THE HIDDEN HEIR'S VENGEANCE

CHAPTER 11 – A World-Class Elite Client

Several days later,

The New York sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was a dull gray, veiled in thin fog that wrapped around the peak of the Empire State Building. Inside the private dining room at The Peak, the atmosphere was silent and oppressive, broken only by the soft clink of silver forks touching Bone China porcelain.

Viviane Lane sat stiffly in a leather chair, her fingers gripping the napkin on her lap so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She felt small. Across from her sat not just another businessman, but Vincent Chen, the “Property Dragon” who owned half of Hong Kong’s skyline and was now setting his sights on Manhattan.

Viviane felt like a lamb trying to sell its wool to a wolf.

Vincent Chen had not touched his filet mignon. He regarded Viviane with bored eyes, as if this meeting were nothing more than an irritating pause between two important phone calls.

“Mrs. Lane,” Vincent said at last, his heavy voice cutting through the silence with a thick Anglo-Asian accent. “Lane Corp was once a giant on Wall Street. But now? You are like an old building wedged between glass skyscrapers. This tax proposal…” He flicked the papers on the table with visible disgust. “Outdated. You are suggesting a Delaware shell company? That is a trick from 2010. I am disappointed.”

Viviane’s heart sank. Shame crept up her neck. She glanced at Matthew, seated beside her. Her husband said nothing, staring out at the Hudson River, distant and seemingly useless.

“Damn it. Why did I bring him?” Viviane thought in frustration.

Vincent tossed his napkin onto the table. “I do not have time for nostalgia. This meeting is over.”

As Vincent moved to stand, Matthew slowly rotated his water glass. The faint scrape of glass against the table sounded strangely loud in the suffocating silence.

“You will lose four hundred and fifty million dollars in liquidity if you move your assets to London next week, Mr. Chen,” Matthew said calmly.

His tone was flat and emotionless, like a news anchor reading market numbers.

Vincent froze. Slowly, he turned his head toward Matthew, his eyes narrowing sharply. “What did you just say?”

“Article 14-B of the new US-UK Bilateral Trade Agreement will be quietly ratified by the Senate tomorrow morning,” Matthew replied, finally meeting Vincent Chen’s gaze. His eyes were dark, but deep within them, Viviane caught a faint, unsettling blue glint.

[SYSTEM ALERT: Activating ‘Global Policy Prediction – Level 4’.]

[COST: Acute Cluster Migraine (Level 8). Nasal Capillary Damage.]

[STATUS: ACTIVE]

Pain slammed into Matthew’s skull like a sledgehammer. He clenched his teeth, enduring it in silence. His expression, however, remained ice-cold.

“Your Midtown consultants missed it,” Matthew continued, pulling a Montblanc pen from his jacket pocket. “But if you reroute the funds through green bonds in Zurich before four p.m. today, you will not only avoid the tax hit, you will also gain twenty million dollars in carbon credits.”

Vincent stared at Matthew in disbelief, then turned sharply toward his personal assistant standing in the corner. “Check it. Now.”

The assistant typed frantically on his tablet. Three minutes passed in excruciating silence. Viviane held her breath, staring at her husband with a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Who is this man? He is not the Matthew I know,” she thought.

“Mr. Chen…” the assistant’s voice trembled. “There is… there is a leaked memo from Washington that surfaced on the dark web five minutes ago. He is right. Ratification is tomorrow. We will face massive penalties if we do not reroute the funds.”

Vincent’s face drained of color, then slowly split into a grin. The grin of a predator who had just encountered another predator. He sat back down.

“Did you hack the Pentagon, Mr. Thomas?”

“I merely read the wind, Mr. Chen,” Matthew replied.

Warm blood began to drip from his left nostril. With a smooth, practiced motion, he wiped it away using a black silk handkerchief, hiding the red stain before it could be noticed.

“You are bleeding, Mr. Thomas,” Vincent observed, his eyes never leaving Matthew.

“It seems the air at this altitude is too dry,” Matthew said evenly. “So, Mr. Chen? Is Lane Corp competent enough to manage your assets?”

