Building The Strongest Family-Chapter 110: Deals Signed, Knives Drawn

Donald had been scrutinizing the proceedings with the precision of a hawk, his sharp gaze never wavering.

Finally, he broke the silence. "The Blackridge oil fields," he stated, "You want our rail networks in exchange for 10 billion barrels."

Edward nodded, his confidence unwavering. "Not just access, full cargo rights. Osborn freight takes priority, no delays, no tariffs."

Rajiv’s fingers drummed thoughtfully on his antique pocket watch. "That’s worth more than oil."

"Then make a counteroffer," Edward smirked, his strategic mind already racing ahead.

Donald exhaled slowly, his tone somber. "Fifty percent of the oil revenue. In perpetuity."

Edward laughed dismissively. "Try again."

A standoff ensued, the tension thick enough to cut. Finally, Donald relented. "Twenty percent. And we retain mineral rights on any new discoveries along the rail routes."

Edward pretended to ponder this for a moment. "Fifteen percent in oil revenue, and you include the ports at Veldpars and Petrogravia."

Donald’s lips thinned as he glared at Edward. "You’re a thief."

"And you’re running out of options," Edward shot back.

A heavy silence enveloped the room before Donald extended his hand. "Deal."

Total Value: Estimated oil revenue: 2 trillion Unicreds over 10 years (15% = 180 billion Unicreds).Rail & port access value: Priceless

Edward stood, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. "Contracts will be drafted by morning. Gentlemen... Ms. Khalifa... pleasure doing business."

As the brokers filed out, some satisfied, others seething, Edward poured himself a final cup of coffee and strolled to the window.

The first light of the sun bathed the mines below in a warm glow. Just then, his tablet buzzed. A message popped up:

"Heard you just bought a country. Don’t spend it all in one place."

Edward was momentarily speechless but shook his head, a wry smile creeping over his face.

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The Osborn Mining and Resource Group Private Elevator

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The doors to the Diamond Conference Room hissed shut behind the three brokers, sealing them into the mirrored elevator.

For a moment, silence reigned, the eerie calm after a battlefield has been cleared, where survivors can finally breathe.

Then Mikhail Volkov vented his frustration, punching the elevator wall with enough force to dent the steel.

"That contemptible man just bent us over a barrel!" he barked, his silver-streaked beard bristling. His bleeding knuckles were forgotten in his fury.

Lina Khalifa’s fingers danced over her ledger, a blur of motion as she recalculated the margins of the aluminum deal for what felt like the twelfth time.

"We had no choice," she said flatly, not bothering to look up. "If we’d walked away, Osborn would’ve sold to the Verkstad Consortium. They’re already stockpiling for the next-gen fighter contracts."

Donald adjusted his cufflinks, his expression inscrutable. "He played us against each other. The oil was the trap, he knew we’d fight for it, so he let us. I have to say, he’s impressive for someone so young."

As the elevator descended toward the lobby, its numbers ticking down like a countdown to doom, Mikhail stormed out of Osborn Heavy Industries.

His bodyguards scrambled to keep pace with him as he reached his private armored limousine, a hulking Zil-4107 retrofitted with bulletproof glass, idling at the curb. freёwebnoѵel.com

He wrenched open the door and barked at his driver:"To the airstrip. Now!"

Inside, he poured himself three fingers of LuxNull, a luxury brand wine, from the decanter and downed it in one swift gulp.

His encrypted phone buzzed insistently; his board was already calling.

He ignored it and dialed another number instead. A man answered on the first ring.

"Tell me you have good news," growled Dmitri Sokolov, vice head of the Eastern Dominion’s Mining Regulatory Bureau.

Mikhail ground his teeth together. "The patent, the plasma refinement process from Osborn? Kill it."

A pause followed before Dmitri replied cautiously, "You know it’s not that simple; the Osborns have friends in the Commission, and one is above me."

"Then make new friends!" Mikhail roared back, frustration boiling over. "Bribe them! Blackmail them! I don’t care how, just bury that patent in paperwork until Edward dies of old age!" He slammed down his phone, chest heaving with anger.

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Lina didn’t utter a word until her private jet was airborne and en route to a different city. Only then did she open her secure tablet and initiate a video call.

The screen flickered to life, revealing General Magnus Veyne, the head of Ventara Union Aerospace Defense Division, a country about the size of Eastern Dominion with a population nearing 900 million.

"The deal is done," Lina stated firmly. "We have secured the aluminum, but it cost us."

Magnus’s face appeared stony on-screen as he asked sharply, "How much?"

"3,400 per ton," Lina replied evenly. "Plus exclusivity clauses."

A muscle in Magnus’s jaw twitched visibly at this news. "That’s a 22% premium over projections."

Lina nodded, her expression resolute. "Osborn knows we can’t just walk away. Our next-gen fighter jets project hinges on that alloy; without it, our prototypes will crash and burn at Mach 3."

Magnus leaned in closer, his voice low but firm. "Then let’s make sure Osborn isn’t the only game in town. I want a team in the Solarian Basin by tomorrow, find new deposits anywhere but his mines."

Lina tightened her grip on her stylus, anxiety creeping into her tone. "And if we fail?"

The General’s smile was thin and sharp, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. "Then we might have to revisit... alternative methods. Industrial accidents happen every day."

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Donald decided against heading to the airport; instead, his driver took him to an unassuming teahouse nestled within the bustling financial district.

At a corner table sat Mathis Vanguard, CEO of Vanguard Freight, Osborn’s fiercest rival in rail logistics across the Eastern Dominion.

Donald entered without so much as a greeting. "It’s done," he stated flatly. "Osborn has your rail networks."

Mathis froze mid-sip, disbelief etched across his face. "All of them?"

"Every line east of the Urals."

A heavy silence settled between them before Mathis set down his cup with deliberate calmness. "You just handed him the keys to the country."

Mathis’s smile turned icy as he replied, "No, I handed him a war."

He slid a folder across the table containing schematics and blueprints of Osborn’s Port Cyanide aluminum facility: security rotations, supply routes, the works.

Mathis’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. "You want to sabotage his factory?"

Donald took a sip of tea, casually responding, "Call it... a market correction."