Dumped on my anniversary, I activated the billionaire system

chapter 6

Julian’s eyes flicked to the phone mounted on the dashboard of the hypercar, reading Trent’s mocking text message for the second time.

The glowing screen cast a harsh light over his sharp features, but his expression didn’t change. He didn’t get angry.

He didn’t even scoff. He just let out a low, cold chuckle that vibrated in the quiet cabin of the car.

Trent actually thought Damien Croft buying the Oakridge Country Club was a flex.

The arrogant little trust-fund kid probably thought he was playing 4D chess, using his family’s connections to secure the Sterling family’s favorite playground just to rub it in Julian’s face.

But Julian’s new God-Level analytical skills, combined with his ten billion dollars in liquid cash, saw right through the bullshit.

Damien didn’t buy the club outright; he just bought the holding company’s debt, which meant the actual physical property was still tied to a massive commercial mortgage.

Julian pulled the matte-black Apex GT into a private, underground VIP garage downtown and killed the engine.

He didn't bother getting out. He just tapped the screen of the sleek, unbreakable phone the System had materialized in his pocket, linking it directly to his offshore accounts.

"System," Julian muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete garage. "Pull up the financial portfolio for Oakridge Country Club. Show me the primary mortgage holder."

*[Ding! Scanning... The Oakridge Country Club holds a primary commercial mortgage of 45 million dollars, currently held by First National Regional Bank. The holding company, Croft Leisure LLC, holds secondary debt.]*

Julian’s lips curled into a ruthless smirk. Damien Croft thought he was a big shot because he bought the secondary debt, but Julian was about to buy the bank. With a few rapid taps on the screen, Julian authorized a wire transfer.

He didn't just pay off the mortgage; he bought the debt instrument itself from First National at a premium, instantly transferring the legal ownership of the club’s primary lien to a newly formed shell company under his control.

In less than three minutes, Julian Cross was officially the bank. And the bank always collects.

Miles away, the VIP lounge of the Oakridge Country Club was dripping with expensive champagne and suffocating arrogance.

Madison Sterling sat on a plush leather sofa, swirling the golden liquid in her flute while her mother, Eleanor, adjusted the diamonds at her throat.

Trent was pacing back and forth, loudly recounting the story of how he’d kicked Julian out of the driveway, making sure everyone in the room heard every single detail.

"I told the gutter rat, 'Keep the driveway, you're gonna need it when you're begging me for a job,'" Trent laughed, taking a massive gulp of his drink.

"I swear, the look on his face was priceless. He actually thought he could walk away with his pride intact."

Madison rolled her eyes, though a smug smile played on her lips.

"He’s delusional. He probably maxed out a credit card to buy that fake black card just to mess with us. Damien, babe, tell them how you completely crushed his spirit today."

Damien Croft, sitting in the center seat with his legs crossed, adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit.

He had the kind of sharp, handsome face that looked great on a magazine cover but held eyes that were entirely devoid of warmth.

"It wasn't hard," Damien said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. "When you step on an ant, you don't really think about it. Buying this club just to ensure the Sterling name stays at the top of the city's social registry was a simple business decision. Julian is a forgotten footnote."

Eleanor clapped her hands together, beaming with pride.

"Oh, Damien, you are just too generous! To think, three years ago we actually let that parasite marry into our family. If Julian could see us now, sitting in the VIP lounge of the very club he could never afford to even look at, he’d probably cry."

The group erupted into laughter, raising their glasses to toast to their own perceived greatness. They were so busy patting themselves on the back that they didn't notice the heavy oak doors of the lounge swing open.

Richard, the club’s general manager, walked in. But he wasn't holding his usual confident posture.

His face was the color of old ash, and his hands were shaking so badly that the clipboard he was carrying rattled against his knuckles. He looked like he was walking to the gallows.

"Richard?" Damien frowned, lowering his glass. "What the hell is wrong with you? We’re in the middle of a celebration. If you need something, make it quick."

Richard swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked at Damien, then at Trent, and finally at Madison. "Mr. Croft... Mr. Sterling... I am so incredibly sorry to interrupt, but we have a massive problem."

"A problem?" Trent scoffed, stepping forward. "What problem? I just paid my membership dues in full. If this is about the catering bill for tonight's banquet, I already told you to put it on Damien's tab."

"It's not the catering bill, sir," Richard said, his voice cracking slightly.

"It’s the club. First National Bank just called me thirty seconds ago. They informed me that our primary commercial mortgage was bought out in a private transaction less than ten minutes ago."

Damien’s smug smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Bought out? By who? I own the holding company's debt. They can't just sell the primary lien without my approval."

"That's the thing, Mr. Croft," Richard whispered, looking like he was about to pass out. "The new owner of the mortgage isn't a bank anymore. It’s a private equity firm. And they just invoked an immediate acceleration clause. They are calling in the entire forty-five million dollar principal balance. We have exactly twenty-four hours to pay it in cash, or they are locking the gates and foreclosing on the property by tomorrow morning."

The lounge went dead silent. The only sound was the soft clinking of ice melting in Madison’s glass.

Damien stood up, his face flushing with sudden anger.

"That's impossible! I just bought this place! Who the fuck is the new owner? Get them on the phone right now and tell them I'm Damien Croft!"

Richard pulled a folded piece of paper from his shaking hand and held it out.

"I... I already asked them, sir. They sent over the new ownership documents. The primary mortgage is now wholly owned by a shell company called Apex Horizon LLC."

Damien snatched the paper, his eyes scanning the legal jargon until his gaze locked onto the name of the registered proxy director listed at the bottom of the page.

All the color drained from his face, and his knees actually buckled slightly as he looked up at Trent and Madison.

"Apex Horizon," Damien choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "The proxy director... it's Julian Cross