Back in the exlusive restaurant, the five foreigners rose almost in unison, their clothes rustling softly as they gathered briefcases and tablets.
The young foreigner slipped the thick contract folder under his arm. No of them spoke as they descended the stairs and exited the opulent restaurant.
A convoy of three sleek, black SUVs waited at the curb, engines already running. The group split efficiently: the older foreigners climbed into the first and third vehicles, while Santiago took the middle one alone in the back seat. Doors closed with heavy thuds, and the convoy pulled away smoothly, merging into traffic.
The drive lasted nearly forty minutes, winding through increasingly industrial outskirts until the buildings grew sparse and the roads narrower.
Finally, the SUVs descended a hidden ramp into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse district. Heavy steel gates rolled open at their approach, revealing a discreet underground entrance shielded from the outside.
Santiago stepped out first, the contract folder still stucked securely against his side.
He turned to the others, voice low and authoritative. "Wait for me outside. I won't be long."
The older men exchanged uneasy glances but nodded without protest. They remained by the vehicles, speaking in hushed tones as Santiago approached the heavy reinforced door of the underground building.
Two bulky men in dark clothing immediately blocked his path. Without a word, they conducted a thorough pat-down check.
Checking his pockets, waistband, ankles—before stepping aside and allowing him entry.
Santiago moved with familiar ease, navigating a series of sharp corners and unmarked doors.
After several minutes of walking, he reached a final reinforced door. He pushed it open without knocking.
The room beyond was a stark contrast to the sterile corridors. Plush velvet seating lined the walls, low lighting glowed red and gold, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and alcohol.
Three male strippers moved sexually around the space—lithe, oiled bodies glistening under the lights as they danced for the single occupant.
In the center of it all lounged a broad-shouldered man in an open silk shirt, a half-smoked cigar between his fingers and a bottle of aged whiskey in the other.
One of the strippers straddled his lap, grinding slowly while the man's free hand roamed possessively over bare skin. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling.
The man looked up at him as he entered, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Ah, Thiago. Back so soon?"
Santiago stopped a few paces away, voice cool and corrective. "It's Santiago. Not Thiago."
The man waved the correction away with the hand holding the cigar, ash scattering onto the floor. "You got the agreement documents?"
Santiago stepped closer and placed the thick folder on the low table in front of the man, careful to avoid the spilled droplets of whiskey. "I only managed to secure seven percent of Silas's company. He was adamant—wouldn't go higher than that. I pushed as far as I could."
For a moment, silence stretched. Then the man threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound booming through the room and startling the strippers.
He slapped the thigh of the man on his lap before waving them all away with a casual flick of his wrist. The strippers scattered gracefully, disappearing through a side door without protest.
"Seven percent," the man repeated once they were alone, still chuckling as he took a long pull from the whiskey bottle. "I knew Silas wouldn't give up much. I was expecting five at best. You did well, Santiago. Better than I anticipated."
Santiago remained standing, arms loose at his sides. "Why do you need shares in Silas's company? What's the endgame here?"
The man set the bottle down with a heavy clink and leaned forward, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Why do you work for me, boy? Same reason." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Now agree to the terms on our side and schedule a new meeting with Silas so we can finalize everything properly. I want this locked in before he changes his mind."
Santiago nodded once, his expression still neutral. He turned to leave, but the man's voice stopped him again.
"Wait. The strippers are still here. Don't you want to relieve some tension? Pick one—hell, pick two. They're very… accommodating."
One of the male strippers re-entered the room on cue, moving toward Santiago with sultry confidence. He pressed close, hands sliding up Santiago's chest in a practiced, seductive motion, lips brushing near his ear.
Santiago caught the man's wrist firmly, stopping the advance. "No. I'm preserving myself for that person and you know who, so stop all this game."
The man on the couch burst into loud laughter again, genuine and mocking at the same time. "Preserving yourself? How noble. Or should I say—how cowardly?" He stood, pulling one of the returning strippers against him roughly, already positioning himself behind the lithe body with clear intent. "Your loss. More for me."
Santiago didn't reply. He turned on his heel and left the room, the sound of low moans and the man's satisfied chuckle following him down the corridor. The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing the decadent scene inside.
He navigated the underground passages in reverse, the two bulky guards nodding as he passed. Outside, the convoy waited exactly as he had left it. The older foreigners straightened when they saw him, questions clear in their eyes, but Santiago offered nothing. He climbed back into the middle SUV, the contract folder once more secure under his arm.
"Lets go," he ordered quietly.
The engines roared to life, and the vehicles pulled away from the hidden entrance, climbing the ramp and disappearing into the fading daylight.
Santiago stared out the tinted window, his mind already turning over the next few steps. Seven percent was more than Silas had wanted to give, yet far less than his plan needed. He had to get more shares or he moves for his other plan.
Inside the underground room, the man continued his indulgences without interruption, the scent of smoke and pleasure thick in the air.