Smoke, Mirrors & The Pinnacle

The conference hall buzzed with anticipation, a sea of cameras, reporters, and media executives packed into the pristine, corporate-polished space. The PMG logo was emblazoned on banners behind the stage, sleek and dominant, flanked by a massive LED screen that scrolled through promotional images of Peak Media's holdings—sports, entertainment, digital media.

Logan Drake adjusted his jacket, settling into his seat at the long table set for the press conference. He'd been told by Victor's assistant that this was about Kingdom Come, the biggest event in Summit Fighting League's short history. That was why he was here. That was why the press was here. He figured Victor would talk his usual corporate nonsense—hype up the pay-per-view, push ticket sales, maybe tease a new business deal.

Instead, Logan watched in real time as Victor Blackwell threw yet another curveball. Victor, always immaculately dressed, leaned into the podium with the presence of a man who knew exactly how to hold an audience in the palm of his hand. His platinum cufflinks gleamed beneath the lights as he smoothed the lapels of his dark navy suit before beginning.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Victor started, his voice carrying that effortless blend of charm and authority that had made him one of the most powerful media moguls in the world. "Thank you for being here today. You know, Peak Media Group has always been about evolution—about pushing industries forward, setting new standards, and defining the future. And today, I'm thrilled to share with you the next step in that journey."

Logan sat up slightly, waiting for Kingdom Come to be mentioned.

"PMG is proud to announce that construction has officially begun on The Pinnacle—a state-of-the-art venue and performance center, located in the heart of New York City."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the press. Logan's brow furrowed as he processed what he'd just heard. A new venue? This wasn't about Kingdom Come at all.

Victor continued, his smile widening.

"This will be the place where only the biggest events happen. Not just in combat sports, but in entertainment, music, and culture. If there's an event at the PMG Grand Arena—you will want to be there. Because nothing will be bigger than what happens under that roof."

His voice carried complete certainty. It wasn't just a statement—it was a call to arms. Logan swallowed hard, his fingers interlacing on the table in front of him. The meaning behind Victor's words was clear. This wasn't just about expanding PMG's empire—this was a direct challenge to Madison Square Garden. Victor Blackwell was setting out to bury the Garden and ensure that anyone who wanted to be seen, who wanted to matter in the world of sports and entertainment, would do business his way or not at all.

Jesus Christ… Logan thought, his mind racing. He'd been blindsided again. The press wasted no time pouncing on the opportunity for controversy.

"Mr. Blackwell," a reporter called out from the front row, adjusting his recorder. "Last week, a leaked conversation suggested that Strike Force Legends was scripted, per your own words. Given that SFL was built on the foundation of that event, do you stand by those comments?"

The question sent a hush through the room. Logan could feel every camera shift its lens, every microphone pointed at Victor like a sniper ready to take a shot. Victor's response? Classic corporate non-answer.

"I'm glad you asked that," Victor said smoothly, shifting ever so slightly in his chair to adopt the relaxed-yet-in-control posture of a man who knew how to maneuver an interrogation. "What I can say is that Peak Media Group is committed to delivering the most exciting, most authentic, and most groundbreaking combat sports content in the world. The lines between competition and entertainment have always blurred in this industry—our job is to make sure that every event we put on is must-see. And I think the numbers speak for themselves."

A vague smile, a glance toward the crowd. A masterclass in dodging the question while making it sound like an answer.

Logan clenched his jaw. Are you fucking kidding me?

Another journalist cut in before Victor could move on. "Mr. Drake, do you have anything to add to that? Given your role as the face of SFL, do you—"

Before Logan could even lean forward, Victor was already on his feet, his voice cutting through the room with practiced finality.

"And that will be all for today," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Thank you all for attending. The PMG family is very excited about our future."

And just like that, it was over.

The whispers of reporters were drowned out by the rustling of papers, the shifting of chairs, the movement of a hundred people scrambling to dissect what had just happened.

Logan, still seated, exhaled slowly. He had wanted to speak. He needed to speak. But Victor had shut it down before he even had the chance.

Victor's gaze flicked toward him, reading the frustration that Logan didn't bother to hide. A smirk curled at the edge of his lips—controlled, deliberate, victorious. Then, with a casual turn, he stepped off the stage and disappeared behind the curtains.

As he did, Genny Vaughn stood off to the side, watching from the shadows. Victor barely broke stride as he passed her, but his voice, low and edged with irritation, cut like a blade.

"I shouldn't have to fucking save myself from questions that are also grenades, Genny. You're head of PR. That's your job."

Before she could respond, he brushed past her, moving toward the elevator without another glance.

Logan caught Genny's eye as she turned, her expression unreadable. He forced a polite smile, an unspoken acknowledgment of the power struggle they were both trapped in. But she didn't return it. Instead, without a word, she turned and followed in Victor's footsteps, leaving Logan alone in the wreckage.

Because this wasn't about SFL. This wasn't about Kingdom Come. Victor Blackwell was playing a game much bigger than Logan had realized. And once again, Logan was left scrambling to keep up.