I Made $1,200 Trillion in 24 Hours

The Shadow That Shakes London

Chapter 6 

Jericho's POV

The skyline of London never looked smaller than it did that morning. I sat in my office, the sun glinting off the glass towers across the street, scrolling through the newsfeeds with a frown. Something was off. Something I couldn’t ignore.

Headlines flashed in bold, demanding attention:

“London’s New Billionaire Emerges: Jameson Crowe Surpasses All Expectations”

"Mystery Tycoon Crowe Outshines Matson Empire Overnight”

“Who Is Jameson Crowe? The Man Breaking Records and Minds”

I scrolled further, taking in the photos: an impeccably dressed man, taller than most, with an aura that screamed wealth, power, and confidence. The first thing I noticed wasn’t his suit or his watch—it was the way people looked at him. Like he owned the city.

And from the way the world was reacting… he already did.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the tension build. My empire, my careful climb from nothing to untouchable, was being challenged—not in whispers or minor business skirmishes—but publicly. London had found someone richer, sharper, and seemingly more untouchable than me.

I gritted my teeth. Jameson Crowe. I’d heard the name just once, in passing whispers, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Until now.

By noon, the first wave of comparison articles hit.

“Richard Matson vs Jameson Crowe: Who Controls the Future of London?”

“The Rise of Crowe: Can Matson Keep Up?”

I slammed my hand on the desk, the sound echoing in my office. I didn’t like comparisons—they were dangerous. People were beginning to doubt my influence. My popularity had been meticulous, built on fear, respect, and mystery. And now… it was slipping.

I leaned forward, tapping the desk. “Show me everything on Crowe. Everything. Every deal, every acquisition, every property he owns. I want his entire financial footprint.”

The AI system, humming quietly in the corner, responded instantly:

Data retrieval in progress. Estimated time: 45 seconds. Threat Level: High.

I didn’t need to wait. I already knew the city was watching him. I could feel it—the nervous glances of investors, the anxious questions in business meetings, the subtle panic spreading among my allies. Crowe wasn’t just rich; he was magnetic. And he was shaking London in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

I stood abruptly, pacing the room. “I don’t like surprises. Not in business. Not in life. Find him.”

By late afternoon, I had gathered a detailed profile. Jameson Crowe:

Net worth estimated at $180 trillion, surpassing even my most aggressive calculations.

Ownership in multiple tech giants, construction empires, and even several government-backed enterprises.

A public image that was impeccable, polished, almost untouchable.

 Unknown origin, with no clear history of how he accumulated his wealth so quickly.

I stared at the files, jaw tight. He was more than a rival—he was a threat to my dominance.

“Interesting,” I muttered. “So the city wants a new king. We’ll see about that.”

That evening, I attended a dinner party for wealthy and well influential decorated men in the heart of London—a chance to see the city’s elite in action and perhaps catch a glimpse of Crowe himself. The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, the scent of champagne thick in the air, and the constant hum of power conversations like music in the background.

And then I saw him.

Jameson Crowe. Standing near the main stage, surrounded by advisors and admirers, his presence is impossible to ignore. He was everything the headlines said—tall, confident, and radiating wealth. The kind of man people either worshipped or feared. He smiled at a group of journalists, shaking hands effortlessly, making everyone in the room look like amateurs.

I felt the heat rise in my chest—not anger, not fear, but challenge. He had entered my world, and the rules I had spent years enforcing were suddenly being rewritten.

I made my way through the crowd, keeping my movements smooth, deliberate. People parted automatically, sensing authority, but I could see their eyes darting toward Crowe again and again. And then toward me. The comparisons had already begun.

One of my advisors whispered as I passed: “Sir… he’s… massive. People are already saying you’re losing control.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My mind was calculating. I needed to know who this man was, how he rose so fast, and whether he was a threat I could contain—or a rival I had to destroy.

I approached him carefully, letting the crowd form a buffer. The first thing I noticed up close was his aura—calm, collected, impossible to intimidate. He didn’t flinch at my approach, didn’t move an inch. He just smiled, polite, but sharp-eyed.

“Richard Matson,” he said smoothly, extending a hand. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

I took his hand, gripping firmly. “And I’ve been hearing about you, Jameson Crowe. Quite the storm you’ve caused in my city.”

