Chapter 11 Assessment And Claim

• (POV: Mateo Castillo)
• Across the excessive gleam of polished mahogany and blinding crystal, Santiago Montoya held court like a dying king clinging desperately to his crumbling throne. The tremor in his hands wasn't just age; it was weakness, palpable beneath the fraying tapestry of his authority. He spoke of shipments and territories with the remembered cadence of command, but the fire was banked low, fueled now by desperation rather than inherent power. An alliance hadn't been his first choice; it was his last resort. Pathetic. Necessary for my own plans, but pathetic nonetheless. He was useful, for now. A figurehead whose name still held some fading weight, a bridge to the infrastructure I intended to absorb.
• To his right, the heir, Quino Montoya. Stiff, watchful, radiating a tightly coiled resentment masked by obligatory deference. He met my gaze only when required, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly near his temple. Fear warred with pride in his eyes – fear of me, resentment of his father’s weakness that necessitated my presence here, forcing this alliance he clearly despised. He lacked his father's old ruthlessness, substituting rigid control for genuine strength. Predictable. Manageable. He would follow the path laid out for him, because defiance carried a cost he wasn't prepared to pay. He wouldn't be a problem, merely an obstacle to be navigated or, eventually, removed when his utility expired.