My Secret TikTok Life: Family Disgrace to Global Kingmaker

Chapter 20: The Laundromat Interview

The "Spin-Cycle" laundromat on 4th Street was the perfect place for two people who didn't exist to meet. It was 2:00 AM, and the air was thick with the scent of industrial bleach and the humid heat of a dozen industrial dryers. I sat on a bolted-down plastic chair, my hood up, watching the reflection of the door in the glass of a front-loading washer.

I felt significantly better than I had an hour ago. The protein shakes and energy bars I’d bought at the bodega had finally stabilized my blood sugar, and my Physical Integrity was holding steady. I had a few chocolate bars left in my pocket, but the $150 commission from Elara was essentially gone, traded for the calories I needed just to stand up straight.

The door creaked open, and a man shuffled in. He was wearing an oversized parka and clutched the straps of a faded hiking backpack as if it were a life raft. This was Kaelen. He didn't look like the lead IT architect for a multi-billion dollar empire. He looked like a man who had been hunted for a long time.

He didn't come toward me. He walked to a vending machine in the corner, eyes darting toward the security camera, then to the back exit. Finally, his gaze landed on me. He froze. His eyes traveled from my bruised face down to my muddied, neon green shoes.

"I know those shoes," Kaelen said, his voice a jagged whisper that barely carried over the rumble of the machines. "And I know that face. You’re Salim. The 'TikTok Prince' they just threw out of the tower."

"I prefer 'disowned,'" I said, standing up slowly. "Let’s sit by the folding tables in the back. It’s quieter."

We moved to the corner. Kaelen sat with his back against the wall, his backpack tucked firmly between his knees. He looked exhausted, the skin under his eyes dark and bruised-looking. He smelled like stale coffee and old rain.

"I saw the news," Kaelen said, his fingers twitching on his bag. "The Bakar Group put out a statement saying you were no longer affiliated with the firm. So why is a dead man messaging me on an encrypted board?"

"Because I'm the only one left who knows the truth about why you were blacklisted, Kaelen," I said, leaning forward. "You didn't leak those files three years ago. Marcus did. He used your terminal while you were at lunch because he wanted to impress a girl with company secrets. When the board found out, my father made you the scapegoat to protect his heir. I was standing in the hallway when the decision was made."

Kaelen’s hands went still. He looked at me with a sudden, piercing intensity. "How do you know that? The logs were purged. The official file said 'gross negligence.' No one outside the executive floor knew Marcus was even involved."

"I know because I watched them delete your career to save his," I replied. "And now look at us. Both of us thrown out by the same man. But I have a plan to get even. I have a singer who is going viral, and I need a secure line to keep her there."

Kaelen let out a dry, cynical laugh. "And what are you paying with, Salim? You look like you’ve been sleeping in alleys. I need equipment. I need servers. I need to pay the guy whose basement I’m crashing in. I’m not working for free."

I didn't lie to him. I didn't have a hidden stash of crypto or a suitcase of cash. "I have exactly five dollars left in my pocket and a bag of energy bars. The first $150 I earned tonight went into my stomach so I wouldn't faint during this meeting."

Kaelen stared at me, then looked at the bag of bodega food on the table. He looked like he wanted to walk out. "You’re kidding me. You want me to go to war with the Bakar Group for a chocolate bar? You really are a spoiled brat if you think that’s how the world works."

"I'm not paying you with money," I said, my voice hardening. "I'm paying you with this."

I reached for a scrap of paper from a nearby trash bin and pulled a pen from my pocket. I wrote down a string of twenty-four characters. It was a complex mess of symbols, numbers, and uppercase letters. I slid the paper across the cold metal folding table.

Kaelen glanced at it, then did a double-take. He grabbed the paper, his hands shaking. "Where did you get this?"

"My father is a man of ego," I said. "He thinks his own mind is the most secure vault on earth. That’s his personal master-override password. He hasn't changed the core string in fifteen years. It’s the coordinates of his first construction site combined with a Greek cipher. It’s the God-key to the entire Bakar digital kingdom."

Kaelen stared at the paper as if it were a holy relic. This wasn't just a password; it was the master key. It was worth millions to the right buyer—or it was the ultimate tool for revenge.

"You realize what happens if we use this?" Kaelen asked, his voice trembling. "Suleiman will know someone is in his private vault eventually."

"Let him know," I said. "By the time he realizes it isn't him, we'll have secured Elara’s presence. I’m going to pay off the $500,000 'debt' I owe that family, and you’re going to get your reputation back. But I need a base. Do you know a place?"

Kaelen looked at the paper, then back at me. The paranoia in his eyes was replaced by a cold, calculating hunger. He reached out and took one of the energy bars from my stash, tearing it open with his teeth.

"I know a basement in the Bronx," Kaelen said, his voice finally steady. "It’s under another laundromat. It’s damp, the wiring is a nightmare, and it’s off the grid. If you’re serious about using that key, we go now."

"I've never been more serious," I said.

As we walked out into the cold night air, I looked at the empty bodega bag in the trash. I was broke, bruised, and heading to a basement in the Bronx. But I had my first hire. I had the key. And the Ghost was finally starting to breathe.