Rewriting My Billions: Boss of the Hidden realm

Chapter 4: Ethical Face-Slap

Richard stared at me. The rain kept falling, pattering against his expensive umbrella, but the silence in the alley was deafening. 

For a second, I actually saw panic in his eyes. But guys like Richard Sterling were raised to believe that money was a magic wand. If there was a problem, you just threw a stack of cash at it until it went away. 

His panic melted back into that smug, punchable arrogance. He let out a dry, forced laugh and shook his head. 

"I get it," Richard chuckled, reaching inside his tailored jacket. "You’re a hustler. You did a little googling, found a rumor about my zoning permits, and now you want a piece of the pie."

He pulled out a sleek leather checkbook and a gold-plated fountain pen. 

"Ten thousand dollars," Richard said, scribbling on the paper. "That’s more money than you’ve ever seen in your miserable life, kid. Take it, leave this neighborhood, and keep your mouth shut about my real estate deals. We never had this conversation."

He ripped the check out and held it up between his index and middle finger, expecting me to snatch it like a starving dog. 

I looked at the check. Then I looked at Gideon. 

"Gideon," I said flatly. "What can ten thousand dollars buy in today's market?"

Gideon crossed his arms, tapping his chin in serious thought. "Hmm. Two decent tailored suits. Or, if we adjust for inflation since 1920, roughly five hundred gallons of premium sheep's blood. Though I really don't recommend the sheep. Very gamey."

Richard’s driver, the massive guy cracking his knuckles a minute ago, took a very slow, very cautious step backward. 

I turned back to Richard. I didn't touch the check. 

"Keep your pennies, Richard," I said. 

My System-upgraded brain fired on all cylinders. The +10 IQ boost I just earned wasn't just making me smarter; it was unlocking perfect clarity. Every corporate law, every real estate loophole, and every dirty trick I had learned in my past life rushed into my mind like a perfectly organized filing cabinet. 

I looked at his ridiculous mall project and mentally tore it to shreds. 

"You don't just have a zoning problem," I said, my voice cutting through the rain. "You have a Class-4 environmental disaster. You bought up these residential lots, but you totally ignored the abandoned brick factory on the corner. It's a protected historical site, Richard. You can't legally bulldoze it without a federal waiver."

Richard’s hand holding the check started to tremble. 

"A waiver," I continued, stepping into his personal space, forcing him to look up at me, "that takes six months to process. But your loan from your daddy’s company defaults in thirty days. You are hemorrhaging interest. If your father's board of directors finds out you blew five million of company funds on a dead-end slum, they won't just fire you. They will disinherit you."

The gold pen slipped from Richard’s fingers and clattered onto the wet asphalt. 

"Boss," Gideon whispered loudly from behind me. "Don't ask for the brick factory. Terrible insulation. Very drafty. Bad for my joints."

"I don't want the factory," I replied smoothly, never breaking eye contact with Richard. "I want Sterling Plaza. Downtown. The fourth floor."

Richard’s jaw dropped. "Are you insane? That’s prime commercial real estate in the financial district! It costs twenty grand a month!"

"It’s currently sitting empty as a tax write-off because nobody wants to rent a floor directly above your father's noisy server farm," I corrected him. My voice turned cold and absolute. "I want a ten-year commercial lease. And I want it for one dollar a month."

"One dollar?!" Richard yelled, his face turning bright red. "I'll kill you first! Frank, break his legs!"

He pointed at his massive driver. 

Frank cracked his neck and took a heavy step toward me. 

Gideon didn't even uncross his arms. He just turned his head and looked at Frank. Gideon's silver eyes flared into a terrifying, glowing crimson. He gave the driver a polite, closed-mouth smile, flashing the razor-sharp tips of his fangs. 

Frank stopped. He looked at Gideon. He looked at the three thugs unconscious in the dumpster. 

"Mr. Sterling," Frank cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly. "I am a driver. I drive the car. I do not fight... whatever that is."

Frank immediately turned around, got back into the driver's seat of the Mercedes, and locked the doors. 

Gideon sighed. "Good man. I didn't want to mess up my shoes."

Richard was now standing completely alone in the rain, shaking with fury and terror. He looked at me like I was a demon. He was completely out of his depth. 

"A dollar a month," I repeated softly. "Or I make a phone call to the Sterling Group board of directors right now, and you spend the rest of your life working a fry fryer."

Richard gritted his teeth so hard I thought they might shatter. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick, water-resistant Sterling Group notepad, and picked his gold pen up off the ground. 

His hands were shaking violently as he scribbled out a Letter of Intent. It was legally binding. I made sure of it. He signed his name at the bottom, ripped the page out, and shoved it against my chest. 

"You're making an enemy you can't afford, kid," Richard hissed, his voice venomous. "I don't know who you are, but I will crush you."

I took the paper, folded it neatly, and slid it into my jacket pocket. 

"My name is Julian Thorne," I said, giving him a cheerful, highly arrogant billionaire smile. "And you can try."

Richard turned on his heel, yanked the door of his Mercedes open, and slammed it shut. The car tires screeched against the wet pavement as Frank floored it, speeding out of the alley like they were running from the devil. 

I watched the taillights disappear into the city traffic. 

I took a deep breath. It felt incredible. In my past life, I would have just ruined him. In this life, I beat him, humbled him, and legally stole his real estate without throwing a single punch. 

"So," Gideon said, walking up beside me. "One dollar a month. Do I have to pay for the coffee in the breakroom, or is that provided?"

"Coffee is free, Gideon," I laughed. 

*DING!*

The blue holographic screen erupted in front of my face, shooting off virtual golden fireworks. 

[Quest Complete: Ethical Face-Slap Executed.]

[Karma Debt: 0%]

[Reward: Prime Real Estate Acquired. +5 Charisma.]

The fireworks faded, and the screen turned a serious, flashing yellow. 

[Main Quest 2 Generated: The Brains of the Operation.]

[Objective: Your new office is empty. You need a Chief Financial Officer. Target located.]

[Target: Damian Locke. Hidden Potential: Mythic-Rank Data Analyst.]

[Location: Arkham Psychiatric Asylum. High-Security Wing.]

I stared at the glowing blue text. My smile slowly faded. 

"Arkham Asylum," I muttered. 

Gideon peeked over my shoulder. He couldn't see the screen, but he heard the tone of my voice. 

"Asylum?" Gideon asked, raising an eyebrow. "Boss, why are we hiring a crazy person to handle our money?"

"Because," I sighed, turning toward the main street to hail a cab. "If we want to build an empire, normal people aren't going to cut it. We need a monster."