Skyscrapers and Starlight – The Dragon’s Daughter
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 13: Kings and Dragons
Part 1: The War Room
The Jade Conference Room atop Drake Tower gleamed like an emerald fortress as Marcus strode in, adrenaline still coursing from the press conference. Alexandra met him halfway, her Chanel suit a perfect match to the room’s deep green hues.
“Darling,” she purred, straightening his tie, “brilliant performance. But we have approximately twelve minutes before my father arrives, so listen carefully.”
She guided him to a leather chair while Elizabeth and Eleanor Drake took their positions like chess pieces being set.
“Chen Wei-Ming never leaves Hong Kong,” Alexandra began, perching on the conference table. “The fact that he’s here, with the Rothschilds…” She paused, fingers brushing his jade cufflinks. “It means they’re planning something massive.”
“More massive than our quantum technology announcement?”
“Much.” Her smile was razor-sharp. “They think they’re here to negotiate. To perhaps… correct their daughter’s impulsive marriage choices.”
Eleanor’s laugh chimed like crystal. “Oh, how delightfully presumptuous of them.”
“Indeed.” Alexandra’s eyes glittered. “What they don’t know is that while they were flying over the Pacific, I acquired controlling interest in three of their key development subsidiaries.”
Marcus’s breath caught. “When did you—”
“While you were making breakfast.” She winked. “I do my best work before coffee.”
Elizabeth, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly smiled. “The Rothko. That’s why you wanted it here.”
“Lord Rothschild has been trying to acquire it for decades,” Alexandra confirmed. “It’s our checkmate piece.”
A soft chime from her phone. “They’re in the lobby.” She leaned down, kissing Marcus with deliberate slowness. “Ready to help me shock the kings of Asia, husband?”
Marcus rose, pulling Alexandra closer by her waist, his eyes dark with a mixture of admiration and determination. The jade cufflinks caught the light as his hands settled on her hips.
“Shock them?” His laugh was low and dangerous. “Darling, after what you’ve done this morning alone, I think we’re about to give the kings of Asia collective cardiac arrest.”
“That’s the spirit.” She smoothed his lapels, pride gleaming in her eyes.
“Though I do have one question,” he murmured against her ear. “When exactly were you planning to tell me that you bought three companies between croissants and coffee?”
“Mmm.” She nipped his jaw playfully. “Consider it a wedding present. Besides,” her smile turned wicked, “a wife should always have a few surprises for her husband.”
Eleanor’s delighted laugh rang through the room. “Oh, I do like her, Marcus. Much better than that dreadful Montgomery girl.”
Elizabeth, adjusting her Hermès scarf, actually smirked. “The look on Victoria’s face when she realizes who she lost you to… almost worth the billions in jade I destroyed.”
“Speaking of billions,” Alexandra straightened, all business now. “They’re in the express elevator. Places, everyone. And Marcus?” She gave him one last, searing kiss. “Remember – you’re not just Drake Industries anymore. You’re the man who married Alexandra Chen. Own it.”
His answering smile was pure confidence. “Yes, darling.”
Part 2: The Dragon’s Den
The Jade Conference Room held its breath as the elevator’s soft chime announced their visitors’ arrival. Alexandra had arranged them with theatrical precision: Eleanor Drake ensconced in her chair like a queen on her throne, the Rothko displayed prominently behind her; Elizabeth seated with aristocratic poise, examining her manicure with studied indifference; Marcus relaxed in the primary chair, one ankle resting casually on his knee, those imperial jade cufflinks catching the light.
Alexandra herself perched on the conference table’s edge beside her husband, her Louboutins gleaming like fresh blood.
Her last words still hung in the air: “No one stands. No matter who enters. Not until I give the signal. Let them feel the weight of having to approach us.”
The massive double doors began to open, Claire orchestrating their dramatic reveal with the precision of a theatre director. The afternoon sun streamed through Drake Tower’s windows, casting long shadows as the most powerful men in Asia stood framed in the doorway.
Chen Wei-Ming, the Dragon of Hong Kong, resplendent in a suit that cost more than most cars. Lord and Lady Rothschild, old money personified. Behind them, a phalanx of advisors and lawyers clutching briefcases and tablets.
