The next day,Rain slammed violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a bleak backdrop for the drama unfolding inside. Robert Watson, the former CEO who now served as Chairman of the Board, sat at the head of the long mahogany table. His face was flushed with fury.“This Monolith Project is insane!” Watson shouted. “You want to drain our cash reserves to buy server farms in New Jersey and quantum algorithms? Viviane, control your husband!”Carol Lane, seated beside Watson, turned to her daughter with visible disappointment. “Viviane, Uncle Robert is right. Matthew will bankrupt your father’s legacy,” Carol interjected anxiously.Viviane clenched the pen in her hand, then glanced toward Matthew. He stood beside the projector screen, his expression unnervingly calm amid the storm. Yet Viviane could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, deeper than ever.“Enough,” Matthew said coldly. His voice was not loud, but it cut through the argument like a scalpel. He pressed a key

Autumn rain lashed the city of New York, turning asphalt streets into black rivers that reflected the glow of neon lights. Inside a private penthouse overlooking Central Park, the silence was broken only by the soft hum of the coffee machine and the rhythmic tapping of fingers across a holographic tablet screen.Matthew Thomas sat on the edge of the bed, his face looking noticeably healthier, no longer as pale as it had been four days earlier when he collapsed behind the podium after the fundraising event for Project Monolith.Four days after the physical incident that forced him to “power down,” his body had recovered at an unnatural speed, another side effect of his symbiosis with the ARC System. But that recovery did not come for free.“You’re staring at that screen like you want to burn it with your mind,” Viviane’s gentle voice broke Matthew’s concentration.She entered the bedroom carrying a tray with a light breakfast and painkillers. She was dressed in a charcoal gray business

Mark leaned toward Matthew, his voice low but loud enough to reach the opposing table. “Enjoy your last day as a fake genius, Matt. After this, I’ll take over your office. Maybe I’ll let you stay on as a janitor.”Matthew finally looked at him. His gaze was empty, like a black hole ready to swallow light. “You misunderstand one thing, Mark,” Matthew said quietly.“Oh?” Mark snorted.“I didn’t come here to win this trial,” Matthew replied, placing his finger on the tablet. “I came here to carry out an execution.”A sudden, searing hum tore through Matthew’s cranial nerves. Warnings and data from the ARC system assaulted his physical senses once more.[SYSTEM WARNING][Target Identified: Davies Venture Capital & Jonathan Davies’ Personal Assets][Attack Mode: Structural Liquidation ‘Tapeworm Contract’][Risk Analysis: High. Legal Counterattack Impossible.[Execution Cost: 80 Vitality Points (Temporary Cognitive Degradation)]The pain struck like red-hot nails driven straight into his br

Matthew stood up immediately, removed his jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. “Viviane, open your laptop. Connect it to the main display. We are not going home tonight,” he said without hesitation.“Matthew…” Viviane hesitated, but the sharp look in his eyes made her move.She opened her laptop and connected it to the main screen. As the massive display lit up with a global logistics map, Matthew closed his eyes and issued a command to the ARC system.[SYSTEM ARC ACTIVATED][Mode: Global Supply Chain Override][Target: New York Port Project Material Mobilization][Analysis: Searching for market anomalies, stranded cargo, and unused air freight capacity.][Processing Cost: 100 Vitality Points per Hour. Warning: Critical Neural Load.]A surge of agony slammed into the back of Matthew’s head, as if icy needles were being driven into his brainstem.“Pay the price,” Matthew thought grimly, then slowly opened his eyes. His irises appeared darker, more intense

The Next DayThe massive screen in Lane Corp’s main boardroom flickered to life, displaying a face every East Coast real estate power player knew all too well. The features were hard, a square jaw and eyes as cold as ice. Reginald Holt, the Iron-Handed Baron.He sat in a CNBC studio, speaking with the calm of an executioner sharpening his blade.“Lane Corp has lost its way,” Holt’s voice echoed through the crowded room, where panicked board members sat stiffly. “Their ambitious port project is financial suicide. As a concerned minority shareholder, Holt Industries is formally submitting a tender offer today to acquire fifty-one percent of Lane Corp shares at forty-five dollars per share. That is a twenty percent premium above market. I am offering a lifeboat before this ship sinks.”Chaos erupted instantly. The boardroom filled with overlapping voices as panic spread.“We have to sell!” Robert Watson shouted. The former CEO, still sitting on the board, was red-faced with stress. “For