THE HIDDEN HEIR'S VENGEANCE

CHAPTER 28 : Confrontation with the Patriarch

“Who am I?” Matthew chuckled, a cold sound that sent a shiver up Dimitri’s spine. “That is the wrong question. The real question is, who are you without Lane Corp.?"

“Lane Corp is my inheritance,” Dimitri roared. “My blood.”

“Lane Corp was a walking corpse before I injected life into it,” Matthew replied calmly, his gaze locking onto Dimitri’s.

“You offer fifty million? That pocket change would not even cover my system’s operational costs for one hour.”

“You… you are insane,” Dimitri hissed. “I will destroy you. I have connections you cannot comprehend. The board of directors…”

“The board only cares about profit,” Matthew cut in as he pulled a slim tablet from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk, right atop the shredded check. “Look.”

Dimitri hesitated, then picked up the tablet. The screen lit up blue, displaying rotating three-dimensional holographic graphs. This was no ordinary financial report. It was architecture.

A massive data structure linking Lane Corp to global derivatives markets, quantum algorithms predicting Asia-Pacific cash flows, and a projection of a new entity called Monolith.

Dimitri’s eyes widened. He stared at the figures that defied conventional market logic. He was an old businessman, sharp and fluent in numbers.

“This… what is this?” Dimitri’s voice trembled. “These algorithms… this liquidity… where did you get access to a dark pool of this scale? One trillion dollars in standby credit? That is impossible. Even central banks do not move this fast.”

“That is the future,” Matthew replied flatly, stepping closer until his face was only inches from Dimitri’s pale one.

“Lane Corp is just a small foundation. Viviane and I are building a skyscraper that will pierce the atmosphere of the global economy, and you want me to walk away for fifty million in loose change?”

Dimitri stared at Matthew as if he were looking at a ghost or a monster. The man before him was no longer the awkward son-in-law Carol used to ridicule at Christmas dinners. The aura radiating from Matthew was that of an apex predator.

“Who are you really?” Dimitri whispered, fear creeping into his voice.

Matthew adjusted his collar casually. “I am the Architect. And you, Dimitri, have only two choices. Retire with dignity and enjoy your old age in Zurich with whatever money you have not yet lost at the gambling tables, or…” Matthew let the sentence hang.

“Or what?” Dimitri challenged weakly.

“Or I activate a forensic audit protocol on your personal accounts from 2014. The embezzlement of Lane Corp employee pension funds. Viviane does not know about that, does she?”

Dimitri’s face turned paper-white. His legs gave out, and he collapsed back into his leather chair. “You… how do you know?”

“I know everything. Every cent that moves within this company’s orbit is under my surveillance.” Matthew took back his tablet. “Keep your money. You will need it.”

He turned and walked toward the heavy door.

“Matthew!” Dimitri called out, his voice hoarse, a mix of desperation and burning curiosity.

Matthew stopped, his hand gripping the doorknob, but he did not turn around.

“That thing earlier… Monolith… what is its purpose?” Dimitri asked.

“Evolution,” Matthew replied curtly. “The old world is dead, Dimitri. Bury yourself with it, or step aside.”

The door closed with a solid thud. In the silent corridor, Matthew exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall for a moment as he massaged his throbbing temple.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[Negotiation Status: Absolute Victory]

[Impact: Dimitri Lane’s Control over the Board Neutralizes d]

[Mission Reward: Monolith Expansion Blueprint Phase 1 Unlocked]

[Side Effect: Neural Fatigue Level 2. Recommended Rest: 4 Hours.]

At that moment, blood dripped from Matthew’s nose. He wiped it away quickly with a silk handkerchief, staring at the red stain with a detached gaze.

“A fair price,” he murmured to himself.

He slipped the handkerchief back into his pocket, straightened his posture, and walked down the long corridor.

These were no longer the steps of an accountant but the stride of a king who had just conquered an enemy fortress without spilling blood, simply by revealing how insignificant their swords were compared to the nuclear weapon he held.

Dimitri was finished. Now it was time to clean up the remaining trash in the boardroom. Viviane would be waiting.

***

Matthew’s footsteps echoed as he left the penthouse area and headed for the private elevator. Just before the doors slid open, his phone vibrated. A message notification flashed on the screen.

