All Chapters of The Rebirth Of A Titan: Chapter 71
- Chapter 80
124 chapters
CHAPTER 71
The heavy oak doors of my father’s study slammed shut behind us, cutting off the noise of the main house.The room smelled of old leather, pipe tobacco, and a suffocating kind of judgment.My father, Elias St. Claire, sat behind his massive desk. He didn't look like a man who had just seen his company almost implode.He looked like a statue carved out of granite, cold and immovable.Marcus stood to my left. He looked like a wreck. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he kept twitching every time the grandfather clock chimed. The incident had aged him ten years in a single week.I stood straight, ignoring the ache in my legs. I was still recovering from the basement, from the lack of sleep, from the stress. But I wouldn't let Elias see me weak."Sit," Elias commanded. He didn't look up from the papers he was signing.We sat. The leather chairs creaked in the silence.Elias finally put his pen down.
CHAPTER 72
The morning sun streamed into the breakfast nook, but it felt like a spotlight in an interrogation room.Sarah was already seated, her posture perfect. She wasn't scrolling through Instagram or shopping for yachts. She was typing furiously on a tablet, surrounded by three phones."Good morning, Victor," she said without looking up. "You slept six hours and twelve minutes. That's an improvement."I sat down. A plate of egg whites and spinach was already waiting for me. No coffee. Just herbal tea."Where is the coffee?" I asked, rubbing my face. The fog from last night's 'vitamins' was still clinging to my brain like cobwebs."Caffeine interferes with your medication," she said briskly. "Dr. Aris—who, by the way, has been very cooperative since you 'motivated' him—agreed that we need to stabilize your cortisol levels."She slid a piece of paper across the table. It was a schedule. Broken down by fifteen-minute increments.
CHAPTER 73
The factory floor was a graveyard of industry.Massive looms sat silent, covered in dust sheets. The few machines that were running clattered and wheezed, sounding like they were about to explode.The air was thick with cotton fibers that stuck to my sweaty skin.The workers were just as bad. They moved slowly, their faces grey with exhaustion and apathy.They didn't look up when I walked in. They knew who I was. Another St. Claire coming to squeeze the last drop of blood from the stone."Mr. St. Claire," a man said, stepping out of a glass office that looked like a fishbowl. He was fat, sweating, and wearing a shirt that had been white three days ago. "I'm Matt. The foreman.""Matt," I said, shaking his damp hand. "Status report.""Bad," Matt said, spitting on the concrete floor. "We're running at 30% capacity. Loom 4 is dead. Loom 7 keeps jamming. And the union is threatening to walk if they don't get their b
CHAPTER 74
The next morning, the factory was silent.Not the silence of a break. The silence of death.I walked in at 7:00 AM, Sarah trailing behind me with her coffee cup."Why is it so quiet?" Sarah asked, looking around.I ran onto the floor.It was a disaster.Loom 4—the one I had nearly killed myself to fix—was smashed. Someone had taken a sledgehammer to the control panel. The gears were shattered. Oil was pooling on the floor.But it wasn't just Loom 4. Every single machine on the main line had been vandalized. Wires cut. Belts slashed. Sand poured into the motors.And the workers? They were gone.Only Matt was there, sitting in his glass office with his head in his hands."What happened?" I screamed, storming into the office.Matt looked up. He had a black eye."They came last night," he mumbled. "Pros. Wore masks. They knew exactly where to hit. They smashed the machines and tol
CHAPTER 75
Isabella didn't lie. Her crew arrived in forty minutes.They were a swarm of efficiency. Mechanics in grey jumpsuits descended on the machines with welding torches and replacement parts.Heavily armed guards in black tactical gear took up positions at every entrance.By noon, the factory sounded different. The grinding of metal on metal was gone, replaced by the hum of repairs.I sat in Matts glass office, watching them work. The check Isabella gave me was already deposited, and the materials were ordered.But I felt sick.Isabella walked in, closing the door behind her. She placed a sleek laptop on the desk."Your end of the bargain, Victor," she said. "Upload the source code."I stared at the laptop."I can't upload it," I said."Don't play games with me," she warned. "I bought you. Now deliver.""It's not a file," I lied, thinking fast. "It's... mental. It's a heuristic algorithm I
CHAPTER 76
Without the rhythmic thrum of the machines or the shouting of the workers, it felt dead, like a giant beast that had finally stopped breathing.I walked down the main aisle of the East End Mill, my heavy flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the suffocating darkness. I was alone. Isabella’s security team—the "elite" mercenaries she had promised—had rotated shifts, leaving a twenty-minute gap in the perimeter.It was a mistake. A stupid, rookie mistake.But I couldn't wait. I needed to check Loom 4 again.I needed to make sure the bypass I had rigged with Matt was holding. I needed this place to look functional for at least another week to keep the illusion alive.Click.The sound came from the loading dock. It was sharp and distinct—the metal-on-metal sound of a heavy door latch lifting.I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. I clicked off my flashlight instantly, plunging myself into total darkness.
