"You only do what the Belar orders you to do," Theodore Bezio said to the Electoral Commission chairman seated behind his mahogany desk like he owned the world. "Understood?"
The chairman—Eric Voss—leaned back in his leather chair and laughed, a sound that held no humor. After Giulano's death, he'd stopped believing in the Belar's reach. "Theo, don't tell me you're trying to blackmail me. Are you?"
"Absolutely, I am." Theodore's voice carried a chill that made the office's air conditioning seem warm. "What do you think about that, Eric?"
"I think you think you're Giulano González, Theo." Eric's tone dripped with condescension. "And that's very foolish of you."
Theodore studied his old friend—childhood companion turned political puppet—and something shifted in his expression. Eric was about to learn something he'd never understood: Theodore Bezio was no longer the boy who'd grown up in the same neighborhood, playing soccer in the dusty streets of Gulac's capital. Theodore smiled, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree.
"Ramirez is going to be the new president of Gulac," he said, standing slowly. "You're going to declare him the winner next month. I hope that's crystal clear."
For the first time since Theodore had entered the office, Eric's confident facade wavered. Something in Theodore's voice—the quiet certainty, the absolute authority—made him realize this wasn't the same man he'd known.
"This is one of the last times I'll visit your office, Eric," Theodore continued, straightening his cuffs with deliberate precision. "From now on, you'll be reporting to me."
Eric shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but his pride wouldn't let him back down completely. "Theodore, we grew up together. You think you can just walk in here and—"
"I think," Theodore interrupted, "that you're confusing the past with the present. The boy you knew is gone, Eric. What's sitting across from you now is the head of the Belar Empire."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Eric had heard rumors, whispers in the political corridors about Theodore's transformation since taking over. But seeing it firsthand—the cold calculation in his eyes, the way he commanded the room without raising his voice—was different.
"Twenty years," Theodore continued, moving toward the window that overlooked the city. "For twenty years, the García family in Antiok has resisted us. Giulano didn't care because he thought they were weak, insignificant. But I see opportunity where he saw obstacles."
He turned back to Eric, hands clasped behind his back like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Small gangs, local cartels, independent operators—they all think they're beneath our notice. That's about to change. When I'm finished, every criminal enterprise in Gulac will either serve the Belar or cease to exist."
Eric swallowed hard. This wasn't empty posturing. Theodore spoke with the certainty of a man who'd already mapped out every move, every contingency.
"The Garcías will fall first," Theodore said matter-of-factly. "Then the others will understand that the old rules no longer apply. There will be no neutral ground, no independent operators. Only those who serve the Belar, and those who disappear."
"Theodore..." Eric started, but the words died in his throat when their eyes met.
"Real dominance," Theodore said quietly, "comes when you rule over the people you grew up with. When childhood friends become subjects. When respect transforms into fear." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "I'm not asking for your cooperation, Eric. I'm informing you of your new reality."
He moved toward the door, then stopped, his hand on the brass handle.
"Ramirez will be declared president-elect on the fifteenth of next month. The vote tallies will show a decisive victory—nothing suspicious, nothing that invites international scrutiny. Just a clean win for our candidate."
"And if I refuse?" Eric asked, though his voice had lost all its earlier bravado.
Theodore's smile was razor-thin. "Then you'll discover that elections aren't the only things that can be fixed, Eric. Some problems require more... permanent solutions."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Eric alone in his office that suddenly felt much smaller, much less secure than it had an hour ago.
Outside, Theodore breathed in the afternoon air of Gulac's capital, already planning his next move. The Garcías would receive a visit soon. Then the small-time operators. One by one, he would bring them all under the Belar's umbrella.
Giulano had ruled through reputation and fear of the unknown. Theodore would rule through precision and the certainty of consequences. The old king was dead. The new emperor was just getting started.