The cheap bottle of warm beer tasted like regret, but Darren didn’t care. He was perched on the edge of his dingy sofa, glued to the live stream of the press conference on his laptop, jaw slack. He kept replaying the moment the doors had burst open, watching Kaelen walk in like he owned the whole damn atmosphere.He couldn't believe it. The bastard actually showed up.“You idiot, you absolutely pathologically shy idiot,” Darren muttered, gripping the bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. “This is where you fold. This is where you mumble and mix up your dates and look terrified. You were supposed to be hiding in a bunker, Kaelen! That was the entire point!”But Kaelen wasn’t fumbling. He was smooth. Too smooth. He was standing there, radiating this stupid, calm authority, handling the press like he was ordering room service. Every word was articulate, every gesture confident. He didn't look like the awkward rich kid Darren had pegged him as. He looked like exactly what the public w

The questions didn’t stop.Reporters circled Kaelen like predators, microphones thrust forward, pens scribbling furiously, cameras flashing nonstop. Every word, every gesture, every glance he made was being captured, broadcasted, dissected.“Mr. Kaelen, now that Darren has been caught, will you be pressing charges?” one reporter asked, her tone sharp, eager for a reaction.Kaelen’s gaze swept over the crowd. His voice was calm, deliberate. “Press charges? Not immediately,” he said. “I believe justice comes in many forms, and the law is not always the first step.”Another reporter leaned closer. “So you’re saying you won’t take him to court at all?”Kaelen shook his head slightly. “I am saying that accountability is more than legal paperwork. Darren harmed me, yes, but the damage isn’t measured solely in lawsuits. It’s measured in acknowledgment. In truth.”A reporter pressed further, voice edged with curiosity. “Acknowledgment? You mean a public apology?”Kaelen’s eyes locked onto he

Chapter 35Darren didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, just stared at the smashed coffee mug on the floor and the scrolling headline about the acquisition. The entire company, his income stream, his existence as a writer—gone.Erased. All because Kaleen had the kind of disposable cash needed to buy and obliterate a small publishing house just to deliver a final, vicious slap.But the television screen, that constant, malevolent presence, wasn’t done with him yet.The main segment shifted from the corporate news to a local crime report. The anchor’s grave face filled the screen.Then the image changed to grainy, shaky footage taken from a high-mounted security camera on the side of a building.It was the alleyway.He saw himself in the too-big grey hoodie, backing away, hands up in a futile gesture of defense. He saw Mickey and Lenny towering over him.The video was silent, but the news channel had done something worse. They had used a high-quality microphone to record the playback of the

Chapter 37 Kaleen leaned back in the plush leather chair in his private, soundproof office, the silence a welcome luxury after the manufactured chaos of the conference hall. Jordan, his Head of Operations, was pacing the expensive rug, still buzzing with a mixture of professional awe and thinly veiled shock. “I still don’t get it, sir,” Jordan admitted, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “The timing. The sheer volume of data. The audio recording of the loan sharks! How did you coordinate all that, let alone acquire the footage of the assault before it aired? It was brilliant, but I need to know the logistics. We didn't file a single motion.” Kaleen picked up a glass of water, swirling the ice cubes, his expression utterly serene. He smiled, a slight, humorless curve of his lips. “Logistics? There were no logistics, Jordan,” he said, his voice easy, almost philosophical. “I just stepped out of the way. I told you, I have faith in the universe, in the law of conseq