I Built The Underworld While You Called Me Useless

Chapter 5

The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Palace Ballroom hummed with a low-frequency vibration that matched the frantic thudding in Arthur Vale’s chest. He adjusted his silk tie in the green room mirror, his hands finally steadying after the morning’s systemic collapse.

"You look like a king, Father," Seraphina said, stepping into the room. Her voice was brittle. She had traded her mud-stained rags for a gown of midnight blue, but the diamonds at her throat felt like a noose.

"I look like a survivor," Arthur corrected, turning to face her. "The short-sell? A temporary tremor. Tonight, we announce 'Aethelgard.' By tomorrow, the stock won't just recover—it will transcend."

"Father, that man... Lucian. He knew about the Caymans. He knew about the oxygen."

"He’s a ghost, Seraphina! A ghost with a laptop and a grudge!" Arthur snapped, his face reddening. "Ghosts don't win wars. Capital wins wars. Now, fix your face. The Governor is waiting, and the investors need to see a dynasty, not a funeral."

They stepped into the ballroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the predatory hum of a thousand elite guests.

"Arthur! A bold move, holding a gala while the SEC is knocking," a voice called out. It was Victor Sterling, Arthur’s oldest rival, holding a champagne flute like a weapon. "I heard your daughter was seen wandering the docks in her underwear last night. Rough neighborhood?"

Seraphina stiffened, her jaw locking. "I was inspecting a potential acquisition, Victor. Something you wouldn't know about, considering your firm’s recent bankruptcy filings."

"Ouch," Sterling chuckled. "The Vale bite. Let’s see if it still has teeth after the presentation."

Arthur ignored the jab, leading Seraphina toward the stage. "Smile," he hissed. "The cameras are everywhere."

"I am smiling, Father. I’m also wondering why Julian Thorne hasn't answered my last ten calls."

"Thorne is doing his job. Stop being paranoid."

Arthur climbed the stairs to the podium. The room fell into a heavy silence—the kind that precedes a guillotine’s drop. He looked out over the sea of tuxedos, the people who had spent a decade feeding off his table.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Arthur began, his voice booming with practiced confidence. "Tonight, we don't just celebrate resilience. We celebrate the dawn of a new era. For years, the world has searched for a definitive answer to degenerative nerve failure. Tonight, we provide it. I give you: Aethelgard."

The crowd erupted in hungry applause. Arthur signaled to the tech booth.

"The data you are about to see represents ten years of clean, ethical research. It is the legacy of the Vale name."

The massive, sixty-foot LED screen behind him flickered. The Vale Corporation logo pulsed—then vanished. Instead of medical charts, a grainy, high-definition video filled the screen. It wasn't a laboratory; it was a sterile, dimly lit office. The man in the video was a younger, more arrogant Arthur Vale, sitting across from a blurred figure.

"Is the woman dead?" the Arthur in the video asked.

The ballroom went deathly silent.

"She flatlined ten minutes ago, Mr. Vale," the blurred figure replied. "Her nervous system effectively melted. The dosage was too high for a human trial."

"I didn't ask for a medical report," video-Arthur snapped. "Was the liability contract signed?"

"Her name was Sarah Croft. She needed the ten thousand dollars for her son’s education. But this was murder, Arthur. The drug is toxic."

"The drug is a goldmine," video-Arthur said, his cold voice echoing through the high-end sound system. "Bury the report. If this gets out, the FDA shuts us down. We’ve spent too much money to let one peasant’s heart rate stop our IPO."

"And her son?"

"Give him ten dollars for a cab ride home and tell him she died a hero. Now get out."

The video froze on Arthur’s sneering face. The silence lasted three seconds before the explosion of noise.

"My God!" a woman screamed.

"He admitted it!"

Arthur stood at the podium, his face the color of spoiled milk. "Turn it off! It’s a deepfake! A fabrication!"

He screamed at the tech booth, but the screen shifted to a scroll of bank transfers. Millions of dollars flowed from Vale Pharma to the private accounts of medical examiners who had signed off on the deaths of twelve different trial participants.

"Arthur, you monster!" Victor Sterling shouted, pointing a finger. "You built your empire on corpses!"

"It’s a lie!" Arthur shrieked, but the microphone squealed with feedback, cutting him off.

Seraphina stood paralyzed. she watched the Governor walk out without a word. She watched her "friends" scramble to distance themselves, their faces twisted in disgust.

"Father, we have to go," Seraphina whispered. "The police... look at the doors."

Uniformed officers were already pushing through the back of the hall. The gala had become a crime scene.

"It was him," Arthur gasped, his eyes darting like a trapped animal. "It was the boy. Lucian. Sarah Croft... Lucian Croft."

"Who?" Seraphina yelled over the roar.

"The boy who wanted the ten dollars! I gave him ten dollars when his mother died!" Arthur collapsed against the podium, the weight of the "faceslap" shattering his spine. "He didn't want the money. He wanted the confession."

Seraphina felt a cold pull toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She walked toward the glass, her breath fogging the surface. Outside, across the intersection, a single figure leaned against a rusted lamp post.

It was Lucian.

He wasn't in a tuxedo. He wore his faded denim jacket, holding a steaming paper cup of gas station coffee in one hand and a small black remote in the other.

Seraphina’s eyes locked onto his. Lucian slowly raised the coffee cup in a mock toast. He didn't look triumphant; he looked like a man who had simply finished a long day’s work.

As sirens wailed, Lucian took a deliberate sip. He looked directly at Seraphina, his lips curling into a sharp, predatory smile. He winked.

He pressed the button on the remote.

The power grid for the Grand Palace went pitch black. In the darkness, the only sounds were the screams of the elite and the heavy, rhythmic thud of the police breaching the doors.

"Midnight," Lucian’s voice whispered through the ballroom's internal comms one last time. "Time to pay up, Arthur."