As Delvin stood on the deck of his father's ship, The Flying Dutchman, he was once again reminded why he disliked being on board. Currently, the ocean's waves were crashing into the ship, sending them bobbling up and down.

Delvin couldn't help but compare the waves to a vengeful child playing with a toy ship in the bath, wanting to see how much it would take to capsize the ship.

Logically Delvin understood that the ship was more than safe. The Flying Dutchman had so many spells woven into it. There was zero chance of capsizing. There were even charms that ensured they wouldn't be thrown around like a sack of potatoes while the ocean threw them across the deck. But, even with all the protections, Delvin much preferred his stately mansion to his father's moving fortress.

That's what the Flying Dutchman was, a fortress. It simply masqueraded as a ship. The most obvious protection was the ability to move above and below the oceans. Additionally, the ship had every known concealment charm woven into every plank. If the Flying Dutchman didn't want to be found, it was nigh impossible to do so.

If movement wasn't enough, strong enchantments ensured no one could magically breach the ship uninvited. The only way to get on the ship was to board it physically.

Even if someone could penetrate all the protections, a small army of wizards, security trolls, werewolves, and vampires defended the ship. Declan even employed a few highly trained muggles commandos.

That was one of the many ways his father was different from most in the magical community. Being a muggleborn himself, Declan had no issues hiring competent muggles. While they didn't have magic, they were skilled enough to be considered beneficial. They helped advise on the best way to move through muggle society, not drawing any attention to the Syndicate's dealings.

A deep, barely understandable voice rumbled, bringing Delvin out of his thoughts.

"Yur fathder. Se yo now."

Delvin flinched horribly when he realized that one of the security trolls had been able to get so close without him noticing.

If the troll's intimidating size and strength weren't intimidating enough. Solid black goblin forged armor encased the green troll's head and chest giving the troll slight protection from spells. Slung across its back was a mighty club that had dark stains on the end, suggesting that it had seen blood recently.

Not wanting to feel like he was being herded, Delvin chose to trail behind the troll giving it a wide berth. The security troll led him below deck, where the inside was completely different from the outside.

Below deck, it was apparent expansion charms had been used liberally. The inside of the Flying Dutchman rivaled the giant ships muggles use to transport goods.

As Delvin followed the troll, he grimaced when he caught sight of himself in a passing mirror. Dark bags had formed beneath his eyes, and new age lines made him look a decade older.

It had been a week since the conference, and he was still dealing with the fallout. As predicted, thousands upon thousands of Nimbus 2001s were gathering dust in their warehouses.

That Slipstream charm had ground his empire to a halt. It seems most people were happy to pay for brooms that could go as fast as the Nimbus for one-third the price. Nimbus was able to generate a few sales by offering amazing deals, but it wasn't enough to matter.

It also didn't help that Delvin read some new snide article about him or his company in the paper every day. That bitch Rita Skeeter had to be working for the Fawley family. She was really careful not to come out and openly accuse Delvin of anything officially. No, she just made snide observations and pointed out possible conspiracies. Her readers ate it up.

Delvin could hardly go anywhere in Britain without pointed looks and mutters behind his back. Two weeks ago, he was a highly successful CEO of the fastest broom in the world. Now, he was having trouble getting people to take his calls, and those who used to fawn over his every word refused to meet his gaze and would quickly leave the room. If he was honest with himself, deep down, Delvin considered his social fall from grace worse than possibly losing his company.

While Delvin didn't yet know how to fix his social status, he did have one to save his company. Devlin patted the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder that carried all his plans and ideas. He knew if he wanted his father's support, he would be asked to show his plans for the future. Declan didn't have a habit of wasting money on what he considered failed business ventures.

To ensure he got the money, Delvin spent the last week hashing out ideas and plans on how he would use the money to rebuild and rebrand Nimbus. Most of the money would be spent on keeping the doors open while his enchanters researched how to replicate the slipstream charm. He also planned to relocate his headquarters outside of Britain.

Now that Rita pointed out that Delvin seemed to profit when George Fawley was killed, many in the magical community were outraged. Too many had lost loved ones in Voldemort's rise to power, which made them resonate with the Fawley family. No, if Devlin were to save Nimbus, he would need to leave and seek his fortunes elsewhere. The British Isles was lost to him.

