System: I Can See Investment Returns

Hostile Takeover

The mahogany table in Boardroom B was long enough to land a helicopter on. I sat at the far end, directly across from William Croft. 

Richard’s father didn’t look like his son. Where Richard was loud and desperate for attention, William was still. He sat perfectly straight in his leather chair, his silver hair combed back, his hands resting flat on the table. He didn't blink often. 

"The acquisition of Nevada Data Solutions is a mistake," William said. His voice was quiet, forcing everyone at the table to lean in to hear him. "The subsidiary is a liability. I'm invoking the minority shareholder clause to block the transfer."

Richard, sitting to his right, smirked. He slid a thick legal document across the polished wood. "It’s all here, Uncle Marcus. Standard protective measure."

Marcus Vance didn't touch the document. He looked at me. "Leo?"

I didn't reach for Richard's paperwork. Instead, I opened a slim black folder and slid it toward the center of the table. 

"Subsection 4, paragraph B of the Vance & Croft corporate charter," I said, keeping my voice level. "The minority shareholder clause can only be invoked if the asset in question is currently under active federal investigation. As of 9:00 AM this morning, the SEC cleared the Nevada subsidiary of all financial anomalies."

William’s eyes flicked to the folder. 

"Maya Chen’s forensic audit was submitted to the compliance committee last night," I continued. "She traced the shell companies. The 'anomalies' were entirely contained within Richard’s personal routing numbers. The subsidiary itself is clean. Your clause doesn't apply, Mr. Croft."

Richard’s smirk vanished. He looked at his father, panic flashing in his eyes. "Dad, he’s lying. The compliance committee wouldn't clear it that fast."

"I reviewed it myself," Marcus said, his voice hardening. He pulled the black folder toward him and opened it. He read in silence for two minutes. The only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioning. 

Finally, Marcus closed the folder. He looked at Richard. "Your routing numbers, Richard? Is this true?"

"It's a misunderstanding," Richard stammered, his face turning pale. "I was just moving liquidity to—"

"Pack your desk," Marcus said. 

"Dad, you can't—" William started, his calm facade cracking. 

"I can, and I am," Marcus interrupted, turning his gaze to William. "The deal goes through. Leo has my full backing. Meeting adjourned."

Marcus stood up and walked out. The other board members quickly gathered their papers and followed him, avoiding eye contact with the Crofts. 

I stood up and buttoned my jacket. I looked at William. For a second, the air in the room felt heavy, like the pressure drop before a storm. William stared at me, his jaw muscle twitching. 

"You've made a very expensive enemy today, Mr. Vance," William said softly. 

"I'm just doing my job, sir," I replied. I turned and walked out of the boardroom. 

As I stepped into the hallway, a soft chime echoed in my skull. 

**[Investment Successful.]**

**[Nevada Data Solutions Acquisition Complete.]**

**[Financial Return: $17,000,000 transferred to Host's offshore escrow account.]**

**[Skill Extracted: Micro-Expression Analysis (Level 1).]**

**[Effect: Host can now detect deception and hidden intent with 85% accuracy.]**

A faint warmth spread across my eyes. I blinked, and the world looked slightly sharper. I could see the subtle tension in the shoulders of the passing secretaries, the slight tremor in a junior analyst's hand. The world was full of tells.

Maya was waiting for me by the elevators. She was holding a stack of files, her knuckles white. 

"Did it go through?" she asked, her voice tight.

"It's done," I said. "Richard is fired. You're safe."

She let out a long, shaky breath and leaned against the wall. "Thank you. I... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just get some sleep. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

***

I left the office at 8:00 PM. The parking garage on the second sub-level was empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a sickly yellow hum. My footsteps echoed against the concrete as I walked toward my car. 

I was twenty feet away when I heard the heavy, deliberate footsteps behind me. 

I stopped. I didn't turn around immediately. I used the reflection in the side mirror of a parked SUV to look behind me. Two men were walking toward me. They wore dark windbreakers and moved with a synchronized, heavy gait. They weren't corporate security. 

*Helios.*

I turned around slowly, keeping my hands visible. "Can I help you?"

The taller man on the left didn't speak. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a collapsible steel baton. He flicked his wrist, and the baton snapped open with a sharp *clack*. The second man moved to my right, cutting off my path to the stairwell.

