Chapter II
The assignment
Vittorio entered his penthouse, where the soft glow of the city’s skyline illuminated the luxurious space around him. His home was a sanctuary of sophistication, curated to reflect his taste for the finest things in life. Located in one of the city’s most prestigious towers, the penthouse offered panoramic views of the bustling metropolis below—a contrast between the city’s restless energy and the calm elegance of his personal retreat.
The centerpiece of the living room was a sprawling, custom-made Minotti sofa, upholstered in fine Italian leather. Its sleek, contemporary lines were softened by the sumptuous comfort it offered, a perfect balance of style and relaxation. Positioned in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sofa faced a handcrafted marble coffee table, where a glass of his favorite whiskey awaited him—poured from a crystal decanter by Purdey, resting on the adjacent mahogany sideboard. Everything in the room had been chosen with precision, from the rare art pieces adorning the walls to the minimalist yet luxurious lighting, custom-designed by Flos. The entire space was a reflection of Vittorio’s philosophy: elegance, without excess.
Across from the living area, a marble-topped bar stood stocked with rare spirits—scotch, cognac, and bottles of limited-edition Japanese whiskey that could easily outprice most people’s monthly rent. Nearby, a grand piano, sleek and glossy, sat in the corner. Though he rarely played, its mere presence added to the sophistication of the space, a nod to his love of culture and timeless style.
But what Vittorio prized most in his penthouse wasn’t the breathtaking views, the priceless art, or even the state-of-the-art technology that seamlessly integrated every feature of the home. It was his dressing room—a personal kingdom of clothing and accessories, designed with the care of an architect and the passion of a tailor.
The double doors to his dressing room opened to reveal a space that could rival any world-class fashion boutique. Mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with immaculately organized rows of his suits, jackets, and trousers—each custom-tailored to perfection. From deep navy to charcoal grey, every shade, texture, and fabric was present, and each garment had its place. His collection of ties—from bold silk patterns to understated wools—hung in neat rows, while his shoes, arranged with precision on custom-built racks, showcased everything from black leather Oxfords to his signature leopard Louboutin loafers.
To the right of the main wardrobe area stood a full-length mirror, framed in polished brass, where he could inspect his attire with the eye of a perfectionist. Opposite the mirror was a glass display case showcasing his collection of luxury watches—Cartier, Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguet—each one carefully selected to match his suits and the demands of his high-profile lifestyle.
Every detail in the dressing room was meticulously thought out. Leather gloves in various shades and textures, perfectly folded pocket squares, and handcrafted belts were stored in drawers lined with velvet, while bespoke coats hung in a separate, temperature-controlled section—ensuring that the cashmere, wool, and silk blends stayed in pristine condition no matter the season.
This dressing room wasn’t just a place to store clothing; it was where Vittorio prepared for every battle, every deal, every move that would define his career. It was here that he chose the armor he would wear into the world, understanding better than most that appearance was an integral part of power.
He walked toward the center of the room, fingers lightly brushing the sleeve of a double-breasted grey suit he’d laid out earlier for his upcoming trip. But for now, he chose something more comfortable for the flight—a knitted polo in ivory cotton and silk, paired with bespoke trousers tailored to perfection. The ensemble was casual enough for the long hours ahead but maintained the effortless elegance that Vittorio insisted upon, no matter the occasion.
His phone buzzed again, snapping him out of the peaceful quiet. He glanced at the screen—Hiroshi Tanaka. Vittorio answered.
“Mr. Serran, I represent the Yamada Group. We are facing a situation that requires your expertise.”
Vittorio nodded to himself. He had expected the call, but the gravity in Tanaka’s voice told him this would be no ordinary negotiation.
“I’ll be in Tokyo by tomorrow evening,” Vittorio replied, calm and assured, as always.
After ending the call, he moved efficiently through his dressing room, packing the essentials: the double-breasted grey suit, the white shirt, and the silk tie from Mr. Liverano. He also added a black tie ensemble, just in case—experience had taught him that unpredictability was often the only certainty in his line of work.
With his carefully selected attire packed, Vittorio returned to the main room of the penthouse. His eyes lingered for a moment on the grand piano, the decanter of whiskey, and the view beyond the glass. The city lights shimmered in the distance, but they would soon blur into the past as he prepared for his flight to Tokyo and the challenges that awaited him.
Journey to japan
The sleek black sedan moved through the city streets with precision, carrying Vittorio to the airport. The evening traffic didn’t faze him—his mind was already focused on Tokyo and the Yamada Group. This wasn’t just another routine task; the crisis that awaited him would require every bit of his expertise.
After a swift and seamless boarding process, Vittorio settled into his first-class seat. As the plane ascended, he reached into his Montblanc document case, pulling out the dossier Tanaka had provided. He ignored the luxury of his surroundings, his focus narrowing on the challenge ahead.
The Yamada Group, once a titan in Japan’s tech sector, was now crumbling under the weight of poor leadership and stagnation. The numbers were bleak: falling market share, increasing debt, and mounting pressure from shareholders. Yet beyond the financial crisis, Vittorio could see the true issue—an unwillingness to adapt. The company had been slow to evolve, clinging to outdated business models in an industry that demanded constant innovation.
He studied the reports, considering how best to approach the board. In Japan, business negotiations were layered with nuance, balancing tradition and change delicately. Vittorio understood that he couldn’t simply push a Westernized restructuring plan; his solution would need to respect the company’s deep-rooted values while steering them toward bold, necessary innovation.
As the plane neared Tokyo, the city coming into view below, Vittorio closed the dossier and slipped it back into his Montblanc case. His strategy was taking shape. He would encourage the executives to make hard decisions, but he would do so with finesse, framing change as an evolution that honored their legacy.
