2025-04-19 16:55:14The press conference room at Walker International was packed. Every major news outlet had shown up. Of course they had – it's not every day that one of the world's most mysterious billionaires reveals he's been working as some CEO's assistant for two years.
Brent adjusted his Patek Philippe watch, the same one Sarah had once called "a cheap knockoff." The memory made him smile. He wondered if she was watching the livestream, probably still thinking this was some kind of trick. "Five minutes, sir," James said, handing him a tablet. "And... you might want to see this." The tablet showed security footage from Chen Industries' lobby. Sarah was trying to force her way into the building – her own building, or what used to be her building. Security wasn't letting her in. Her access had been revoked an hour ago. "Miss Chen, please," one guard was saying. "We have strict orders. No one enters without proper clearance." "I own this company!" Sarah screamed, mascara running down her face. "Do you know who I am?" The guard looked uncomfortable. "Ma'am, according to the memo we received this morning, you don't own anything anymore." Brent handed the tablet back to James. "Make sure that footage gets leaked to the press. Let everyone see the real Sarah Chen." "Already trending on T*****r," James smirked. "Along with screenshots of all those times she posted about 'lifting people up' and 'supporting underprivileged workers.'" The irony was delicious. "It's time," James said. Brent walked onto the stage, and the room went silent. Every camera focused on him. Gone was the cheap suit Sarah had mocked. Gone was the hesitant smile and submissive posture. This was Brent Walker, CEO of Walker International, net worth $47 billion. "Good morning," he said into the microphone. "I suppose you're all wondering why I spent two years pretending to be someone else." The reporters leaned forward. In the front row, he spotted Monica from Fashion Weekly – the same reporter who'd once written about him being Sarah's "charity case boyfriend." "Two years ago, I heard interesting rumors about Chen Industries," he continued. "About a young CEO who claimed to be self-made, but whose success seemed... questionable. So I decided to investigate. Personally." He clicked a remote, and the screen behind him lit up with photos. Sarah at charity galas, giving speeches about helping the underprivileged. Sarah in magazine interviews, talking about treating everyone with respect. "I could have bought Chen Industries outright," Brent said. "Could have walked in as myself and taken control in a day. But I wanted to understand who Sarah Chen really was. How she treated people when she thought they couldn't fight back." The screen changed to security footage from Chen Industries. Sarah screaming at janitors. Sarah making assistants cry. Sarah mocking people's clothes, their cars, their lives. "I watched her take credit for other people's work. Watched her humiliate employees for sport. Watched her destroy careers because she could." His voice hardened. "And I documented everything." The next slides showed emails, contracts, recordings. Two years of evidence, all proving how Chen Industries had really been run. "Miss Chen liked to talk about being self-made," Brent continued. "What she never mentioned was that every major deal she claimed credit for? I wrote those contracts. Every brilliant strategy she bragged about? Those were my ideas. Every client she landed? They were dealing with me, not her." The reporters were scribbling frantically. In the back, he spotted Thomas Liu – one of Chen Industries' biggest clients. Former clients, now. "But that's not why I'm here today," Brent said. "I'm here because this morning, Walker International completed its acquisition of Chen Industries. We've already begun restructuring. Everyone Sarah Chen fired unfairly? They're getting their jobs back, with back pay and promotions." The doors at the back of the room burst open. Sarah stood there, looking nothing like the polished CEO she'd pretended to be. Her designer outfit was wrinkled, her makeup smeared. "You can't do this!" she screamed. "That company is mine!" Brent didn't even look at her. "Security, please remove Miss Chen. She's no longer authorized to be in this building either." As security dragged her out, her screams echoed through the room: "I made you! You're nothing without me!" Brent waited until the doors closed before speaking again. "That's the woman who claimed to champion workplace respect. Who won awards for ethical leadership." He paused. "Who told me just yesterday that I'd never be anything more than her charity case." The room was dead silent. "As of this morning, Walker International controls 76% of Chen Industries' shares. We've already removed the entire board – the same board that enabled her behavior for years. And we've launched a full investigation into every decision made under Sarah Chen's leadership." He clicked to the final slide – a photo of Sarah at their first meeting, looking at him with that familiar contempt. "To everyone who's ever been looked down on, mocked, or told they're nothing?" Brent smiled. "Sometimes the person you underestimate is exactly the person you should fear most." The room erupted with questions. Cameras flashed. But Brent was watching the doorway where Sarah had been dragged out. His phone buzzed. A message from James: "Sarah's father just landed his private jet. He's demanding a meeting." Perfect. "One more thing," Brent said into the microphone. "To address the rumors about Chen Industries' overseas operations..." He opened a folder on the podium. "We've discovered some interesting documents about how Sarah and her father really built their fortune. The SEC will be very interested in these." In the back of the room, Thomas Liu was already on his phone, probably calling his lawyers. Other business leaders were doing the same. The house of cards Sarah had built was falling, and she was about to learn that karma had a name. His name. As he left the stage, Brent checked his phone one last time. Sarah had sent another message: 'You'll regret this. My father won't let you get away with it.' He smiled. She still didn't get it. Her father wasn't coming to fight him. Her father was coming to beg. And this was just the beginning.
