2025-10-31 20:49:36“Leave him,” Vionna’s voice rang through the restaurant, firm and commanding. “If you touch him again, you’ll lose your jobs.”
The guards froze mid-motion, their grip on Anthony loosening instantly. They exchanged nervous glances, recognising her face. No one dared to defy Vionna Blake, the Vice President’s only daughter. Slowly, they backed away and returned to their posts, pretending nothing had happened.
Anthony, bruised and bleeding, stared at her through the haze of humiliation. Vionna moved toward him gracefully, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Without hesitation, she knelt beside him and wiped the blood from his mouth with her silk handkerchief. Her expression softened with concern.
“Anthony,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t have to go through this.”
He couldn’t even find the words to respond.
Vionna rose and turned toward Darren and his clique. Her eyes, once warm, now carried the chill of authority. “If any of you try something stupid again,” she said coldly, “consider your invitations to my birthday party tonight revoked.”
The entire restaurant fell silent. Darren’s arrogance flickered. He knew how much her parties meant—every influential heir, every political child, every name that mattered would be there. Losing that invitation would be social suicide.
Trying to regain his composure, Darren gave a forced laugh. “Relax, Vionna. I was only teasing the poor boy. I didn’t know you cared so much for... people like him.”
“People like him?” Vionna shot back. “He’s worth more than the entire crowd you surround yourself with.”
Her words sliced through the air. Darren’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. Turning away, he motioned for his group to follow. Olivia, in her glittering dress, looked back at Anthony once—but not with remorse. Her lips curved into a smirk before she left with Darren and Jimmy.
Anthony’s chest tightened.
“Thank you,” he muttered weakly as Vionna helped him to his feet.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she replied softly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a golden envelope, pressing it into his hand. “This is for you. I want you at my party tonight.”
He shook his head. “I... I don’t belong there.”
“Yes, you do,” she said firmly. “Sometimes, the places you least expect are the ones waiting for you.” With that, she smiled faintly and walked out.
Moments later, Anthony’s boss approached him with a sneer. “You’ve caused enough drama today,” he barked. “You’re fired.”
He threw a brown envelope at Anthony’s chest. “Get out of my sight.”
Anthony tried to plead. “Sir, please—just give me a few days. I need this job. My mother—”
“I said get out!”
Before he could say another word, two guards grabbed him and tossed him outside. He landed on the pavement with a hard thud. The cold evening breeze stung his wounds as he sat there, his heart shattered beyond measure. His mother was gone. Olivia had betrayed him. And now, even his last source of income had vanished.
He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling. “Why... why me?” he whispered.
Pulling out his mother’s phone, he played her final message again. Her voice, soft and loving, filled his ears: “My son, you are not a nobody. Never forget who you are. The world may turn its back on you, but you were born for greatness.”
He clutched the phone tightly, tears slipping down his cheeks. Those words were the only warmth left in his frozen world.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed—a new email. He opened it, and the screen blurred before his eyes.
Subject: Termination of Scholarship
Message: Your scholarship has been revoked. You are permanently expelled from All Star University. You are hereby forbidden from entering the school premises or associating with any of its subsidiaries.Within minutes, his name and photo appeared on the university bulletin and flooded every social media platform. Memes, mockery, laughter—it was everywhere.
Anthony’s hands trembled as he scrolled through the endless comments. He didn’t need to guess who orchestrated it. It was Elara Frank—Darren’s sister, the woman who oversaw the scholarship program.
He called her immediately. “Elara, please... I’m begging you,” he said, voice shaking. “Don’t take everything from me. I’ll do anything—please.”
On the other end, Elara laughed faintly. “Anything?” she said, her tone dripping with cruelty. “Then meet me at my private lounge within ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” Anthony exclaimed. “That’s impossible! It’s—”
“Then I guess you’re no longer a student,” she said, and ended the call.
Anthony didn’t think twice. He stood up, ignoring the pain shooting through his ribs, and started running. The streets blurred past him. He sprinted through traffic, barely noticing the horns or shouts. He had lost too much already—he couldn’t lose this, too.