Vincent burst out laughing, his booming voice filling the private room. “Lane Corp? To hell with Lane Corp. I want you. But fine… since you come as a package with your beautiful wife…” He extended his hand. “We have a deal. But if you die young from thinking too much, the contract is void.”

[MISSION COMPLETE: Secured Client Vincent Chen.]

[REWARD: Wall Street Reputation +500. Shadow Capital Access.]

Viviane finally exhaled, watching the two men shake hands. Outside, a snowstorm began to fall, freezing New York City. Yet the true chill crept up her spine from the man seated beside her.

***

The next day,

The Executive Lounge at Lane Tower was usually calm and refined, a place where bankers discussed mergers over espresso. Today, the air reeked of panic.

Three federal agents wearing jackets marked “IRS – CI” stood around Matthew Thomas’s table. Behind them, Mark Davies watched with a satisfied smile, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Matthew Thomas,” said Agent Miller, a broad-shouldered man with a rigid face. “We have a warrant to freeze your personal assets. You are suspected of insider trading and money laundering through cryptocurrency.”

The clatter of a fork hitting a plate echoed across the room. Senior executives whispered among themselves, their eyes filled with scorn. To them, Matthew was just a parasite who had finally been exposed. Mark Davies stepped forward and slapped Matthew hard on the shoulder.

“I told you, Matt. New York is not a place for amateurs. Did you really think you could hide your dirty money in our system?”

Matthew felt his heartbeat slow, heavy and deliberate. Not from fear, but because the ARC system was beginning to take control of his motor functions.

[SYSTEM ALERT: Activating ‘Legal Loophole and Corruption Scanner’.]

[COST: 15 Percent Physical Vitality. Temporary Hand Tremors.]

Matthew’s vision shifted. The room dissolved into streams of binary code. Digital data hovered above Agent Miller’s head, transaction histories, deleted emails, and secret phone calls.

“Agent Miller,” Matthew said quietly. His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet lethal. He set his glass down with a slightly trembling hand. “This warrant is based on an anonymous testimony submitted at eight a.m. today. Yet curiously…”

Matthew stood, locking eyes with the agent. “You paid off the mortgage on your second home in the Hamptons at eight fifteen a.m. The transfer came from a shell company in the Bahamas. Owned by Reginald Holt, correct?”

Miller’s face flushed crimson. “That is a serious accusation. Cuff him,” he barked.

“Go ahead,” Matthew challenged, extending his hands. “Cuff me, and within ten minutes, proof of that transfer will be automatically sent to the Department of Justice and The New York Times. I have already set up a dead man’s switch.”

The air in the lounge tightened, oxygen suddenly scarce. Mark Davies’ confident smile faltered. “What are you talking about? Just arrest him.”

Matthew turned to Mark. His gaze was empty, devoid of mercy. “And you, Mark. You accessed Lane Corp’s private server without authorization to plant fabricated evidence. Your IP trail is still on the office proxy. You are not just fired. You will be banned from the entire North American financial sector.”

Agent Miller took a step back, cold sweat beading at his temple. With Matthew holding his career in his hands, he was powerless.

“Pull your men back, Miller,” Matthew hissed. “Or your career ends before lunch.”

Miller swallowed hard, then gave a stiff signal to his team. “We… need to reverify the evidence. Stand down.”

As the agents retreated in haste, Mark Davies was left standing alone in the middle of the room, his face pale as a corpse. Matthew sat back down. Beneath the table, his hands shook violently, the aftereffects of his drained vitality. Nausea churned in his stomach.

Viviane burst into the Executive Lounge from the elevator just in time to see Mark’s collapse and Matthew sitting calmly, though visibly unwell.

“Matt…” Viviane whispered, touching her husband’s shoulder. “You look so pale. What is wrong? Are you sick?”

Matthew shook his head. “Just hungry, Vie,” he said weakly, glancing at Mark as security dragged him away. “One rat is gone. There are many more in this building.”

[MISSION COMPLETE: Neutralized Audit Attack.]

[REWARD: Absolute Authority over Financial Division. Mark Davies (Eliminated).]