The CEO's Spirit Rental

Chapter 7: The Family Secret

The leather seat of the Rolls-Royce felt colder than it had ten minutes ago, the silence between Arman and Dara stretching like a piano wire ready to snap. Outside, the neon lights of Jakarta blurred into long, electric streaks of blue and gold.

"You’re clutching that envelope like it’s a winning lottery ticket, Kendrick," Dara said, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

Arman didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the passing traffic. "Just some boring legal stuff Rudy tried to use as leverage. It’s nothing, Dara. Really."

"You don't hide 'nothing' in your pocket when you think I’m not looking," she countered, her tone shifting from professional to something more personal. "You’ve been different all day, but right now? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have," Arman muttered. "Look, can we just get home? I’ve got a massive headache, and the smell of this leather is starting to make me nauseous."

Dara sighed, a sound of weary frustration. "Fine. Lean back. Close your eyes. I’ll tell the driver to take the bypass."

"Thanks," Arman said, but his eyes stayed wide open, fixed on the shadow of the flash drive pressing against his thigh.

*

The Lim Estate was deathly quiet when they arrived. Arman bypassed the kitchen, ignoring the offer of late-night tea, and headed straight for the massive, oak-paneled study. He barely had the door shut before he was tearing the flash drive out of his pocket.

"Don't even think about it," a voice hissed from the top of the bookshelf.

Arman jumped, the flash drive nearly slipping from his fingers. Kendrick, in his sleek white feline form, leaped down onto the mahogany desk with the grace of a professional gymnast.

"You're late," the cat said, its blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "And you look like you’re about to vomit on my hand-woven Persian rug."

"Shut up, Kendrick," Arman snapped, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the laptop on the desk. "Rudy gave me this. He said it’s about my family. My real family."

The cat stilled, its tail stopping mid-flick. "Rudy Prakasa is a bottom-feeder who eats lies for breakfast. You shouldn't trust a word that comes out of his mouth."

"He had photos of me, Kendrick! Photos of me as Arman. In the broom closet, on the park bench. He knew!" Arman jammed the drive into the USB port. "And he had this. He said my father wasn't just a clerk. He said there was a ledger from 2005."

"Arman, stop," Kendrick commanded, his voice vibrating with a sudden, sharp authority. "Don't open those files."

"Why? Because you already know what’s in them?" Arman’s voice rose, a jagged edge of panic bleeding through.

The screen flickered to life. A series of scanned documents appeared. The header at the top of the first page read: Lim-Wijaya Logistics & Co. Partnership Agreement.

Arman froze. "Lim-Wijaya? My dad... his name was Hadi Wijaya. He was a clerk at a textile firm."

"He was more than that," the cat whispered.

Arman scrolled down, his eyes scanning the lines of text. "He was a fifty-percent shareholder? He co-founded the original shipping line with your father? Kendrick, what the hell is this?"

"It was a long time ago, Arman. Business is brutal. People have fallouts."

"A fallout?" Arman clicked on a folder labeled Assets-Liquidation-2006. "This isn't a fallout. This is a massacre. Your father signed these papers alone. He transferred the entire Wijaya stake into a shell company overnight. He framed my dad for embezzlement!"

"My father did what he had to do to ensure the Lim legacy," Kendrick said, though he didn't sound particularly proud.

"He ruined us!" Arman shouted, slamming his fist onto the desk. "My dad died thinking he was a failure. He died in a tiny apartment, coughing his lungs out because we couldn't afford the good clinic. My mom worked three jobs until her heart gave out! And all this time, your family was built on the money you stole from mine?"

"I didn't steal anything, Arman. I inherited it."

"You’re just as bad! You knew, didn't you? That’s why the ring worked. That’s why I was the one who found it at that flea market!"

The cat sat down, tucking its paws neatly under its chest. "It wasn't a coincidence, Arman. Do you really think a piece of ancient soul-binding jade just happens to end up in the hands of a random coder?"

Arman felt a cold chill wash over him. "What are you saying?"

"The ring... it’s a family heirloom. But not just my family. It belongs to the founders of the firm. It’s tethered to the bloodlines of those who built the empire. It’s called the Sovereign Jade. It doesn't just swap souls; it looks for a compatible host. A balance."

"You searched for me," Arman whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "You weren't at the flea market by accident. That old man... he worked for you?"

"I needed a way out," Kendrick admitted, his voice sounding oddly hollow. "My body was failing. The stress, the enemies, the constant pressure... I was dying, Arman. I needed a fresh vessel, but it couldn't just be anyone. It had to be someone whose blood recognized the ring's energy. Someone from the Wijaya line."

"You used me," Arman said, his voice trembling with rage. "You didn't just 'hire' me. You targeted me. You waited until I was at my lowest, until I was homeless and desperate, and then you dangled a miracle in front of my face."