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Storms are inevitable. But I prefer precision, not chaos.”

“Precision,” I repeated slowly. “Funny word. People call me mysterious, untouchable… but I don’t like being overshadowed.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “Overshadowed is temporary. Strategy is eternal. Tell me, Richard… what makes you think you can stop a man who has nothing to lose?”

I smiled, low and dangerous. “Because I have everything to gain. And I never lose.”

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. The crowd buzzed, oblivious to the silent war being waged between two of the most powerful men in London.

After the dinner I returned to my penthouse. I couldn’t sleep. Every thought revolved around Crowe: his wealth, his influence, his ability to command attention. My advisors had already begun speculating about alliances, possible mergers, or secret deals. I shut them down.

“No one touches him yet,” I said sharply. “We need intel first. Find everything, his real name, his history, his weaknesses. Nothing is off-limits. I want to know who exactly is threatening my empire.”

They nodded, sensing the fire in my voice. I didn’t want just reports. I wanted answers. I needed to know the man shaking London.

The next morning, I visited my private lab—the system’s hub, the nerve center of my empire. Screens lined every wall, filled with live feeds, databases, and encrypted channels. My team worked silently as I focused entirely on Crowe.

“Full digital trace,” I ordered. “Financial, social, government records. Track every asset, every company, every single transaction. I want him mapped completely.”

“Yes, sir,” my chief analyst replied, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Within hours, patterns began emerging. Crowe had no clear origin. Every financial trail led to shell companies, offshore accounts, and layers of secrecy thicker than anything I had seen. But there was one thread—a signature move in acquisitions, almost identical to my own early strategies.

“Interesting,” I muttered. “He’s either a genius… or he’s been watching me for years.”

My mind raced. Could it be possible? Had someone been studying my rise, learning from me, and now trying to outdo me? I couldn’t ignore the possibility.

*****************************

By evening, the city had begun murmuring again. Crowe’s name dominated headlines, and comparisons to Richard Matson were everywhere. Social media buzzed with speculation. People who had once whispered about my genius were now openly debating whether Crowe was superior.

I stood at my balcony, looking down at the lights of London, the tension tightening in my chest. My empire had been built meticulously, brick by brick, calculated move by move. And now… a new player was challenging it all.

I clenched my fists. “If you want a throne, Crowe… you’ll have to take it. But understand this: I don’t surrender. I don’t bend. And I don’t lose.”

Somewhere in the city, I knew, Jameson Crowe was smiling, unaware of the storm he had just stepped into.

And that storm… was me.

The next day, I attended a business summit, keeping my eyes on the crowd. Every conversation, every glance, was a calculation. I watched as investors whispered his name, some with fear, some with admiration. Some even looked at me with doubt.

I approached a group, maintaining a casual smile. “Talk to me,” I said. “What’s the sentiment about Crowe?”

One of the analysts, nervously sipping champagne, whispered: “Sir… people are saying he’s untouchable. Some even suggest he’s worth twice what your net value is.”

I laughed, low and dangerous. “Let them believe what they want. Numbers don’t intimidate me. Actions do. And I know exactly what actions I need to take.”

A part of me thrilled at the challenge. Finally, someone worthy of attention. Finally, a rival who could push me further.

************************************

That night, alone in my penthouse, I reviewed the data again. Every acquisition, every public appearance, every social interaction. Crowe was everywhere—rich, influential, untouchable. And yet, he had one flaw I could sense, even if I hadn’t discovered it fully yet: arrogance.

He thought he could enter London and overshadow Jericho Matthew. He hadn’t calculated the full consequences of stepping into my city. He hadn’t realized that I **see everything, control everything, and always strike first**.

I smiled, feeling the familiar thrill of impending conflict. This wasn’t just about wealth anymore. This was a war of influence, reputation, and power.

And I never lost wars.

I activated the system. Lights blinked, screens flickered, and the maps of London lit up like a battlefield. Crowe may have arrived, shaking the city, drawing attention. But he hadn’t met me yet.

“Prepare everything,” I said aloud. “He’s in our world now. And it’s time he learned who really rules London.”

Outside, the city shimmered in the moonlight. Inside, I leaned back, letting the tension build. Jameson C

rowe was strong, rich, and popular. But I… I was unstoppable.

And this city… my city… would never forget who truly controlled it.