As the troll led Delvin through the maze of the lower deck, He frowned. This wasn't the way to his father's office. This was the way to the inner sanctum. Or, as Delvin jokingly referred to it in his mind, the throne room.

It was where Declan met with his six lieutenants. Each was responsible for an area of influence. They were largely independent, able to run their operations without oversight.

Delvin's silent plea that the lieutenants wouldn't be there was not granted. When he entered the room, he immediately noticed the seven chairs were all filled.

The seven chairs were wrapped around a solid table made up of dark wood with a map of the seven seas etched on the surface. The map wasn't like muggle maps. It was filled with movements showing the ocean's currents and waves. There were even glowing lines shown beneath the surface, indicating the ancient magical pathways that let ships move quickly across the globe.

At the head of the table was his father, Declan Whithorn. While his father's white hair and wrinkles may fool some into believing that age was catching up with him, Delvin would never make that mistake.

Delvin knew it was his father's frozen blue eyes that you had to pay attention to. They radiated a ruthless intelligence that promised to cut down anyone who challenged him. More than once, he had been challenged by those who took his age for a sign of weakness.

The last challenge came from one of his lieutenants, who suggested that it might be time for Declan to choose a successor. To this day, no one knows what happened to him. He simply disappeared, and none of the other lieutenants dared to ask Declan what happened to him.

Delvin's eyes shifted to the other lieutenants. Nadluk, the goblin, sat to the immediate right of Declan. Beneath his dark beady eyes, hooked nose, and sharp teeth hid a brilliant mind that tracked every cent that the Syndicate made.

While some goblins found it difficult to rise in the world of wizards, Nadluk had no such difficulty. Declan didn't care about race, only ability. As the official accountant of the Syndicate, Nadluk wielded a great deal of power. Even the other lieutenant knew not to cross him. Otherwise, Nadluk might find problems with their accounts.

On the opposite side was the oldest member of the Syndicate by far, Erkan. But, no one would know that he was the oldest by looking at him. Erkan's dark curled hair and smooth, dusky skin tone would lead most to assume that he was in his 30s rather than 300s. He was a wizard-turned vampire.

Unlike most vampires, Erkan was a high-born vampire. The main difference between high and low-borns was the ability to sire other vampires and access to unique magics to the vampire race.

Delvin made sure not to meet Erkan's gaze. While he broadcasted kindness, Delvin knew that was a facade. Erkan was a cruel and vindictive creature that wasn't even welcome in vampire society. Erkan had killed his sire, which was a huge taboo among vampires. The bond between a vampire and his sire was said to be closer than the bond between a parent and child.

Sitting next to Erkan was perhaps the most mysterious member, Madam Zhao. She was a sorceress from the far east. While she was near Declan's age, she didn't show it. Even with her hair going white, she had an ageless quality that made it difficult to pinpoint her age.

Even now, Delvin was always a little unsure of Declan and Madam Zhao's relationship. When Declan was younger and putting together the Syndicate, he ran into Madam Zhao, who was second in command of a similar organization in the Far East.

After two years of bloodshed, Declan and Madam Zhao met in secret and formed an alliance. After killing her leader, Madam Zhao seized control and folded her organization into the Syndicate.

She was also the only original lieutenant of the Syndicate still standing. All the others had either retired or had been killed in one fashion or another.

While technically none of the lieutenants were above one another, Madam Zhao was often regarded as the unofficial second-in-command.

Next to her was a familiar face. It was Samuel, the black wizard that assisted Delvin in dealing with George Fawley. For the longest time, he was the best fixer the Syndicate employed. Anytime the Syndicate needed something smoothed over, they sent him.

But, he had ambitions above being a mere fixer. Over the past two decades, he had risen through the ranks and eventually became the second of a lieutenant.

Then a few years ago, out of nowhere, that lieutenant had decided to retire and recommend that Samuel replace him. Considering Samuel's mental art skills, everyone suspected that he had something to do with the lieutenant's desire to retire. Even if it were true that Samuel had something to do with it, Declan wouldn't have cared. As far as he was concerned, someone skilled enough to pull that off would be welcome.

On the other side were the two final members that Delvin liked to refer to as the power couple. The first was Graham. The left side of his face had four scars running from his forehead to his jaw. They were from a werewolf that he killed in single combat without his wand.

