My Secret TikTok Life: Family Disgrace to Global Kingmaker

Chapter 19: The Ghost’s Commission

The golden data from the Ghost Interface flickered and finally dissolved into the darkness of the alley. Seeing my father’s composure shatter through a HUD was better than any meal, but it didn't fix the fact that my stomach was currently a void of battery acid and air.

I looked at Elara. She was staring at her phone, her thumb scrolling so fast it was a blur. "Salim, it’s not stopping. My mentions... there are labels, indie producers, even some late-night talk show scout. They’re all asking the same thing: Who is representing you?"

"You tell them no one," I said, my voice cracking as I leaned against the brick. "Not yet. An unanswered mystery is worth ten times more than a signed contract in the first hour."

[Influence Level: -40] [System Prompt: Capitalize on Momentum. A 'Ghost' requires a vessel for transactions.]

I needed to eat, but more importantly, I needed to monetize. I wasn't doing this for charity. I had a five-hundred-thousand-dollar debt to pay back to the man who just called me a "weed." I wanted to send him the first check not as a son, but as a creditor buying back his own soul.

"Elara, listen to me," I said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket—a discarded receipt I’d found earlier. "The Bakars are hunting for a 'Ghost Manager.' If they find out it’s me before I have enough leverage, they’ll bury us both. We need a digital buffer."

"A buffer?" She looked up, the glow of the screen highlighting the exhaustion on her face.

"A shell company. We’ll call it Wraith Media. I’m going to set up a digital pay-gate for your exclusive content. If these labels want to talk to you, they pay a 'consultation f*e' to the Ghost first."

I guided her through the process of setting up a secure, encrypted payment link tied to a crypto-wallet the System had generated for me. It was the only way to move money without the Bakar Group’s banking tendrils flagging my name.

Five minutes later, her phone chimed. Then again. And again.

"Someone just paid five hundred dollars just for an email address?" she whispered, eyes wide.

"That’s your first lesson," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "In their world, access is the only thing that matters."

I took my "manager's cut"—a modest thirty percent. It felt like a drop in the ocean compared to half a million, but when the notification hit my phone—$150.00 Received—I felt a surge of power that no trust fund could ever provide. That was earned money. That was Bakar-free capital.

I stood up, my legs feeling steadier. "Meet me at the 24-hour diner on 8th. Don't take the subway; take a ride-share. Use a different name. I’m going to go buy us a real camera and the first meal of the new empire."

---

I walked into a bodega ten blocks away, the neon green shoes squeaking on the linoleum. I didn't look like a prince anymore, but I didn't feel like a beggar. I bought two protein shakes, a gallon of water, and a stack of high-calorie energy bars.

I sat on a curb outside, chugging the shake.

[Physical Integrity: 12%... 18%... 25%] [System Status: Baseline Stabilized. Strategy Mode: Engaged.]

As the sugar and protein hit my bloodstream, the "1,000-yard stare" cleared. My mind, sharpened by the Heart of Ice, began to map out the next six months.

I wasn't just going to manage a singer. I was going to build a network of "Pariahs"—people like Elara whom the Bakars and their elite friends had stepped on. I would give them the tools, the lighting, and the algorithm, and together we would drain the attention from the Bakar empire until it was nothing but empty buildings and useless steel.

I pulled out my phone and opened a fresh note. At the top, I typed a single number: $500,000.00.

Below it, I subtracted my first commission.

Balance: $499,850.00.

"I’m coming for the rest, Father," I whispered into the cold night air. "And I’m going to pay you back in the currency you hate the most: the truth."

I stood up, tossed the empty bottle into the trash, and headed toward the diner. The Bakars were hunting a ghost, but they were looking in the boardrooms and the high-rise offices. They had no idea that the real threat was sitting in a cheap booth, eating a grilled cheese sandwich, and planning the heist of the century.