4. Corporate Machinations

The negotiation was set for the fourth floor. Perhaps there is an inexplicable obsession among corporate types with reaching the very top; even for a simple negotiation, they prioritized the highest level.

Inside the room, aside from ten Maelstrom gang members—who were clearly acting as security for the other party—there was a male corporate suit. Unlike Blanca, who wore casual clothes and was desperately suppressing her nerves, this man wore fine attire and practically wore the stereotypical arrogance of a Night City corpo on his face.

His demeanor was haughty, his nose held high, and his gaze carried a certain disdain that made one want to put a bullet in his head just to cool him down.

'An insufferable prick.'

After mentally evaluating the man, who looked to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight and was sitting at the end of the conference table, Karl had to admit one thing: compared to this corporate suit, his employer, Blanca, at least had some redeeming qualities—namely, her appearance.

Well, and the fact that she paid his commission.

"Sit down, Blanca."

The man spoke with a tone of casual familiarity, as if he were already treating his former superior like meat on a chopping block.

"Juanito..."

Speaking with a complex tone, Blanca sat at the opposite end of the table.

"Don't be so nervous, Blanca."

Juanito smiled, a look of confidence and triumph on his face. "We're just discussing a small matter that we can both agree on, aren't we?"

"A small matter?"

Hearing him call it a "small matter," Blanca’s anger was evident, but she forced it down in the face of his smile. "Tell me, what do you want in exchange for handing over that item?"

"My demands won't be high."

Juanito’s expression turned into a sneer. "After all, back when I was your subordinate, I was 'well' taken care of by you."

He emphasized the words "well taken care of," implying that their shared history was far from pleasant.

***

'Looks like corporate dogs biting corporate dogs,' Karl thought, assessing the situation. He scanned the 120-square-meter temporary conference room, which had been created by punching through a wall. After identifying the weapons and positions of every Maelstrom member, he gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

His employer’s intel was slightly inaccurate; there were actually eleven of them, or fourteen if you counted the guards at the door and the drivers. But this fell within the acceptable margin of error for a contract. All in all, the job didn't seem too difficult.

While Karl was sizing up the Maelstrom members, they were also looking at him. Since it was ten against one, they didn't perceive much of a threat and became somewhat relaxed.

They had heard from their client that the person they were negotiating with had no reliable subordinates left and had to resort to hiring street-level mercenaries. They had thought it was an exaggeration, but it seemed true: a mercenary wearing only a flak jacket, lacking even subcutaneous armor, and armed with nothing but a pistol—what could he possibly do?

None of the ten recognized Karl as the one who had taken out "Devil." For one, Devil was just a low-level lieutenant, and people like that died in the Maelstrom every week, hardly worth remembering. Secondly, these Maelstrom members were hired help brought in from a higher-up by the client; they barely knew each other, let alone shared information.

Under this information gap, in their eyes, Karl was just a green kid, barely seventeen or eighteen, too young to even be a proper gangster.

As they sized each other up, the conversation between the two corporate suits continued. After Juanito threw a few more snide, passive-aggressive remarks that pushed Blanca’s trembling hands to their limit, he finally seemed to have vented his past grievances and moved on to the main point, looking refreshed.

"I want you to hand over all your assets, resign voluntarily, and get out of the company. Oh, and by 'assets,' I mean everything, including your house, car, and money."

With that single sentence, Juanito completely ignited Blanca’s fury.

"That's impossible!"

Blanca slammed her hands on the conference table and stood up. "What you have is not enough to make me pay that price."

"Not enough?"

Juanito scoffed. "Do you think just because you destroyed the evidence of you selling company transport routes to Maelstrom, you can yell at me? I won't mind telling you—I’ve been doing the same thing, and I started long before you. Even your involvement was something I arranged by contacting the Maelstrom leadership to give you the opportunity. You destroyed this batch of transport evidence? Fine, but I have as much as I want."

Juanito raised a pinky finger and tapped the table.

"How else do you think I discovered your scheme? How do you think I got this evidence? By paying the Maelstrom off before you did? Get real, Ms. Blanca. Aside from having a better degree than me, which got you the position I deserved, what do you have that's better than mine?"

"The whole partnership... you were playing me this entire time?!"

***

"What else? Don't worry, Ms. Blanca. I had my Maelstrom friends install jammers here long ago. Don't even think about secretly turning on your recording device. You thought I didn't notice you pretending to be provoked while you were trying to sneakily activate it? Nothing said here will reach the company."

Hearing Juanito’s arrogant, final-verdict tone, the anger on Blanca’s face froze. Then, as if nothing had happened, she became calm again. She silently sat back down, looking at her former subordinate and current mortal enemy.

"The conditions—if you relax them, we can talk."

"Sorry, Ms. Blanca. I'm not negotiating with you. I'm informing you, so you can hand it over voluntarily and save me the extra effort. Oh, and of course, there’s a bit of revenge involved, too."

Juanito laughed as he looked at the cold-faced Blanca. "I've always wanted to see that look on your face—that look of resentment. Hahahaha!"

It felt as refreshing as drinking an ice-cold soda on a summer day!

"Are you happy?"

Blanca’s sudden question caused Juanito’s laughter to stall. He didn't understand why she would say something like that at a time like this.

Wasn't she supposed to be breaking down?

Caught in this strange thought, he looked at Blanca—only to see the dark, hollow muzzle of a gun.

"Idiot."

"Playing corporate politics, and you don't even carry a gun?"

"Bang."

The gunshot rang out.