Whether that was true or not, the attack left him not only as a werewolf but one with only a single natural brown eye remaining. In place of the ruined eye was a mechanical glass eye. If you looked closely at the eye, you could see tiny, interconnected gears around a glowing, red pupil.

Next to him was Graham's wife and Delvin's least favorite person in his room, his perfect little sister. Her blonde hair didn't touch her shoulders, and everything about her was styled to project an innocent housewife's appearance.

But, Delvin knew nothing could be further from the truth. Amy was a psychopath and was just as ruthless as their father. She could smile at you one moment, and without blinking, kill you the next. When he was younger, Delvin had fallen for her tricks more than once.

Delvin felt a surge of fury well up in him when he saw the barest hint of a smirk appear on his younger sister's face. She was probably delighted at the week he had been having. More than once, he had mentioned that while she was living in the shadow of their father, he had left and built his own empire.

Of course, Delvin chose to conveniently ignore the fact that the Nimbus was a mere speck compared to the Syndicate. As far as he was concerned, he was the more successful of the two of them.

Delvin could never quite grasp why his father didn't respect everything he had accomplished. Wasn't he following in his father's footsteps by building his own business? Why did he prefer his sister over him?

Knowing that this line of thinking wouldn't help his case, Devlin turned his attention to his father and tried to ignore the knowing smile on his sister's face.

Once his attention was back on his father, Delvin uncomfortably realized that his father had been studying him. And from the look on Declan's face. He didn't appear pleased to see him. Not one bit.

Delvin decided right then to scrap his original plan of asking for a loan. His father didn't seem to be in the giving mood, and if he wanted to succeed here, he would half to offer more.

Thankfully, over the past week, he had made several different plans. His primary backup plan involved bringing the Syndicate on board as a silent partner in his company. It wasn't ideal. Delvin would probably have compromise on some things. But, it wasn't like it would be all bad. There were all sorts of things they could do in the dark to his competition.

Seeing how the whole room was waiting on him, Delvin cleared his throat and said, "Father, I've come to you with a business proposition."

Delvin reached into his bag, pulled out a set of documents, and set them on the table. Before Delvin could do anything else, Declan pulled out a wand and summoned the documents to him.

Delvin paused for a moment, not sure whether to take his father's actions as a sign of encouragement or not.

Seeing how his father seemed content to remain silent, Delvin continued, "As some of you may know, the world of flying changed considerably in the past week."

Looking his father in the eye, Delvin admitted, "I'm not going to lie to you, Nimbus has taken several big hits this week. Most of my board members are ready to abandon ship and sell. But I believe deep in my gut that Nimbus can survive this and come back better than ever. We have a deeply trusted brand, and once we get past this, I predict that we will be stronger than ever."

As time went on, Delvin settled into a grove. He found it was constructive to treat the council like they were just another company. Delvin was ecstatic to see that several of the lieutenants seemed open to the idea of expanding into the lucrative broom market.

This was it. Nimbus was saved. With the Syndicate backing him, the Fawley's were doomed.

As Delvin celebrated in his mind, a thought occurred to him. Maybe they could even gain control of the Firebolt and the Slipstream charm. After all, he had done it once before. Maybe he could do it again. It was like destiny. The Fawleys would forever be his stepping stone towards greatness.

Delvin was so caught up in his fantasy that he was totally caught off guard when his father leaned forward and said, "No."

Delvin blinked rapidly, not understanding. What did he mean, no? Why not? Didn't he understand what he was offering? What they could do if they partnered up. He could once again dominate the industry.

Seeing the final chance to save his company go up in flames made Delvin go slightly mad.

"Why not?" He belligerently demanded. "You have to help me. I'm your son."

Declan's icy blue eyes flashed dangerously. "You have a lot of nerve coming here and asking for money." He spat. "Do you have any idea how much I've had to spend cleaning up your messes?

Delvin flinched at his father's tone and seemed to shrink inward.

"First, there was that fiasco at the International Dueling Tournament last year, where we had to spend countless galleons ensuring that the investigation went our way."

Declan reached into his robe, pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, and hurled it at Delvin.

"Now, reporters are digging through your past looking for your skeletons."