The plane touched down in the early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten. Outside the airport, a black limousine awaited him. Tokyo’s skyline blurred past as they drove through the waking city, a fascinating mix of the ultramodern and the historic. His destination: the Four Seasons Hotel at Otemachi, a place chosen for its proximity to the heart of the city’s business district and its serene views.
When he arrived, Vittorio was escorted to his suite, which overlooked the Imperial Palace Gardens. The view was breathtaking—the sprawling green oasis contrasted sharply with the steel and glass towers of the city beyond. But Vittorio wasn’t here for the view. Tomorrow, the real work would begin. He would meet the Yamada Group’s board, and the future of one of Japan’s largest corporations would be in his hands.
The Japanese Crisis
The morning sun filtered through the windows of Vittorio’s suite, casting soft light over the Imperial Palace Gardens below. The serenity of the lush, manicured grounds stood in stark contrast to the intense negotiations that awaited him at the Yamada Group headquarters. Vittorio dressed with precision, pulling on his double-breasted grey suit and silk tie from Mr. Liverano, preparing himself for what he thought would be a standard crisis negotiation.
When he arrived at the Yamada Group’s headquarters, Hiroshi Tanaka met him at the entrance, his face reflecting the weight of the situation. Inside the boardroom, the senior executives sat with tense postures, aware that their company was standing on the edge of collapse. Tanaka began the meeting by outlining the obvious: Yamada was losing market share, their products were outdated, and their global position was eroding.
Vittorio stood to address the room after Tanaka’s presentation, but instead of launching into his usual strategic analysis, something made him hesitate. He scanned the room, his sharp blue eyes lingering on the piles of reports and documents spread before him.
“Mr. Tanaka,” he began slowly, “I’ve reviewed all the data—thoroughly. The financials, the market share, the product lines—they all tell a story of a company struggling to adapt. But as I went deeper into the reports, something felt… off.”
The room went silent, the executives glancing at each other in confusion. Tanaka furrowed his brow. “Off? What do you mean, Mr. Serran?”
Vittorio continued, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of suspicion. “Your company’s decline feels orchestrated. It’s not just about outdated systems and a failure to innovate. There are small patterns—disruptions in supply chains, unexpected product delays, key contracts lost at the last minute. When you look at them individually, they seem like normal business mishaps. But collectively, they suggest something more.”
Tanaka leaned forward, intrigued. “Sabotage?”
“Sabotage,” Vittorio confirmed. “Small, almost imperceptible actions that wouldn’t raise alarms on their own, but together, they’re crippling your operations worldwide. And it’s not just in Japan—your subsidiaries in Europe, the U.S., and Southeast Asia are also being hit.”
The CEO, who had remained quiet throughout most of the discussion, finally spoke up. “Are you saying someone is targeting us deliberately? Who would do such a thing?”
Vittorio nodded, his expression serious. “It’s a possibility you cannot ignore. Your competitors aren’t this coordinated, and the market isn’t this volatile. Someone has their hand on the pulse of your business—and they’re squeezing, hard.”
The executives exchanged nervous glances. It was clear that they had been so focused on their internal problems that they hadn’t considered this possibility. Tanaka, looking slightly pale, glanced at the CEO, then back at Vittorio. “We need to investigate this immediately.”
Vittorio agreed. “I’ll need full access to your internal systems and your recent communications with major partners. This is bigger than just a failing business model. If you want to save Yamada, we need to find out who is behind this.”
The CEO nodded, his voice strained. “We’ll cooperate fully. Our future depends on it.”
The chief accountant, who had been listening intently, added quietly, “If this is sabotage, the financial damage has been far more severe than we initially calculated. I need to re-examine our ledgers.”
Vittorio stood back, watching as the room absorbed the gravity of the situation. “This won’t be easy, but I’ve dealt with similar issues before. We’ll find the source.”
Tanaka cleared his throat. “Mr. Serran, what’s your next move?”
Vittorio looked him square in the eye. “I need to reach out to some of my contacts. I have a few ideas of where to start. Something tells me we’re not looking at just corporate espionage. This feels deeper—political, even.”
Tanaka’s expression hardened. “Political? What do you mean?”
“I’ll know more soon,” Vittorio said, his tone dropping into the kind of seriousness that halted any further questions. “For now, I suggest we move quickly on tightening your internal operations. If we’re right about this, someone is out there, waiting for you to fall.”
The executives exchanged concerned looks, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily over them. But as Vittorio left the room with Tanaka and the CEO, his thoughts were already on his next move. There was someone who could help him trace the source of these sabotage efforts—someone with connections deep enough to uncover what most people couldn’t see.
“I’ll be in touch,” Vittorio said as he stepped into the limousine waiting outside the Yamada Group headquarters. “But first, I need to make a call. I believe I know someone who can help.”
As the car pulled away, Vittorio's mind sharpened into focus. He had a contact in Singapore, someone high up in the intelligence community—someone with ties to the NSA. If anyone could trace the origins of this sabotage, it was them.
The next morning, Vittorio stood in the lobby of Tokyo's Four Seasons, his bags packed and ready. His destination: Singapore. A plane would take him across Southeast Asia, where his old contact—an analyst for the NSA—might be able to shed some light on the unseen forces working against Yamada.
As he walked toward the awaiting car, his phone buzzed. A message from Tanaka flashed across the screen: “We’ve found something. It’s bigger than we thought. Call me when you land.”
Vittorio smiled grimly. He had a feeling that bigger forces were at play, and the deeper he dug, the more dangerous the game would become. But he wasn’t afraid of danger. He was drawn to it.
The limo door shut with a soft click, and the car sped toward the airport. This time, the journey would take him closer to answers—and to the people responsible.