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085
The city was transforming. Where once people had whispered about corruption and betrayal, now they talked about opportunity, about fairness, about a future that looked brighter than anyone had dared imagine. The Phoenix Foundation’s name was on everyone’s lips—not for scandal or drama, but because it had become a symbol of second chances and real change.*** Brent Walker woke before dawn, as always, but this morning he lingered at the window, watching the city stir to life. He saw the bakery open on the corner, the first shift of workers trudging toward the biscuit plant, mothers hurrying children to school. It felt, finally, like the world he’d always wanted to build. He dressed quietly. Today was special: the opening of the city’s first Walker Group Community Health Clinic, a project months in the making. Funded by Foundation donors and Brent’s own money, it would offer free checkups, mental health counseling, and a job placement office for anyone in need. At the clinic, th
084
The city was different after Carl Stone’s arrest. There was relief, yes—a collective exhale that lingered in the streets, in the way people greeted each other at the market or in the halls of the Phoenix Foundation. But there was something else, too: hope. The kind that comes after a storm, when the sky is scrubbed clean and the world feels new. Brent Walker felt it most in the small things. A handwritten thank-you note from a janitor who’d been rehired after Sarah’s reign. Kids laughing in the Foundation’s after-school program. A group of factory workers surprising Adam with a birthday cake in the break room. The city was healing, and so was Brent. But healing was messy. For every victory, there were scars that took longer to fade.*** On Monday morning, Brent walked the floor of the new warehouse, clipboard in hand, checking inventory with Tommy and Jessica. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Tommy asked, scribbling a number on his sheet. “Like we’ve finally turned the page.” Jes
083
Carl Stone didn’t sleep that night. He paced the penthouse of a luxury hotel under an assumed name, his mind racing. The evidence was overwhelming. The DA’s office had called his lawyers, the FBI had frozen accounts. His phone buzzed with panicked messages from cronies and “friends” who’d vanished the moment things looked bad. But Carl wasn’t the type to surrender. He’d built his fortune on ruthlessness, intimidation, and a refusal to play by anyone else’s rules. He wasn’t about to let some upstart like Brent Walker bring him down. He poured himself a scotch, staring out at the city lights. “You think you’ve won, Walker?” he muttered. “I’m not finished.” He dialed a number—one of his last loyal contacts. “Get the car ready. We’re leaving tonight.” As dawn broke, Brent was already at the Foundation, walking the halls, shaking hands, offering reassurances. The city was abuzz—news of the investigation had leaked, social feeds flooded with messages of support and speculation.
082
For Brent Walker, the city felt different the next morning. Not quieter, but charged—like the air before a storm. The evidence against Carl Stone was now airtight: forged bank statements, shell company contracts, wire transfers to bribed officials and saboteurs. It was all there, packaged in a thick folder and backed up three ways—hard drive, cloud, and a copy in Ling’s safe. Brent had learned from Sarah and Victor: never be caught unprepared. He sat at the kitchen table with Lucy and Hope as the sun rose. Hope giggled over her cereal, swinging her legs. Lucy poured coffee, her eyes on Brent, searching for signs of the exhaustion she knew he carried. Brent smiled softly at them both, letting himself enjoy this one moment of ordinary peace—a luxury he’d fought for. “You’re really doing this today?” Lucy asked quietly. “I am,” Brent said. “We hand everything to the authorities. We go public. No more shadows.” Lucy nodded, pride and worry mingling in her gaze. “No matter what
081
The city didn’t sleep that night. News of Brent’s jobs initiative was everywhere—front pages, social feeds, radio call-ins. For every accusation Carl Stone had lobbed, there were now ten stories of real people whose lives had changed because of Brent Walker and his team. But Carl was far from finished. Around midnight, as the Walker household finally settled into uneasy sleep, James’s phone buzzed with an alert. He bolted upright, blinking in the blue glow. The security system at the fruit drinks plant had been tripped—motion sensors catching movement in the loading bay. He called Brent immediately. “Intruder at the plant. I’m on my way.” “I’ll meet you there,” Brent replied, already out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. Lucy stirred, worry etched on her face. “Be careful.” Brent assured her that every was going to be fine. “I will. Lock the doors. Call Adam and Ling. I want the police on standby.” He sped through the sleeping city, headlights slicing through the fog. When
080
The week after the fruit drinks plant launch was like living inside a pressure cooker. Brent Walker’s phone never stopped ringing. If it wasn’t the press hounding him for sound bites, it was board members, city officials, or partners double-checking every rumor that floated their way. His group’s supply chain hummed at a breakneck pace, but there was no predicting where Carl Stone would strike next. Brent barely slept, but he didn’t let it show. He made his rounds at the biscuit factory, then the sardine plant, then the new warehouse rising from the ashes on the city’s edge. He checked in with every shift, listened to concerns, shook every hand. He made sure nobody felt alone. If Carl was going to attack his empire, Brent would show him it was built on people—not just profits. One morning, as Brent was leaving the plant with Adam, a crowd of workers approached. At their head was Mrs. Delgado, the volunteer who had spoken up at the Foundation meeting. “Mr. Walker,” she said,
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