Han Global ran on precision.
But today, it ran on Lucas Pan's calendar.
Three board meetings. Back-to-back. No lunch break. No room to breathe.
Just war in a suit.
The building buzzed with it—staff in elevators whispering, assistants clutching folders tighter than usual, upper floor execs canceling outside calls "until further notice."
They felt it.
Something was about to snap.
Meeting One – Compliance Division
Room 42B, 10:00 AM sharp.
Lucas entered without his usual assistant, flanked only by Rhea and a silent ATHENA interface glowing behind him.
The six executives seated around the glass table straightened instinctively. Half had worked under Cyrus. The other half had floated under Frances's radar for years.
Lucas didn't sit.
"This will be quick," he said.
No greeting. No preamble.
He clicked the remote. The screen behind him came to life—an expense report, blown up in painful clarity.
"In the past four months, we've paid out over 4.3 million yuan in 'consulting fees' to shell vendors with no deliverables."
He turned slowly. "I don't believe in coincidences."
A man to the left—a regional VP with a perfect knot in his tie—cleared his throat.
"I assure you—"
"You're fired," Lucas said, voice flat.
The man froze. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You've been bleeding the company on ghost vendors, and you did it sloppily. I'm not going to yell. I'm not going to argue. I'm going to make an example."
"He will try to file for wrongful dismissal," ATHENA whispered.
Lucas nodded. "Then I'll drag the audit public. Your choice."
The man stood, pale. No one stopped him as he left.
Lucas turned to the others.
"Three more names," he said. "On my desk by noon. Or I add you to the list."
Meeting Two – Legacy Projects Panel
Conference Hall 3A, 12:45 PM.
This room was more polished. More expensive.
So were the people inside it.
Lucas walked in with a slimmer folder, dark suit crisp, sleeves rolled just high enough to look like he wasn't wasting time on presentation.
At the head of the table sat Chairman Wen, the oldest remaining member of Cyrus's original board. Next to him: two legacy architects and an R&D exec who always managed to speak in half-sentences and double meanings.
"I appreciate your time," Lucas said.
Wen leaned forward. "This is a legacy division, Mr. Pan. There's protocol."
Lucas didn't blink. "There's also waste. And I'm not paying for either."
He laid out the folder—dozens of projects Cyrus had greenlit in name, but never funded. Legacy placeholders. Symbolic fluff.
"This company has a history of preserving things out of sentiment. I don't."
The R&D exec cleared her throat. "Some of these initiatives go back twenty years—"
"Then they should've worked by now," Lucas snapped. "This is a company, not a museum."
"They expected you to tiptoe here," ATHENA said. "They don't know what you've already closed."
Lucas tapped the table.
"I'm sunsetting every initiative without projected yield in the next six quarters. If your teams can't justify the spend, we cut. If you resist, we replace."
Wen narrowed his eyes. "That's not how your father did things."
Lucas leaned in. "No. That's why I'm here instead of him."
The meeting ended in silence.
But not defeat.
Because this time, they listened.
Meeting Three – External Partnerships
Boardroom 6F, 3:30 PM.
Lucas walked in late on purpose.
He didn't apologize.
Two dozen people sat around the wide oval table—contract consultants, marketing strategists, legal partners. Many of them were handpicked by Frances over the last two years.
The tension was thick.
Lucas stood at the edge, flipping open a slim card of ATHENA-fed intel.
"Half of you have been paid six figures to do nothing but reroute attention."
He tossed a small stack of printed email summaries onto the table. "Covert keyword suppression. Redirection contracts. Hidden spin tactics."
He looked up.
"Starting today, every external partner answers to my PR director—Rhea Zhao. If you want to keep your seats, you work under her timeline, her content strategy, her review."
A man two seats down laughed. "That's not how our agreements are structured."
Lucas smiled. "Then get your coat."
He pointed to another. "And you—Shen from compliance media—you can go with him. Your invoice padding is so obvious it might as well come with a thank-you card."
"Cut deep, but not reckless," ATHENA said. "These are visible moves. The market will react."
"Let them," Lucas said out loud.
Everyone in the room heard it.
By the time the sun dipped, Lucas had fired five people, demoted two, and canceled eleven contracts.
He'd also triggered three emergency calls to Frances.
Let her scramble.
Back in his office, Lucas stood by the window, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loose, hands in his pockets.
Rhea dropped a thick folder on his desk. "You just fired more people in one day than your father did in a fiscal quarter."
Lucas didn't turn around. "That's why this company stagnated."
"You're going to get pushback."
"I'm counting on it."
ATHENA's voice returned.
"Pushback confirms fear. And fear confirms respect."
Lucas smiled faintly.
"Exactly."
Lucas turned from the window just as the CFO entered—Vivian Kuang, late 40s, pragmatic to a fault, hair pulled into a no-nonsense twist and a data tablet already in hand.
She closed the office door behind her.
"I assume you've heard about the firings," Lucas said.
Vivian didn't blink. "They were overdue."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Let's talk budget."
She sat and slid the tablet across the desk. "You've trimmed excess in three divisions, but we're still 3.8% above ideal operational margin. Frances's ghost contracts ran deeper than expected. And the media diversion projects were siphoning more than PR."
Lucas scrolled through the breakdowns. His eyes moved fast.
"What happens if I cancel all vendor redundancy protocols in R&D?"
"You'll gain 1.2% margin instantly, but the CTO will cry and leak to tech press."
"I can handle press."
Vivian nodded. "Then it's worth it."
Lucas tapped a second chart. "And if we restructure the product pipeline into quarters instead of fiscal halves?"
"Short-term volatility, long-term acceleration. Higher boardroom noise."
"Let them make noise," he muttered. "They'll calm down when the numbers hit."
"Approach: precise. Calculated. Tone: low-pressure dominance," ATHENA murmured. "Continue."
Vivian raised an eyebrow. "You're settling into this."
Lucas looked up. "No. I'm setting the terms for the company I actually want."
He pointed to a final figure at the bottom of the sheet. "What's the one line no one has touched since 2020?"
Vivian glanced.
"Legacy capital cushion. Emergency buffer Cyrus kept off the books."
Lucas leaned back. "Move 20% of it into high-trust community projects under the team brand. Tie it to the basketball launch."
Vivian blinked, then smiled—just a little. "Philanthropy as shield?"
"Loyalty generator," Lucas corrected. "And a smart way to remind them I'm not just here to break things."
Vivian nodded, closed the tablet, and stood.
"You're not your father."
Lucas gave a faint smile. "No. But I understand why he did what he did. And now, I know what I'll do differently."