The expected moment came – when protocol and power demanded that everyone rise to greet titans of industry.
Nobody moved.
Alexandra’s smile curved like a katana as she watched her father’s face register the deliberate insult. The muscle in his jaw twitched – the same tell she’d inherited.
“Welcome to New York,” she said in perfect Mandarin. “I trust the traffic wasn’t too… inconvenient?”
The afternoon sun painted golden stripes across the Jade Conference Room as Chen Wei-Ming regarded his daughter, his expression a masterpiece of controlled emotion.
“Xiǎo Lóng,” he addressed her, using her childhood name – Little Dragon. “Is this how you greet your father after three years?”
Alexandra’s smile remained perfectly calibrated. “Three years, two months, and fourteen days, Father. Since you last summoned me to explain why I wouldn’t marry Lord Rothschild’s son.”
Marcus’s hand found hers on the conference table, a subtle gesture that didn’t escape her father’s sharp eyes.
“And now I find you’ve married…” Chen Wei-Ming’s gaze swept over Marcus with calculating precision.
“Careful, Father,” Alexandra’s voice carried a silk-wrapped warning. “That’s my lawfully wedded husband you’re about to insult.” She turned to the Rothschilds, switching to impeccable Queen’s English. “Lord Rothschild, what a pleasure. I trust your flight was comfortable? Though I must say, flying commercial would have been faster than waiting for Father’s jet.”
Lord Rothschild’s aristocratic features tightened at the subtle jab – she knew perfectly well they’d had to wait for her father’s permission to travel with him.
“I see your tongue remains as sharp as ever, my dear,” he responded, clutching his infamous briefcase.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she purred. “Shall we discuss why you’re really here? Or would you prefer to stand in the doorway admiring our Rothko?”
Alexandra watched with practiced satisfaction as Lord Rothschild’s eyes finally registered the massive canvas behind Eleanor Drake. His grip on his briefcase tightened until his knuckles went white.
“Is that…” His aristocratic composure wavered. “The Red Rothko? The one that vanished from—”
“The Imperial Collection? In ’49?” Alexandra’s smile was pure silk. “Beautiful, isn’t it? The way the crimson seems to pulse in certain lights.” She gestured lazily toward Eleanor. “A birthday gift for my new grandmother-in-law. She has such excellent taste in art.”
Chen Wei-Ming’s eyes narrowed. The Rothko had been his white whale for decades – a piece that even his vast fortune couldn’t locate.
“And now it graces the Drake family collection,” Eleanor added smoothly, touching the dragon brooch at her throat. “Along with other… priceless acquisitions.”
Lord Rothschild took an unconscious step forward, drawn by the painting’s magnetic pull. “We’ve been searching—”
“For forty years, yes.” Alexandra’s voice carried just enough sympathy to twist the knife. “Though I must say, you were looking in entirely the wrong places. Rather like your current… business ventures.”
The subtle shift from art to commerce made both men stiffen.
“Perhaps,” Chen Wei-Ming spoke carefully, “we should all sit down and discuss these… ventures.”
“Oh, but Father,” Alexandra’s smile turned predatory, “you haven’t even admired the jade cufflinks I gave my husband. Imperial dynasty. Rather like the complete set your friends recently… damaged.”
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Part 3: Jade and Justice
The Jade Conference Room crackled with tension as Lord Rothschild’s face registered recognition at Marcus’s cufflinks.
“Those aren’t…” he whispered.
“From the Emperor’s personal collection?” Alexandra finished sweetly. “The very same. Though these, thankfully, weren’t among the pieces that were recently reduced to fragments on my grandmother-in-law’s marble floor.”
Chen Wei-Ming’s intake of breath was sharp enough to cut diamond. “Someone destroyed Imperial jade?”
“Oh yes, Father.” Alexandra’s laugh was musical. “Quite the dramatic scene, actually. Sophia Montgomery brought what she claimed was an authentic Ming dynasty set to Eleanor’s birthday party.” She turned to Lord Rothschild with newfound respect. “Nothing to do with your family, of course. Miss Montgomery’s… theatrical attempts at social climbing have always been rather desperate.”
“The Montgomery girl?” Lord Rothschild’s aristocratic features relaxed slightly. “Ah yes, the one who’s been throwing her father’s new money around rather carelessly.”
