From Prison scapegoat to a Multi-Trillionaire

Chapter 3: Ridiculed

Damien didn't even look back as he walked toward the stairs. "Think of it as a status update," he said coldly.

As he ascended the stairs, his mind was already moving a mile a minute. The Kingston family was trapped by their own arrogance. They wouldn't call the cops because they were afraid of what a real investigation would reveal. They would try to make his life a living hell inside this house to force him out.

Good. Let them try. It gave him the perfect vantage point to execute Trial Task 2.

He reached the small, cramped guest room at the end of the hall, the place they had forced him to sleep in while he acted as their servant. He closed the door, and as he did, his vision flashed blue once more.

> [SYSTEM NOTICE: Trial Task 2 Progress Update.]

> [Target: Julian Kingston’s hidden black-box footage. Current location detected: A private safe inside the Kingston Corporation Headquarters.]

> [Warning: A secondary anomalies detected in the city. Triggering preparation for Trial Task 3: The Rich Heiress's timeline is advancing.]

Damien removed the guard uniform, staring at his bruised reflection in the small bathroom mirror. A dangerous, cold grin spread across his face.

"Two families built on corruption and cruelty," Damien whispered to the empty room. "Let's see how long their empires last when a detective holds the matches."

The morning sun over the city was harsh, offering no warmth to the rundown commercial district where the original Damien had to earn a living.

To maintain his cover and keep the Kingston family from sniffing out his new reality, Damien had to play the part. He couldn't just sit in the villa all day playing psychological warfare. He needed to step back into the old Damien’s shoes, which meant returning to his day job: a low-level warehouse clerk and delivery runner at 'Apex Logistics', a mid-tier shipping company notorious for treating its staff like trash.

He wore a faded, oversized shirt and a pair of worn out jeans, clothes meant to blend into poverty. His body still ached from the prison beating, but the sharp mind of Detective Sean Riggs was perfectly awake as he walked through the gates of the warehouse.

The moment he stepped onto the loading dock, the loud, there was a mocking laugh.

"Well, well, well! Look who crawled out of the sewer!"

Damien turned his head calmly. Walking toward him was Vance Higgins, the warehouse floor manager. Higgins was a stout, sweaty man with a permanent sneer. He had spent the last two years treating the old, timid Damien like a personal footstool, frequently cutting his pay and making him do double shifts for no extra cash.

Beside Higgins stood two other warehouse hands, smirking as they wiped grease off their hands.

"I thought you were locked up for running someone over, you piece of trash," Higgins spat, stopping right in front of Damien and blowing thick, cheap cigarette smoke directly into his face.

"The whole city was talking about how the Kingston family's loser son-in-law finally showed his true criminal colors. How are you even out? Did you slip through a hole in the fence?"

In the past, Damien would have lowered his head, coughing nervously through the smoke, frantically apologizing and begging Higgins not to fire him. He would have taken the humiliation just to keep his measly $300-a-month paycheck.

The new Damien didn't even blink. He didn't wave the smoke away. He simply stood there, his posture straight, looking down at the shorter manager with eyes that were entirely too still, too deadpan for a supposedly terrified ex-con.

"The charges were dropped for lack of evidence, Higgins," Damien said, his voice terrifying. "Which means, legally, I am as clean as you are. Arguably cleaner, depending on how much inventory has been slipping out of Bay 4 under your watch."

Higgins froze, the smirk instantly dying on his face. The two warehouse hands behind him exchanged uneasy glances. The warehouse manager’s chest puffed up with a mix of shock and anger. 'Did this doormat just talk back to him? And what did he just say about Bay 4?'

"What did you say to me, you little bastard?" Higgins hissed, stepping closer until he was nearly chest-to-chest with Damien. "You think because you married into a rich family that treats you like a dog, you can come here and show teeth? You're a clerk! You're the trash that mops the floors and carries the heavy crates! I own you here!"

"You own a clipboard, Higgins. Don't confuse it with an empire," Damien replied softly. He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer authority in his tone made Higgins’s bravado stutter for a fraction of a second. "Now, do you have a delivery route for me, or are you going to keep wasting company time breathing down my neck?"

"You—!" Higgins stammered, his face turning a dark, ugly shade of purple. He wanted to fire Damien on the spot, but a massive shipment had just arrived, and they were short-handed. A cruel, gleam returned to his small eyes. "Fine. You want to work? I’ve got a route for you. Take the old manual flatbed truck. You’re delivering five crates of heavy industrial engine parts to the high-end commercial district. And you’re loading them yourself."

"Understood," Damien said. He turned on his heel without another word, walking toward the loading bay.

Higgins shouted after him, loud enough for the entire warehouse to hear, "And don't even think about stealing anything to pay for those ugly-ass bruises on your face, convict! We count every single bolt around here!"

A chorus of mocking laughter echoed through the warehouse, but Damien didn't care. Let them laugh. Let them think he was still at the bottom of the food chain.

As he hauled the heavy iron crates onto the truck, his broken ribs screaming in protest, his eyes remained cold. He didn't need to expose Julian Kingston today. He didn't need to flash his fifty million dollars to buy this entire logistics company—not yet. The longer the society believed he was a powerless, desperate ex-con, the more smug his enemies would become.

He climbed into the driver's seat of the battered, rattling delivery truck, turning the ignition. The engine groaned to life.

> [SYSTEM NOTICE: Hidden link synchronization stable. Current disguise: Working Class Clerk. Detection risk: 0%.]

> [WARNING: Target coordinates for Trial Task 3 changing rapidly. The Rich Heiress has just entered the high-end commercial district. Her danger probability is rising.]

Damien put the truck into gear, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his face as he steered the rattling vehicle out of the gates and onto the main highway.

The stage was set. His enemies thought they were safe in their high towers, completely unaware that a ghost from the prison cell was driving straight into their world.