayden could sense dozens of electrical signatures inside. Family. Enemies. Future subjects.
"Last chance to run," Marcus offered, not meaning it.
"And miss seeing Uncle Harrison's face? The one who said you should have 'put me down' at birth?" Jayden's grin was all teeth and static. "Not a chance."
"Ah yes, Harrison." Marcus's smile turned vicious. "He's inside. Along with every aunt who whispered, every cousin who laughed, every board member who suggested I disown you officially. They're expecting a scared boy who needs guidance."
"And instead?"
"Instead, they'll learn that Luther Cross genes sometimes require... activation energy." Marcus paused at the entrance. "Your mother might cry in secret. It's tactical, but also genuine. She's complicated that way. And before you ask—yes, I'm satisfied with my ROI. But also..."
"Also?"
"Also glad you survived. Both the crash and what came after." He met Jayden's eyes. "That's as close to sentiment as I get."
From Marcus Luther Cross, that was a declaration of love.
"Oh, and Jayden? Try not to kill anyone whose death would cost more than ten million to cover up."
"So most of them are fair game?"
"Use your judgment. You're management now."
They entered together, shadow and lightning, father and son, CEO and heir apparent. The dragon deal was struck—Jayden had chosen his predator, the one that profited from him living.
The Luther Cross family was about to learn that their cripple had evolved.
And evolution, as Marcus had taught him, didn't care about hurt feelings.