"Mr. Croft sends his regards," the tall man said. His voice was flat, bored. "He wants you to understand that business is business. But crossing his son is personal. Give us your right hand, and we'll leave the rest of you alone."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my mind was cold. *Micro-Expression Analysis.* I looked at the tall man's eyes. He wasn't going to stop at my hand. Once they had me on the ground, they would finish the job. 

"I'd rather keep it," I said. 

The tall man sighed and lunged. 

He was fast, but he was arrogant. He swung the baton in a wide arc toward my shoulder. I stepped inside his guard, driving my elbow hard into his throat. He gagged, stumbling backward. 

The second man was already on me. He didn't use a weapon. He threw a heavy right hook aimed at my jaw. I raised my arm to block it. The impact sent a shockwave of pain up my shoulder, knocking me off balance. He followed up with a kick to my stomach that drove the air from my lungs. 

I hit the concrete hard. My vision blurred. 

The second man stepped forward, raising his boot to stomp on my knee. 

I rolled to the side just as his heel cracked against the pavement where my leg had been a second ago. My hand brushed against something on the ground. A heavy, metal tire iron, dropped by a mechanic earlier that day. 

I grabbed it. As the man brought his foot down again, I swung the tire iron upward, slamming it into his kneecap. 

There was a sickening *pop*. The man screamed, collapsing onto the concrete, clutching his leg. 

The tall man had recovered. He charged at me, baton raised. I didn't try to fight him. I threw the tire iron at his face. He flinched, raising his arms to block it. 

I used the distraction to sprint past him, hitting the stairwell door at a full run. I burst into the stairwell, took the stairs three at a time, and didn't stop until I was out on the street, blending into the crowded evening foot traffic. 

I leaned against a brick wall in a nearby alley, gasping for air. My ribs ached, and my shoulder throbbed where the baton had grazed me. I had survived, but it was close. Too close. 

Money, data, and corporate leverage meant nothing if a couple of hired thugs could break my knees in a parking garage. William Croft wouldn't stop. Next time, they wouldn't ask for my hand. They would bring guns.

I needed to get stronger. Not just richer. Stronger. 

I pushed off the wall and started walking, my eyes scanning the street. The blue holographic text flickered to life, automatically scanning my surroundings. 

**[Target: City Bank ATM]**

**[Investment: Withdraw $500.]**

**[Return Rate: 0%]**

**[Target: Abandoned Lot]**

**[Investment: Buy for $50,000.]**

**[Return Rate: 120%]**

I kept walking, ignoring the low-percentage targets. I needed a physical upgrade. I needed a cheat for my body. 

Two blocks down, the neon sign of a run-down gym flickered in the damp night air. *Iron Will MMA*. The front window was cracked, and the mats inside looked worn. A sign in the door read: *Closing Down Sale. Everything Must Go.*

I stopped and focused on the building. The blue text expanded, glowing brighter than I had ever seen it.

**[Target: Iron Will MMA]**

**[Owner: Elias Thorne (Former Underground Bare-Knuckle Champion. Currently in debt.)]**

**[Investment: Pay off owner's debt ($45,000) and fund gym renovations.]**

**[Return Rate: 5,000%]**

**[Expected Return: Peak Human Conditioning + "Iron Skin" Body Tempering Technique + Absolute Loyalty of Elias Thorne.]**

I looked through the cracked window. Inside, a massive, scarred man in his late forties was wrapping his hands, staring blankly at a stack of final notice bills on the front desk. 

I pushed the door open. The bell above it chimed. 

Elias looked up, his eyes tired and guarded. "We're closed, kid. Come back tomorrow if you want to sign up for the last month."

"I'm not here to sign up," I said, walking toward the desk. I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. "I'm here to buy the gym. And I'm here to hire you as my personal trainer."

Elias stared at me, then laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You got fifty bucks, kid? That's what the mats are going for."

I turned the phone screen toward him. The balance read: $17,412,000.00. 

"I have forty-five thousand," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "To clear your debt. And another fifty thousand to fix this place up. In exchange, you teach me how to fight. Not sport fighting. Real fighting. The kind that keeps you alive in a parking garage."

Elias stopped laughing. He looked at the phone, then up at my face. He saw the bruise forming on my cheek and the cold determination in my eyes. He didn't ask why. He just slowly set down his hand wraps.