Although it wasn't exactly a hidden truth inside the company, the fact that the Fortis Group was floundering financially was still a carefully guarded secret. To the public, and especially to their wealthy clients, they presented themselves as a flawless machine, a fortress of modern private security unmatched by anyone else.
Behind the curtain, however, the story was very different.
If clients knew how close the company was to collapse, they might assume corners were being cut. They'd wonder if guards were underpaid or undertrained. They'd start questioning whether "state-of-the-art" equipment was actually outdated scrap dressed up in marketing language. Even worse, they might suspect Fortis would resort to desperate measures, sending unqualified personnel, using unsafe gear, or falsifying reports just to save a little cash.
None of those assumptions would be tolerated in a business built on trust and image. That was why the cracks had been plastered over, why the staff weren't told the full extent of the situation, and why even the takeover by the Billion Bloodline Group had been kept in strict secrecy.
Rumors were dangerous currency. If whispers spread too soon, Fortis risked losing what few clients it had left.
Which was why Darno, the self-proclaimed golden boy of Fortis, looked as though the floor had dropped out from under him when Nesa revealed the truth.
The company… no longer belongs to Tim Heart? Bought out? Controlled by the Billion Bloodline Group?
He swallowed hard, throat dry, stomach twisting. A cold sweat prickled the back of his neck.
Damn it. What have I done? I just picked a fight with someone tied to the people who now own the entire company. If I lose this job… I'm finished. Absolutely finished.
Fortis was his last chance. He had already been blacklisted from the film industry after too many "incidents" as a stuntman. No studio would hire him, no production team would take the risk. The pay at Fortis was more than cushy, it was survival. Without it, he would be nothing.
And he knew it.
Reluctantly, Darno lowered his head. His arrogant sneer was gone, replaced by a tight grimace as he forced the words out. "I'm sorry. I apologize for everything I said."
It wasn't easy. His pride screamed against it. But his survival instincts were louder.
Still, in the back of his mind, there was one small comfort. This red-haired teenager wasn't the boss himself. At least, that's what Darno believed. He thought Max was just a messenger, some junior representative the real power had sent in his place. If that were true, maybe he still had a chance to wriggle free, to keep his job.
Max, for his part, didn't even bother replying to Darno's apology. His patience for the man had already worn thin. Instead, he simply straightened his hoodie and said, "I think I've spent enough time in reception. We can talk about him later. Why don't we focus on the real reason I came here today?"
Nesa jumped on the opportunity to move things forward. "Yes, of course. First, allow me to give you a proper tour of the facility before we head upstairs to meet Tim Heart, our CEO." Her voice was all bright professionalism again, as though she could scrub away the tension with polite efficiency.
She gestured toward the elevator, leading the way with a crisp smile.
As the doors closed, Max allowed himself a grin, a grin directed straight at Darno. He didn't need to say anything. He didn't need to announce a punishment or bark orders. That smile was enough.
Because the worst punishment for someone like Darno wasn't a beating, wasn't even being fired, it was uncertainty. The not-knowing. The endless torment of waiting, wondering, questioning whether today would be his last day at Fortis. Whether every passing hour was one closer to ruin.
Max leaned back against the elevator wall, arms folded, letting that thought satisfy him more than any punch ever could.
The tour began with the canteen, a gleaming space filled with spotless tables and a buffet line that looked more like a luxury hotel than a workplace. Chefs in crisp whites bustled behind counters, dishing up carefully portioned meals according to personalized diet plans.
"All of our personnel are kept on tightly managed nutrition schedules," Nesa explained. "Every guard, every trainee, whether office staff or field staff, receives a curated plan designed to maximize performance."
Na raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Max only nodded, amused at how far Fortis went to polish its image.
Next came the gym floor. It wasn't just weights and treadmills, it was a fully equipped training center, with boxing rings, sparring mats, resistance machines, and even high-tech monitoring equipment to track vitals.
The floor after that was a swimming complex, complete with a full-length pool and side chambers used for underwater drills. Guards practiced scenarios involving water rescues and ambushes, learning how to fight and maneuver where most people panicked.
Another floor showcased a driving track, littered with battered cars and obstacle setups.
"In certain assignments, our guards may need to operate client vehicles," Nesa explained. "It's vital they can perform precision maneuvers, evasive driving, and defensive techniques. In case of ambush, every second counts."
Then came the drone and surveillance division. Rooms filled with monitors displayed live feeds, while engineers and analysts adjusted controls, running simulations, rewinding footage, and reviewing tactics.
To Max, it was impressive on the surface, but underneath, he saw the flaw.
'All of this is expensive. Every department is a drain. To keep this alive, they'd need a constant stream of high-paying clients. Even if every customer paid top dollar, they'd still be bleeding money. No wonder they're drowning in debt.'
The elevator stopped again, and they stepped into the marketing department. Posters and digital screens plastered the walls, every single one of them featuring Darno's face. Striking poses in Fortis gear. Smiling beside celebrities. Standing tall in slick advertisements promising "Unmatched Protection."
Max smirked. Well. That explains the flashy car and inflated ego.
Finally, the elevator rose to the training floor, a wide, open stadium-like hall. From the stands, Max and Na looked down at the chaos below.
Guards sparred with batons, striking hard enough that the cracks echoed. Others grappled barehanded, slamming each other into mats. Groups drilled in formation, practicing how to surround and subdue a target.
"This is our core," Nesa said with pride. "We offer clients different packages, tailored to their needs. Personnel are ranked according to skill level. Some clients prefer a single highly skilled guard, while others request entire squads. Our ranking system guarantees quality at every tier."
Max's eyes narrowed as he watched. He recognized discipline here, talent, too. But he also knew his own people, his Bloodline Gang. He knew how Wolf had trained them. He knew what it meant to fight not for a paycheck, but for survival and loyalty.
He wondered how Fortis's polished soldiers would fare against someone like Na.
'I can't help but think… how would Wolf rank these people? Would he laugh at them? Or would he be impressed?'
The thought made Max's lips curl into a smile. He turned to Nesa. "I have a suggestion."
Her brows arched delicately. "Yes?"
"You said these are the best of the best, didn't you?" Max gestured toward the floor. "Then how about a test? My guard, " he tilted his head toward Na, who stood silently at his side, arms folded like a statue of muscle and menace, ", against your people."