Washington, D.C.

The Maybourne Club – Private Salon.

Five people occupied the room, gathered for a luncheon that was not listed on any official calendar.

Senator Howard Pierce sat at the head of the table.Across from him sat Representative Linda Cross, dressed in an elegant in a cream suit, with a thoughtful expression on her face.

To her left, Alan Brookner, lobbyist and defense contractor liaison. Beside him was Paul Danner from Treasury. He's the group's bridge to data, money, and influence. The fifth was Cynthia Reaves, corporate strategist and fixer, whose business was connecting power with profit.

Pierce poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid with quiet rhythm.

"So," he began softly, "our young friend continues to surprise."

Linda crossed her legs, with her posture poised, as she spoke, "He's still in Dubai. My source from the embassy said he met the Crown Prince yesterday. Private audience. No press, no aides, just the two of them."

"That alone should tell us something," Brookner murmured. "You don't get a private audience with that man unless you bring something to the table."

Pierce smiled faintly. "Or unless you are the table."

That earned a few quiet laughs.

Paul Danner slid a thin folder across the polished wood. "Our side of things hasn't changed. The numbers still don't add up. His accounts move like a sovereign fund. Multi-billion liquidity, zero institutional footprint. Every transaction passes cleanly through the private banking sector. There are no irregularities, no leverage positions and no risk trails. It's as if he doesn't exist in the system, yet controls parts of it."

"That alone should make him irresistible," Cynthia said.

Linda tapped her fingers lightly against her cup. "Irresistible, yes. But also unreachable. No known advisory team, no foundation, no political history. He doesn't donate, doesn't lobby, doesn't owe favors. He's completely disconnected."

Pierce spoke with a mild tone but sharp eyes, "No one is completely disconnected. Everyone runs through someone. We just haven't found who yet."

Brookner spoke next, his voice pragmatic. "Then we should. Because if he's being courted by the Gulf states, that means their sovereign funds will follow. And if that happens, we'll have a man outside the network influencing capital flows we can't regulate. That's a problem."

"Or," Cynthia countered smoothly, "an opportunity. It depends on who shakes his hand first."

Pierce nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Which brings us here."

They all fell silent and for a few moments, none of them spoke.

"Let's be honest," Brookner said finally, breaking the silence. "This isn't about policy. It's about preservation."

Pierce's gaze flicked toward him, but he didn't disagree.

"You mean survival," Linda said softly, her tone almost wistful. "Every decade someone new shows up—someone younger, faster, richer—and the rest of us get pushed one step closer to irrelevance. The last thing I plan to be is a footnote."

"You want control," Cynthia smiled. "I just want access. Men like him open doors to things money can't buy anymore—energy grids, defense patents, offshore channels that make Wall Street look provincial.

"I want a seat," Danner added quietly. "When someone rewrites the rules, I want to be in the room before it happens."

Pierce swirled the bourbon in his glass and added, "Call it what you want. Power, relevance, security. It's all the same currency. The boy's an unaligned asset, and unaligned assets are dangerous. Better to claim him before someone else does."

"He's young. That works in our favor. Ambition makes people predictable. If we can offer him access—political legitimacy, invitations to international circles, quiet introductions to people who shape policy and we'll make him dependent before he even realizes it," Linda said.

"You make it sound like grooming but we all it's not," Brookner smiled.

"It's called guidance," Linda replied, unflinching.

Pierce chuckled under his breath. "Let's not pretend morality has ever built a fortune. We all have done things."

Paul Danner smiled as he flipped a page in the folder, speaking, "We could start with exposure. Have one of the economic think tanks reach out to him under the pretense of global innovation. A speaking invitation, perhaps. That would give us a direct line of communication. It would be discreet and professional."

"Good," Pierce said. "Once he's here, we keep him close. Every powerful man needs allies who understand Washington."

Cynthia tilted her head slightly. "You mean handlers."

"Friends," Pierce corrected. "The kind who make sure the room stays favorable."

"And if he resists?" Linda asked with a softer voice.

"Then we create incentive," Pierce said. "A little pressure, a little curiosity. Let him feel the weight of attention. You'd be surprised how quickly isolation turns into cooperation."

Brookner rested his chin on his hand. "You plan to corner him."

"I plan to give him choices," Pierce replied evenly. "Just not too many."

The table fell quiet again. The only sound was the faint clink of ice in a glass.

Cynthia broke the silence, her tone low. "What about a profile piece? Something in the financial press. A feature that highlights his wealth, his mystery. People love prodigies—and the moment they love you, they expect to own you."

Linda nodded slowly. "Control the narrative before he learns how to use it himself."

Danner gave a small smile. "You're suggesting a public stage."

"Exactly," Linda said. "We don't have to touch him directly. We just build the myth. Then, when he needs stability, we offer it."

Cynthia spoke next, her voice steady. "Let's not forget, gentlemen—and lady—this isn't just another tech kid or startup founder. Whoever he is, he's already moving in circles that money alone can't buy. The Crown Prince doesn't take casual meetings. That means he's being groomed—or he's grooming them."

"Which makes him even more valuable," Linda said. "If he's in the Gulf's ear, he's holding influence that could tilt markets. And if he's naïve enough to think he can do it alone, we'll make sure he learns otherwise."

"You really do have a way with words, Congresswoman," Brookner nodded approvingly.

"Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Alan. Especially not between my legs," Linda smiled.

"What do you mean? Besides, I've been there more than a few times and you always love it," Brookner smiled mischievously.

"I'm married, Alan," Linda sighed.

"That never stopped you before. Also I'm not trying to flatter. Just appreciating shared ambition," Brookner smiled.

Pierce smiled at their interaction and continued, "A bit of orchestration never hurt anyone. Fine. Have your editors reach out quietly. Something tasteful. A profile without fingerprints."

"And if the Crown Prince decides to move first?" Cynthia asked, with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"They won't but if they do, then we remind our friends in the Gulf who guarantees their treasury assets in New York," Pierce's answer came without hesitation.

"Always the diplomat," Brookner gave a short laugh.

"Always the realist," Pierce corrected.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Linda finally said, "We should tread lightly. There's something about him that doesn't fit the usual pattern. The more I read, the more it feels deliberate. It's as if the gaps in his history were placed there."

"Good. That means he understands how the game works. I respect that," Pierce smiled.

"But it also means he's not naïve," she added.

"Then we'll appeal to something better than naïveté," Pierce said. "Greed. Vision. Ego. Take your pick."

Brookner finished his drink and set the glass down. "What's our first step?"

Pierce looked to Danner. "Find someone in Treasury's outreach division who can draft an informal letter. It should be something about economic cooperation. Don't send it. Just have it ready."

"Understood."

Then to Linda, he's said, "Get in touch with a few think tanks. The kind that know exactly how to make people feel important. If he bites, we'll host a dinner in his honor."

"Understood," she said.

"Cynthia," Pierce continued, "prepare a background brief. Every connection, every rumor. If we can't verify it, we invent context. The press loves a mystery with edges."

"Done."

Pierce glanced toward Brookner last and said, "You'll handle the defense angle. If he's dabbling in tech or infrastructure, find out where. If not, create the impression that he is."

"With pleasure," Brookner smiled.

Pierce rose slowly from his chair. The others followed, each knowing the meeting was over without him having to say so.

"Gentlemen. Lady. Whatever he's building out there—let's make sure it passes through us before it reaches anyone else," Pierce smirked.

He reached for his glass, raised it slightly.

"To opportunity," he said.

Linda gave a small smile as she raised her own. "And to ownership."

The glasses touched softly.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.