When he reached the expressway, a black Mercedes-Benz screeched to a halt right in front of him. He tried to go around it, but another car pulled up beside him, blocking his path.
Anthony stopped, panting heavily.
From the cars stepped out a dozen men in suits—tall, composed, and deadly silent. Their movements were precise, their presence radiating power. He instinctively stepped back.
Then, the main door opened.
A man in a white suit emerged, his steps measured and regal. His eyes locked on Anthony with unsettling familiarity. The men behind him lowered their heads slightly as he approached.
Anthony’s pulse raced. “Who are you people?” he asked hoarsely.
The man smiled faintly and dropped to one knee before him. “Young Master,” he said with deep respect. “We’ve finally found you.”
Anthony froze. “What?”
Immediately, the rest of the men fell to their knees as well. “Greetings, Young Master!” they chorused.
Anthony’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at them in disbelief, wondering if he’d finally lost his mind. “You... you’ve got the wrong person,” he stammered.
The man looked up. “My name is Mr. Ronan,” he said. “I am the leader of the Jodah Empire.”
Anthony blinked. “The Jodah... Empire?”
Mr. Ronan nodded. “The most powerful organisation in the world. We control over 70% of global commerce. Your grandfather—our Master—has been searching for you for years. Your mother left the Empire long ago to live freely, but before she passed, she informed us of your existence. We’ve been waiting for your call.”
Anthony shook his head slowly. “I don’t have a grandfather. My mother never mentioned—”
“She wanted you to live free,” Ronan interrupted gently. “But your bloodline cannot be denied.”
He handed Anthony a phone. “He’s been waiting to speak with you.”
With trembling hands, Anthony placed the phone against his ear. A calm, aged voice spoke from the other end.
“My grandson,” the old man said warmly. “I’m sorry for the pain you’ve endured. Your mother was my only child. She chose love over power, and I respected her wish to live among ordinary men. But now, her time has passed, and the Empire must return to its rightful heir. You, Anthony, are that heir.”
Anthony couldn’t breathe. “This... this can’t be real.”
“It is,” the voice said. “You will understand everything soon. For now, take what is yours.”
The call ended.
Almost immediately, Anthony’s phone vibrated. He looked at the screen—and froze.
Bank Alert: $1,000,000,000 credited to your account.
His legs almost gave out. “This... this can’t be happening,” he whispered.
Mr. Ronan handed him a sleek black card. “This is your access card to the Empire’s global vault. It holds $100,000,000,000. Only members of the Jodah bloodline are allowed to possess one.”
Anthony stared at the card, speechless.
“Is there... is there some mistake?” he murmured.
“No mistake,” Ronan replied. “You are our rightful successor.”
Still stunned, Anthony remembered Elara and his expulsion. “Mr. Ronan... they expelled me from my university.”
Ronan’s eyes darkened. “Who did?”
“Elara Frank. She’s the one who runs the scholarship program.”
Without a word, Ronan took out his phone and made a call. “Put me through to Niall Brael, the rector of All Star University.”
Within seconds, the connection was made. Ronan’s voice became icy. “Mr. Brael, this is Ronan of the Jodah Empire. Reinstate Anthony Parker immediately. And while you’re at it, transfer him $200,000 as compensation and offer a personal apology.”
A terrified voice stammered through the phone, “Y-yes, sir! Right away, sir!”
Minutes later, Anthony’s phone buzzed again.
Bank Alert: $300,000 credited to your account.
Followed by another message: I am deeply sorry, Mr. Parker. Please forgive our mistake.Anthony stood still, staring at his screen as reality slowly sank in.
Mr. Ronan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “The Empire awaits your return, Young Master. When you are ready, contact us.”
Then, as silently as they had come, Ronan and his men returned to their cars and disappeared into the night.
Anthony stood there alone, the city lights reflecting off his tear-streaked face. Everything around him felt unreal.
Slowly, he opened his banking app again. The figures glowed on the screen—impossible, yet true. His mother’s words echoed in his mind: You are not a nobody.