“Precisely.” Alexandra’s smile turned predatory. “She presented her ‘authentic’ set with such conviction. Right before destroying actual Imperial jade in a rather spectacular tantrum.”
Marcus, still radiating relaxed confidence, simply adjusted his cufflinks so they caught the light. “Though we must thank Miss Montgomery’s… enthusiasm. Her display did save one piece. And provided quite the educational video for the insurance adjusters.”
“Video?” Chen Wei-Ming’s legendary control slipped for a moment.
Alexandra’s smile was pure venom. “Oh yes, Father. Would you like to see what happens when new money tries to challenge old power? When factory-made replicas meet true Imperial jade?”
She reached for her tablet, and the blood drained from every standing face in the room.
The Jade Conference Room’s state-of-the-art screens flickered to life as Alexandra’s tablet connected. High-definition security footage filled the walls, showing Eleanor Drake’s birthday celebration from multiple angles.
The colour drained from Chen Wei-Ming’s face as he watched Sophia Montgomery present her “authentic” set with flourishing confidence. His jaw tightened visibly when Alexandra’s voice on the recording calmly identified the pieces as fake.
“The glaze is wrong for the period,” recorded-Alexandra was saying. “And the maker’s mark? It’s been artificially aged.”
Lord Rothschild’s breath hitched as the scene unfolded – the Drake family’s calculated destruction of Alexandra’s gifts, Emma clutching her piece protectively, the shattering of priceless jade against Italian marble.
Then came Richard Drake’s entrance.
“Is that… the Lost Emperor’s Set?”
The video’s audio captured every nuance of horror in the art curator’s voice, every moment of devastating realization crossing the faces of those who had just destroyed billions in historical artifacts.
Chen Wei-Ming gripped the back of an empty chair, his knuckles white as Richard Drake’s expertise confirmed each piece’s authenticity, ending with his nuclear explosion of fury.
“My god,” Lord Rothschild whispered, watching the Montgomery girl’s face transition from triumph to terror.
The footage ended with a perfectly framed shot of Emma’s preserved piece – the only survivor of the set – its Imperial maker’s mark clearly visible.
Alexandra paused the playback. “Shall we discuss business now, Father? Or would you like to see the insurance company’s official valuation first?”
The standing men’s expressions had transformed from controlled power to barely contained shock. Even their retinue of lawyers looked ill.
“Xiǎo Lóng… Alexandra Chen…,” Chen Wei-Ming finally managed, his voice hoarse, “what exactly are you playing at?”
Alexandra slid gracefully from her perch on the conference table, her Louboutins clicking against marble like heartbeats. The afternoon sun caught her wedding ring as she moved.
“Playing, Father?” Her smile was razor sharp winter frost. “I rather think that’s your specialty. Flying halfway across the world with Lord Rothschild.”
She circled the room with predator’s grace. “When was the last time we simply talked? No business, no empire, just father and daughter?”
Marcus watched his wife move, seeing for the first time the shadow of a little girl who once chased dragons in Hong Kong gardens.
“The last time?” Chen Wei-Ming’s expression softened for just a moment. “When you still wore pigtails and called me Bàba instead of Father.”
“Before the empire became more important than bedtime stories,” she added softly. “Before every conversation became a negotiation.”
The Dragon of Hong Kong’s face hardened again. “You were raised to understand duty, Alexandra. To know that personal desires must bow to family obligations.”
“Duty?” Her laugh held echoes of jade wind chimes. “Is that what you call flying across the world to interfere in your daughter’s marriage? Not even a phone call in three years, and now this?”
“A marriage that threatens everything we’ve built,” he snapped. “Everything I’ve sacrificed for.”
“No, Father.” She moved to stand beside Marcus, her hand finding his shoulder. “A marriage that finally makes me happy.”
Chen Wei-Ming straightened to his full height, power radiating from every inch of his bespoke suit. When he spoke, his words carried the weight of centuries of tradition:
“Alexandra Chen, as head of the Chen family, I demand you divorce this man. Immediately.”
“The real question, Father,” she continued, her Mandarin crystal-sharp, “is what game did you think you were playing?”
Chen Wei-Ming’s expression hardened into granite. “The game of protecting my empire, daughter.”