Sender: Viviane

“Mother just called, crying hysterically. What did you do to Uncle Dimitri?”

Matthew typed his reply with one hand as he stepped into the elevator.

“Just gave him a new perspective on early retirement. Prepare the board meeting files for the day after tomorrow. We are taking everything over.”

The elevator doors closed, carrying Matthew down from the ivory tower of the past to the brutal streets of New York City, where the real battle was about to begin.

***

Executive Boardroom, Lane Corp, Manhattan. Nine a.m.

The atmosphere on the forty-fifth floor of the Lane Corp Tower felt suffocating, as if the oxygen had been drained from the room by the central ventilation system.

The boardroom, usually a symbol of corporate power with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the arrogant skyline of Manhattan and a ten-meter-long polished mahogany table, now felt like a glass coffin.

The morning sunlight that filtered through the windows offered no warmth. Its cold glow illuminated dust particles dancing in the tense air.

Matthew Thomas sat at the head of the table. He did not move. He did not fidget. The charcoal Armani suit fit perfectly over his athletic frame, concealing the physical exhaustion caused by using ARC throughout the night.

In front of him, a cup of black coffee sat untouched, long since gone cold. His gaze was straight ahead, sharp, and devoid of ordinary human emotion, as if he were seeing the matrix of code beneath the room’s physical reality.

Across from him, Carol Lane sat with a posture forced into rigidity. The woman who had reigned for decades as New York’s social queen now looked fragile. No amount of powder could hide the lines of anxiety at the corners of her eyes.

Her fingers, heavy with diamond rings, gripped the armrest of her Herman Miller leather chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She knew this was not merely a meeting but an execution.

Beside Carol, Dimitri Lane, the younger brother of Lane Corp’s founder and the late biological father of Viviane Lane, was sweating despite the low room temperature. The old man loosened his tie again and again, his eyes darting nervously between Matthew and the exit.

“We have been sitting in this silence for fifteen minutes,” Carol finally said, her voice cutting through the room. Sharp, yet trembling. “What do you actually want, Matthew? You summoned us here like schoolchildren waiting to be punished.”

Matthew slowly shifted his gaze from the city horizon to his mother-in-law’s face. His movement was unhurried and deliberate, like a predator with no need to rush because its prey was already trapped.

“Punishment is a term for those who can still be corrected, Carol,” Matthew replied. His baritone voice was calm, yet carried a weight of authority that made the hairs on Dimitri’s neck stand on end. “This is not punishment. It is amputation.”

“Watch your mouth!” Dimitri cut in, trying to summon the remnants of his false bravado. The old man slammed his hand on the table, but the sound was hollow. “I am the founder’s own brother. I own shares in this company! You… you are just a lucky son-in-law holding a few shares…”

“Lucky?” Matthew chuckled softly, a sound that never reached his eyes.

Suddenly, a familiar pain stabbed behind Matthew’s eyeballs. The ARC system began to activate.

[System Warning: Neural Stress 68%]

[Targets: Dimitri Lane & Carol Lane]

[Mode: Psychological Domination & Absolute Data Proof]

[Cost: Level 3 Migraine for 2 hours post-activation]

Matthew ignored the throbbing in his head and tapped the table once with his index finger. Moments later, the massive screen on the wall lit up, displaying rotating three-dimensional graphs.

They were not mere financial reports but a corporate autopsy. Red lines split the screen like open wounds, revealing streams of funds leaking from Lane Corp into offshore accounts.

“Dimitri,” Matthew said as he rose from his seat and slowly circled the table. His footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet.

“Over the year you worked overseas, Lane Corp’s valuation dropped by twelve percent. You called it a market correction. But ARC, my analytical system, calls it structured theft.”

Dimitri’s face drained of color, as if the blood had stopped flowing altogether. “That… that’s slander. That data can be fabricated!”

“Is it?” Matthew stopped directly behind Dimitri’s chair and leaned in slightly. He could smell expensive cologne mixed with the stench of fear-sweat.

“An account in the Cayman Islands under the name Volkov Holdings received a two-million-dollar transfer this morning at seven forty-five a.m. You were preparing to run, weren’t you?”

Dimitri’s mouth fell open, his lips trembling without a sound. The other board members held their breath, staring at him with a mixture of disgust and horror.