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CHAPTER 77
The next morning, my face was a canvas of purple and black. Sarah had done a masterful job with the foundation makeup, covering the worst of the cuts, but she couldn't hide the swelling.I looked like I had gone ten rounds with a truck and lost."We have lunch with your father," Sarah announced, tightening the tie around my neck until it pinched. "Try not to drool. It makes you look senile."We walked into the main dining room. The room was vast and intimidating, filled with portraits of dead St. Claire ancestors who all looked disappointed in me.Elias was sitting at the head of the long table, reading the Financial Times. He didn't look up as we entered."Father," I said.Elias lowered the paper. His eyes went wide when he saw me."Good god, Victor," Elias said, putting the paper down. "What happened to your face?""I fell, Father," I said. The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. "In the factory. It was dark. I t
CHAPTER 78
I waited until 2:00 AM.Sarah was asleep. I checked. I stood over her for ten minutes, listening to the rhythm of her breathing. It was steady and deep.I didn't take the car. It had a tracker. I slipped on my shoes and hopped the back fence of the estate, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribs. I walked two miles through the dark suburbs to the bus stop.I took the night bus to the edge of Chinatown. The streets were wet and smelled of old fish, wet cardboard, and incense.I found the shop in an alleyway so narrow my shoulders brushed the brick walls on both sides. There was no neon sign. Just a dried lizard hanging in the window by a red string.I knocked. Three times slow, two times fast.The door creaked open.An old woman stood there. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, with a face like a crumpled paper bag. She was smoking a long pipe that smelled like burning autumn leaves."We are closed," she croaked.
CHAPTER 79
I was in my study—or rather, the corner of the room Sarah allowed me to use. I was pretending to look at fabric swatches for the factory, fumbling with them clumsily.But under the swatches, I was reviewing the land deeds for the East End Mill.Sarah walked in. She was humming. She had that bounce in her step that meant she had hurt someone or bought something expensive. She was wearing a red dress that looked like a warning sign."Victor," she sang. "I found something of yours."My stomach tightened. I kept my head down, forcing my hand to shake as I turned a page."What is it?" I asked, putting a tremor in my voice. "My glasses?"She walked over and placed something on the desk with a heavy clack.It was the analog tape recorder.The one I had used to record Julian Blackwood. The one I had hidden in the false bottom of my sock drawer—a place only I knew about.I froze. I stopped the fake shaking.
CHAPTER 80
The thirty days were up.The drawing room of the St. Claire estate was set up like a courtroom. Elias sat behind a heavy oak desk, looking stern and impatient. The family lawyers stood by the wall, holding notepads.Marcus stood on the right. He looked sleek, confident. His suit was Italian silk, and he was practically vibrating with arrogance.I stood on the left. I was wearing a suit that was slightly too big, and I kept my posture slumped. I needed them to think I was still broken.Sarah sat in the front row, looking like the supportive wife. Her hand rested on her purse. I knew the tape recorder was inside."The First Trial concludes today," Elias announced. "Marcus, present your results."Marcus stepped forward. He hooked a laptop to the big screen."St. Claire Logistics," Marcus began. "When I took over, it was down 10%. Today, I am proud to announce a net profit increase of 40%."The lawyers gasped. Elias