Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 102

CHAPTER 101 PART 2

Titan Group Headquarters – Executive Floor – 1:23 AM

Owen Cooper sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at the phone in his hand long after Marcus had ended the call. The first direct order from the higher-ups in three years. The first time Marcus Steel had broken his self- imposed silence to utilize resources that most people didn’t know existed.

Titan Group. Publicly known as a financial conglomerate worth hundreds of billions, controlling interests in technology, real estate, manufacturing, and a dozen other industries. Board members discussed quarterly earnings. Shareholders debated dividends. Business reporters analyzed market strategies.

None of them understood what Titan Group really was.

At its core, beneath the corporate structure and financial holdings, Titan Group functioned as an enormous intelligence and contact network. Every investment created leverage. Every acquisition brought connections. Every partnership expanded reach into new power circles.

Money was the visible face. Information was the true product.

And at the heart of that intelligence network sat the Supervision Department-the most enigmatic, most feared, and most expensive division in the entire company.

Owen pressed his intercom. “Mrs. Patterson, please summon Minister Cooper. Tell him it’s priority one.”

His secretary’s voice carried barely suppressed nervousness. “Sir, it’s past one AM. Minister Cooper doesn’t typically-”

“Now, Mrs. Patterson.”

Yes, sir.”

Owen leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. The Supervision Department consumed over a hundred million dollars annually-absurd for a unit with only fourteen members. No offices. No visible output. No quarterly reports justifying their existence.

Seven years ago, a board director had demanded Owen justify the expenditure. Three days later, that director resigned after every secret skeleton in his closet mysteriously surfaced in media reports. The message had been clear: don’t question the Supervision Department.

Since then, they’d operated in complete autonomy. Untouchable. Unexplained. Essential.

Mrs. Patterson returned to Owen’s office five minutes later, her face slightly flushed and her hands trembling.” Sir, Minister Cooper says he’ll be here shortly.”

“Are you alright?” Owen asked, noting her distress.

“I’m fine, sir. Just… Minister Cooper is rather… direct.”

“What did he say?”

Mrs. Patterson’s cheeks reddened further, “He pointed out that my dress zipper was slightly undone in the back. He said,” she swallowed hard, “-he said details matter, and people who miss small details miss large threats.”

Owen couldn’t help a slight smile. That was Bane Cooper all over-observing everything, respecting nothing, and maintaining an unsettling awareness that made even seasoned professionals uncomfortable.

“He’s… unusual,” Owen admitted. “But effective. Try not to take it personally.”

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“Yes, sir.”

Exactly seven minutes later, the office door opened without a knock.

Bane Cooper walked in like he owned not just the office but the entire building. Mid-thirties, wearing faded jeans and a leather jacket that belonged at a motorcycle rally rather than corporate headquarters. His dark hair was deliberately messy, his expression carried perpetual amusement at private jokes, and his eyes-sharp, calculating, utterly cold beneath casual humor-missed nothing.

“Owen,” Bane said without using titles or showing any deference. He dropped into the chair across from the chairman’s desk, boots propped on the armrest with casual disrespect. “Burning the midnight oil? Careful, you’ll age prematurely. Although with that receding hairline, maybe you’ve already started.”

Any other employee speaking to Owen Cooper this way would be fired instantly. But Bane Cooper wasn’t just any employee.

“We have an assignment,” Owen said, ignoring the mockery. “From the higher-ups.”

Bane’s casual posture didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened instantly. “The higher-ups? You mean

“Yes.”

Bane sat up straighter, his boots coming off the armrest. The mocking humor vanished, replaced by professional intensity that transformed him from irreverent troublemaker to deadly serious operative in seconds.

“First assignment in three years,” Bane said quietly. “What does he need?”

Owen pulled up the Ocean Park video on his computer, turning the screen so Bane could see. “This video. Someone deliberately leaked it to multiple platforms simultaneously. I need to know who uploaded it, from where, using what devices, and why. Trace the entire chain back to the source.”

Bane watched the video once, his expression unreadable. “Quamaine Potter getting his ass handed to him and barking like a dog. This is what triggered the Potter family’s economic assault on Hartford Group?”

“Yes.”

“And Hartford Group is connected to the higher-ups through his wife+the Sacred Saintess.”

“Yes.”

Bane leaned back, his analytical mind already processing patterns and possibilities. “So someone wanted the Potter family enraged enough to attack Hartford Group, which would provoke a response from the higher-ups. This isn’t random revenge. This is strategic manipulation.”

“Exactly,” Owen confirmed. “Which is why he needs to know who’s pulling these strings,”

“Timeline?”

“Thirty minutes,”

Bane laughed-sharp, humorless. “You know how many layers of encryption, VPNs, and digital misdirection someone sophisticated enough to orchestrate this would use? Thirty minutes is—”

“What you have,” Owen interrupted firmly. “This is the first time the higher-ups have activated the Supervision Department in three years. The first time Marcus Steel has broken silence to use resources he’s kept dormant. Whatever is happening in Grayson City-whoever is manipulating events from the shadows-it’s important

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enough that he’s willing to reveal capabilities he’s kept hidden.”

The weight of that implication settled over them both. Marcus Steel-the Dragon King, though Owen could never speak that title aloud-had spent three years hiding, healing, protecting his identity while his memories remained damaged. For him to activate the Supervision Department now meant threats had escalated beyond what passive observation could handle.

“Understood,” Bane said, standing with sudden purpose. “Thirty minutes. I’ll have answers.”

He strode toward the door, then paused. “Owen? Tell the higher-ups… tell him we’re ready. Whatever comes next, the Supervision Department is ready.”

After Bane left, Mrs. Patterson poked her head in nervously. “Sir, is everything alright? Minister Cooper seemed… intense.”

“He was being professional,” Owen said tiredly. “Which is actually more concerning than when he’s being irreverent.”

“Should I prepare anything?”

“Coffee. Strong. And clear my schedule for the next two hours.” Owen stared at his phone, at the contact labeled ” Higher-Ups” that he’d never dared call first. “We’re about to find out who’s been manipulating Grayson City’s power structure. And I suspect the answer won’t be pleasant.”

Mrs. Patterson left quietly, sensing the gravity her boss wouldn’t explain.

Titan Group Headquarters Executive Floor – 1:53 AM

Exactly twenty-nine minutes after Bane Cooper left, Owen’s office door didn’t just open-it was kicked inward with enough force to crack the doorframe.

Bane stormed in flanked by two Supervision Department operatives, all three wearing tactical gear splattered with blood that clearly wasn’t their own. Between them, they dragged a large canvas sack—military grade, designed for transporting bodies.

Mrs. Patterson’s scream from the outer office was cut short when one operative casually closed the door in her face.

“What the-” Owen stood, his eyes locked on the blood-soaked sack that was definitely moving. Something alive was inside. Something that groaned weakly.

Bane pulled a tactical knife and cut the sack open in one smooth motion.

A man spilled onto Owen’s expensive carpet-mid-twenties, tech-casual clothing now torn and bloodstained, face bruised and swollen, zip-tie restraints on wrists and ankles. He looked up at Owen with terrified, pleading

eyes.

“Found him,” Bane said flatly. “Trevor Mitchell. Age twenty-six. Works-worked-for a digital marketing firm called Apex Solutions. Three days ago, he received fifty thousand dollars via cryptocurrency to upload the Ocean Park video to seventeen different platforms using spoofed accounts.”

Owen stared at the trembling prisoner. “Who paid him?”

“He doesn’t know,” Bane replied. “Anonymous client, dead-drop payment, no direct contact. Standard dark web contract work.”

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