That evening, across the city, a delivery truck rolled up to a luxury apartment building. Two men unloaded a gleaming red Ferrari SF90 Stradale—a $625,000 Italian masterpiece fully upgraded past $750,000—and parked it in the secure garage.A card on the wheel read: “For Jacy, from grandfather, who knows you deserve the best. Happy Birthday.”Jacy wouldn’t see it until morning. For now, she sat in the high-rise apartment Charlie had arranged, staring out at the glowing skyline. Fear and relief braided inside her. She had walked away from everything she once depended on—but for the first time, toward something that felt like freedom.At the hotel, Charlie received Joseph’s text: confirmation of the Ferrari’s delivery and the successful financial pressure placed quietly on the Grants. Charlie slipped his phone away with a small smile. By dawn, the Grants would wake to shrinking credit lines, withdrawn partners, cancelled invitations. Nothing loud—just steady constriction. His grandfather

While Grant corporations sat across a table searching for a way of out their financial crisis, across the city at Yorkers University, Charlie's arrival on campus created a sensation. Students who'd barely noticed him before now stared openly. Whispers followed him through the halls."Is that really him?""The guy from the videos?""I heard he drove a $50 million car to the party.""My dad says the Maxwell family is like, ridiculously powerful. If he's their representative..."Daniel met Charlie at their usual spot, grinning widely. "Dude, you're famous. You've been trending all morning.""I noticed," Charlie said dryly."Half the school thinks you're secretly rich, the other half thinks you're just really good at borrowing things," Daniel continued. "There's a betting pool about whether the car is actually yours.""Let them speculate," Charlie said."Speaking of speculation," Daniel's expression turned more serious, "Angela has been asking about you. She wants to talk."Charlie's expr

Charlie arrived at the Maxwell estate to find his grandfather in the study, surrounded by financial documents. George looked up, sharp eyes assessing him.“Sit,” he said. “We need to talk about your strategy with the Grants.”Charlie sat, sensing caution rather than disapproval.“I’ve been monitoring the situation,” George said. “The pressure you’re applying through Joseph is effective. Within two weeks, they’ll need to liquidate assets. Within a month, they might face bankruptcy.”“That’s the point,” Charlie replied.“Is it?” George asked. “Or are you simply trying to make them suffer? There’s a difference between strategic pressure and vindictive destruction.”Charlie stiffened. “They killed my mother—”“No,” George cut in sharply. “Your mother died after years of stress and heartbreak. The Grants contributed to that, yes. But they didn’t murder her. Don’t rewrite history to justify unlimited revenge.”The bluntness hit him harder than he expected.“Your mother,” George continued mo

Seeing his grandfather's call was everything Charlie needed at that moment, and he wasted no time in answering.“I heard about the lawyer’s call,” George said immediately. “Joseph briefed me.”“They’re organizing against me,” Charlie said, pacing without realizing it. The anger had faded; now it was something far worse—something tight and cold in his chest.“Of course,” George replied. “When people feel threatened, they band together.”“But I didn’t do half the things they’re accusing me of.”“That doesn’t matter,” George said. “You’ve proven you’re willing to use power decisively. That alone makes you dangerous in their eyes.”“So what do I do?”“You have two choices,” George said. “Back down and look weak, or lean in and make an example so strong they’ll never think to challenge you again.”Charlie grimaced. “Those are terrible options.”“Welcome to power,” George said. “There’s no middle ground. People only understand two things: who they can walk over… and who they can’t.”“What w

Charlie woke to Joseph White’s call at 7 AM.“Good morning, Mr. Maxwell. We need to release a statement before the narrative spirals further out of control.”Charlie lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was foggy, but his chest already carried the familiar tightness—the pressure of being watched, judged, interpreted.He pushed himself upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Alright, I’m up.”“Good. The press release will be out shortly, based on your draft and instructions.”“Do I need to add anything?”“For now, no,” Joseph replied. “Just go to school and focus on your studies. Your grandfather sends his regards.”The call ended, leaving a heavy silence behind. Charlie stayed still for a few seconds, listening to the faint city noise outside his window. He wanted one quiet morning—just one—but fate had other plans. Being a Maxwell meant your peace belonged to the world.Eventually, he swung his legs out of bed.Charlie moved through his morning on autopilot. He