For the first time, he believed her.
But his newfound hope was short-lived. As he ran toward the hospital to pay his mother’s bills and reclaim her body, he saw Dr. Kenneth standing by the entrance, his expression grim.
“Dr. Kenneth,” Anthony panted, “I have the money now. I can pay everything. Please, just—”
The doctor sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Anthony,” he said quietly. “You’re too late.”
Anthony’s world went silent once again.
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The return to the Highland Vault was not the homecoming of heroes that the planting team had envisioned. As the heavy-lift crawler hissed to a halt in the primary docking bay, the thick, pressurized doors groaned open to reveal an atmosphere that had soured in their absence. The humid, sweet scent of the Greenhouse had been replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of ozone and the underlying smell of unwashed bodies and rising panic. Anthony stepped off the ramp, his boots still caked with the gray, neutralized ash of Edinburgh’s ruins, and immediately felt the shift in the "Sum." The collective hum of the vault—the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of two hundred people working in unison—had fractured into a discordant mess of whispered arguments and sharp, defensive glances.Mark was the first to notice the digital discrepancy. He didn't even have to look at his handheld terminal; the wall-mounted status monitors in the docking bay were flickering with a rhythmic, amber pulse that shouldn't ha
Chapter 162: The Genesis Export
The vibration of the heavy-lift crawler was a low, rhythmic thrum that traveled through the soles of Anthony’s boots, a mechanical heartbeat in a world that had gone silent. Outside the reinforced viewing ports, the Highlands were a monochromatic blur of swirling white and jagged obsidian, but inside the hold, the air was thick with the scent of wet peat and the electric charge of a desperate hope. They were no longer just moving people or data; they were moving the "Hard Assets" of a new world. Secured in pressurized, climate-controlled pods at the center of the bay were the first thousands of "Bio-Shield" saplings—genetically reinforced white oaks, fast-growing tubers, and nitrogen-fixing shrubs designed by the Greenhouse team to survive the toxic, sulfur-heavy soils of the decaying coast.Anthony stood at the head of the hold, watching the twenty people selected for the "Genesis Export." They were a ragged mix of the original St. Paul’s survivors and the newly "audited" refugees fr
Chapter 161: The Solvency of Salt and Steel
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Chapter 160: The Horizon Scan
The air in the Observation Tier was several degrees cooler than the humid, oxygen-rich embrace of the Greenhouse, and the transition felt like a splash of cold water to Anthony’s senses. He climbed the spiral staircase of polished carbon fiber, leaving behind the earthy smell of the planting beds for the dry, metallic scent of high-altitude electronics. Here, at the peak of the mountain’s internal spire, the vault’s sensors didn’t look inward at the budding forests; they looked outward at a world that was currently tearing itself apart in the silence of the "Zero." Mark was already there, his face illuminated by the flickering blue radiance of the Omniscope—a massive, hemispherical projection table that mapped the thermal and electromagnetic pulses of the entire northern hemisphere.Mark didn't look up as Anthony approached. His fingers were dancing across a glass interface that was slick with the condensation of his own breath. On the map, the world was a sprawling web of darkness, p
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The first morning of the new era didn’t begin with a bell or a digital alarm; it began with the humid, heavy drip of condensation falling from a philodendron leaf onto Anthony’s forehead. He woke up on a pallet of recycled shipping foam, his body aching with a bone-deep fatigue that no amount of artificial sunlight could quite cure. For the first time in months, the air he breathed didn't taste of London’s metallic soot or the high-altitude ozone of the transport flight. It tasted of photosynthesis—bitter, green, and aggressively alive.The Highland Vault was no longer a tomb for the elite; it had become a frantic, sweating laboratory of human necessity. Beyond the obsidian atrium, the "Indoor Valley" stretched for half a mile, a tiered landscape of terraced gardens and hydroponic bays that looked like a jagged scar of emerald across the mountain’s granite heart. The survivors—the "Surplus Personnel" who had spent their lives being audited—were now the architects of the planet’s resur
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