Delvin unfolded the paper and panicked when he saw the latest damning headline written by Rita Skeeter.

What Else is Whithorn Hiding?

Delvin slammed it shut as if that would make it all go away.

"She won't find anything," Delvin promised.

Declan snorted, "You're damn right she won't. I've already sent someone to deal with her. One way or another, she won't be writing any more headlines about Whithorn's.

Hearing that Rita Skeeter would no longer be a problem made Delvin sigh with relief. He was sick of seeing her in the paper every day. If Rita were smart, she would take whatever deal was given her. If she refused, well, it wouldn't be the first time the Syndicate had dealt with a nosy reporter.

Delvin was jolted from his thoughts when Declan scathingly added, "Compared to the other problems your bubbling has created, silencing a reporter and lining the pockets of the United Dueling League is of no concern."

Declan shook his head. "Even now, you don't even realize the mess you've created."

Declan decided to enlighten his son, "All this time, You've been focused on the wrong son of George Fawley. It's not Henry that you should have been worried about. It's his brother, John. While Henry seems to be content in following his father's footsteps, John went down a different path. In less than two decades, he has put together an effective organization that has repeatedly intruded on my business."

Declan moved his eyes off Delvin and started speaking with the others, "Originally, I thought of recruiting him. Someone talented and driven enough to build an organization is always welcome within the Syndicate. But, imagine my frustration this week when I found out that twenty-five years ago, my son screwed over his father."

Declan turned back and glared at Delvin, "It puts all of John's actions of intruding in our business in a very different light."

Delvin gaped for a minute, trying to wrap his head around this new piece of information. What was wrong with the Fawley family? Why couldn't there be one normal one? It was like each of them was on a mission to screw with him.

Seeing the cold fury in his father's eyes, Delvin knew he needed to tread carefully. It wouldn't be the first time that his father turned his wand on him.

Still reeling from the fact that he had created a problem for the Syndicate, Delvin questioned, "Surely he isn't a problem for you."

For a moment, Declan seemed to hesitate as if he wanted to say something. But then the moment passed, and he scoffed, "Of course not."

With a pointed gaze, he added, "But, had I known that our families had such history, I would have moved on him when he was weak. Now, we'll have to pay a price if we want to take him down.

At this point, all eyes on the council were on Delvin, and none of them were friendly. It was probably only out of respect for Declan that they kept silent.

Delvin wilted at their cold gazes. He could sense that there was no chance of any help from the Syndicate. Panic flooded his mind. Getting help from the Syndicate had been the only thing keeping him going this past week. Without help, Nimbus would slowly die piece by piece. His work over the past two decades, ruined in the span of a week.

Still seething, Declan continued without thought for his son's feelings, "I've heard the whole story from Samuel. Everything that has happened is due to your weakness. Had you the stomach for blood, you would have dealt with the Fawleys years ago. So, no. We will not be intervening."

Each word made Delvin wince. They were like the nails being driven into his coffin. Nothing mattered, not anymore. He didn't have anything, not his company, not the prestige that came along with it, nothing.

Seeing his son so broken made Declan hesitate for a moment, then added in a softer tone. "I think what's best for you is to let Nimbus fade away. Then you can withdraw from society and come back to the Syndicate. I'll even find something for you to do."

Declan didn't know it, but his last words were the final blow for Delvin. He turned to leave, a hollowed-out shell compared to how he arrived.

Had Declan known his son's actual state of mind, perhaps he would have stopped him.

With his son gone, Declan turned to his lieutenants, "Any thoughts on how we should deal with John and his crew?"

Graham snorted, "Give me the order, and I'll put together a strike force to take care of this once and for all."

Erkan sneered at him, "And lose most of them in the process."

While Erkan and Graham glared at one another, a soft voice spoke up. "The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind."

All eyes turned to Madam Zhao as she cautioned, "There are other organizations out there that would try and seek advantage over us if we move rashly against John. What this requires is careful planning."

Declan eyed her thoughtfully as he drummed his fingers absently against the table.

"What did you have in mind?" He asked.

Madam Zhao smiled, with a crafty look appearing in her eyes, "Do you remember 1958?"

Understanding appeared on Declan's face as his icy blue eyes shot to the map on the table, focusing on three specific points.

Showing his teeth, he replied, "That will do nicely."