Skyline Executives

The forty-third floor of Peak Media Group's Manhattan headquarters offered an unobstructed view of the city skyline, though none of the executives seated around the conference table paid it any attention. The windows merely served as a reminder of their elevation—both literal and figurative—above the common concerns of the world below.

At the head of the polished glass table, Victor Blackwell observed the proceedings with the detached interest of a scientist monitoring a predictable experiment. His bespoke suit remained unwrinkled despite the hour, his posture perfect, his presence commanding the room without requiring a single gesture.

Across from him, Sebastian Greer, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the subtle movement betraying discomfort that his carefully neutral expression attempted to conceal. Behind him, a wall-mounted screen displayed a presentation slide bearing the stark heading: Tapout: Acquisition Analysis.

"I'll be direct, Victor," Sebastian began, his voice modulated to project confidence despite the shortfall of information on his slides. "The due diligence on Tapout has been... challenging."

Victor's lips curved slightly upward—not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment of amusement.

"Challenging," he repeated, the word carrying the significance of unspoken judgment. "How diplomatic of you, Sebastian. Please, continue with your findings, such as they are."

The subtle barb landed precisely as intended. Sebastian tugged at his collar before advancing to the next slide—a sparse organizational chart with more question marks than definitive information.

"Tapout exists in a state of corporate ambiguity," Sebastian explained, gesturing toward the screen. "The original LLC expired in 2019, yet the publication continued operations without any clear legal restructuring. We can't find current registration documents, tax filings are inconsistent at best, and their supposed corporate headquarters is a virtual office space in Hoboken that routes to a P.O. box."

Victor remained impassive; his stillness somehow more intimidating than any visible reaction would have been.

"Harrington and Wessler—the principals we identified as likely owners—seemed almost surprised by our interest," Sebastian continued. "They expressed immediate willingness to sell, suggesting a price point that, frankly, indicates they're eager to offload what they perceive as a liability."

Sebastian advanced to a slide showing minimal financial data. "Revenue streams are nebulous. Subscription numbers can't be verified. Their advertising contracts appear to be handshake deals at best. In essence, sir, what we're looking at isn't a media property in any traditional sense—it's essentially a glorified blog operating under a once-reputable brand name."

Victor's expression remained unchanged, offering neither encouragement nor displeasure. Sebastian, reading the silence as permission to speak freely, ventured into dangerous territory.

"Given these findings, I feel compelled to raise an alternative strategy," he said, straightening his shoulders. "PMG already owns VYBE Media, which has a robust digital infrastructure and established editorial processes. We could easily launch a combat sports vertical under that umbrella, or create an entirely new property that we build from the ground up—"

"Sebastian."

Victor's interruption was soft yet absolute. The room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature as he leaned forward, placing his palms flat against the glass surface.

"Do you understand what we're purchasing here?" Victor asked, his tone suggesting the question was not rhetorical.

Sebastian hesitated. "A digital publication with significant operational issues."

"Sebastian," he said smoothly, "we're not just buying a publication. We're buying perception."

Sebastian furrowed his brow slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Tapout has history," Victor continued, eyes locked onto Sebastian like a predator explaining its kill. "It’s a recognized name in the wrestling industry. The people who read it don’t give a damn about corporate infrastructure or LLC filings. They care about the brand, about the legacy. They trust the opinions written under that banner, even if the operation behind it is held together with duct tape and wishful thinking."

Victor rose from his chair in a single fluid motion, moving to the window where the late afternoon sun cast his silhouette against the Manhattan skyline. "When Tapout gives a match five stars, it means something to a very specific audience—an audience that matters to Summit Fighting League's success. When Tapout criticizes a promotion, that criticism carries weight."

Victor returned to the table, "we don't need their nonexistent corporate structure or their questionable accounting practices. We need their masthead. Their legacy. Their credibility."

He didn’t sit down—he stood over the table like a general briefing his war council, voice sharpening with each word.

"Tapout will chronicle the emergence of the Summit Fighting League—not as a curiosity or an experiment, but as the inevitable evolution of combat sports entertainment. It will document how PMG systematically dismantled the artificial barriers between disciplines. How we unified what others insisted on keeping separate."

He placed his palms flat on the glass surface, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that nonetheless commanded complete attention.

"Most importantly, it will bear witness to PMG's absolute domination of professional wrestling and mixed martial arts—not as a participant, but as the definitive historical record. The voice that tells future generations not just what happened, but why it mattered."

Sebastian absorbed the explanation, recognition dawning in his expression.

"Prepare the acquisition documents," Victor instructed, his tone brooking no further discussion.

"When you meet with Harrington and Wessler, make it clear: this isn't a negotiation. This is a courtesy notification that ownership is changing hands. The price is fair, considering what they actually possess, but the deal itself is non-negotiable."

Sebastian nodded, already making mental notes for the legal team.

"And Sebastian?" Victor added as he settled back into his chair. "Make sure Rico Vega doesn’t sniff this out. I want him blissfully ignorant until the moment I decide otherwise. When the time comes, I’ll be the one to personally hand him his walking papers."

The meeting concluded without fanfare, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted. What had begun as a puzzling acquisition of a failing publication had revealed itself as something far more strategic—another calculated move on Victor Blackwell's corporate chessboard. Not just the purchase of a website. The acquisition of authenticity itself.