"I gave you a choice," Kendrick countered. "You took the ring."

"I didn't have a choice! I had five dollars and a landlord kicking me out! You manipulated the entire thing!" Arman stood up, his chair clattering to the floor. "And now I’m here, running your company, signing your deals, and making you even richer while my father’s name is still buried in some 'embezzlement' file?"

"I’m going to make it right, Arman. That’s why I’m paying you. Two million dollars. Isn't that enough to clear his name?"

"Two million? You think you can buy my family’s history for two million? You took everything! You took my parents' lives!"

"I am giving you a life you could only dream of!" Kendrick hissed, his fur standing on end. "Look at those hands! Look at that suit! You’re the CEO of Lim Industries! You have more power in your pinky finger right now than your father had in his entire life!"

"I don't want your power, Kendrick. I want my life back. I want to be Arman again. The real Arman."

"You think you can go back?" The cat laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "To what? A one-room apartment and fifty-dollar API gigs? You’ve tasted the sun, Arman. You can't go back to the shadows."

"Watch me," Arman said. He grabbed the jade ring on his right hand and began to pull.

"Don't," Kendrick warned.

Arman ignored him, gripping the stone and tugging with all his might. The ring didn't budge. It felt like it was part of his bone, fused to the skin. He pulled harder, his face turning red, the skin of his finger beginning to chafe and swell.

"Get... off... you... piece of... junk!" Arman grunted, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

"It won't come off," Kendrick said calmly. "The bond is complete. You’ve stayed in that body too long. You’ve signed documents in my name. You’ve accepted the mantle."

"No. No, there has to be a way. I’ll cut the finger off if I have to!"

"Even then, the soul is bound. If you leave that body now without a proper ritual, you won't go back to your old one. You’ll just... dissipate. Like smoke."

Arman stopped pulling, his chest heaving. He looked down at the ring. The jade was pulsing now, a dark, rhythmic green that seemed to match his own heartbeat. It felt heavy—unbearably heavy.

"You’re a monster," Arman whispered.

"I’m a strategist," Kendrick corrected. "And right now, I’m the only friend you have. Rudy knows who you are. The board is suspicious. Dara is one step away from calling a priest or a psychiatrist. You need me to survive this."

"I don't need you for anything. I’m going to find a way to fix this, and then I’m going to take this company apart brick by brick. I’ll give every cent back to the people your father stole from."

"A noble goal," Kendrick said, jumping back up to the bookshelf. "But you forget one thing, Arman. To destroy Lim Industries, you have to be the CEO. You have to play the part. You have to stay in that suit, in that skin, and in that ring."

"I hate you," Arman said, his voice cracking.

"I know. Most people do. It’s part of the job description."

The door to the study creaked open. Dara stood there, her emerald dress replaced by a simple silk robe. She looked from Arman to the cat, her eyes landing on the flash drive still plugged into the laptop.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice soft but laden with suspicion. "I heard shouting."

Arman quickly closed the laptop, his heart hammering against his ribs. He turned to her, forcing a smile that felt like it was made of glass.

"Just... a disagreement with the consultant," Arman said, glancing at the cat.

Dara looked at Kendrick, who was busy licking a paw with feigned indifference. Then she looked back at Arman. "You’re shaking, Kendrick. And your finger... it’s bleeding."

Arman looked down. The skin around the ring was raw and red, a thin trickle of blood staining the gold-leaf molding of the desk.

"I got it caught on something," Arman lied. "It's fine. Go back to bed, Dara. I’ll be up in a minute."

Dara didn't move. She stepped into the room, her gaze fixed on his hand. "That ring. You’ve been fiddling with it all day. If it’s too tight, we can have a jeweler come by tomorrow and cut it off."

"No!" Arman said, a bit too loudly. "I mean... it’s an heirloom. I’d rather keep it. It just needs... a bit of oil. That’s all."

Dara studied him for a long beat, the silence in the room heavy enough to suffocate. "You’re a very interesting man, Kendrick Lim. But I think you’re also a very trapped one."

She turned and walked out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Arman slumped back into the chair, his head in his hands. The jade ring hummed against his skin, a constant, low-frequency reminder of the prison he had built for himself.

"She’s right, you know," Kendrick’s voice drifted down from the shadows. "You are trapped. But at least you’re trapped in a palace. Most people settle for a cage with much smaller windows."

"I'm not most people," Arman whispered.

"No. You're a Lim now. Whether you like it or not."

Arman looked at the laptop screen, the names Lim and Wijaya still burned into his retinas. He reached out and touched the jade ring, his thumb tracing the smooth, cold surface.

He had wanted a miracle to pay his rent. He had gotten a war. And as the moon rose over the Jakarta skyline, Arman Wijaya realized that the only way to win was to become the very thing he hated most.

He wasn't just a coder anymore. He was a king with a stolen crown, and the crown wasn't coming off.