The Man Who Bought The Apocalypse

Chapter 6: Buying the Unthinkable

"Radit! What was that thud?" Camille grabbed his forearm, her grip tightening as the elevator groaned.

"Gravity," Radit said, staring at the ceiling panels. "Or a very heavy janitor. Stay away from the center."

"You’re surprisingly calm for someone in a failing lift."

Radit looked at her clipboard. "You're holding that like a shield, Camille. If we drop, it won't help. Also, your visitor pass is upside down."

The ceiling screeched. A seam in the metal buckled downward. Radit didn't move his feet; he simply reached over and pressed a series of override codes on the touch panel.

"How do you know that sequence?" Camille asked.

"I memorized the manual three years from now," Radit said. The lift lurched upward suddenly, bypassing the emergency stop. The thud on the roof vanished as whatever was up there lost its footing.

The doors hissed open on Sub-Level Three. A team of guards in black tactical vests stood with weapons drawn.

"Secure the perimeter!" the suit from earlier barked, rushing toward them. "Radit, you okay?"

"The roof needs a scrub," Radit said, stepping out and pulling Camille with him by her blazer sleeve. "And keep an eye on 'Logistics' here. She’s remarkably good at holding stationery."

"Who is she?" the suit asked, eyes narrowing.

"My shadow for the day," Radit said, heading toward a heavy vault door. "Don't let her leave the floor. If she tries to tweet, take the phone."

"I have rights!" Camille snapped.

"You have a visitor pass and a clipboard," Radit countered without looking back. "In this building, those are suggestions, not rights."

They entered a boardroom that felt more like a bunker—reinforced concrete walls, filtered air, and a map of the national grid flickering on the wall in blue light.

"Mr. Atmodjo," a man in a silver tie stood up. "You’re late. And the price for the Suralaya thermal sector has just tripled."

"Tripled?" Radit sat at the head of the table. "Based on what? The weather?"

"Based on the fact that you’re buying up coal assets like they're going out of style. The market is spooked."

"The market is always spooked," Radit said. He gestured to Camille. "Sit. Take notes. Look productive."

Camille pulled out a pen, her eyes darting between the blueprints on the table and the silver-tied tycoon.

"I’m offering four hundred billion," Radit said, leaning back.

"Four hundred? Mr. Atmodjo, that barely covers the cleanup of the runoff pipes!"

"Precisely. I’m buying the responsibility of the pipes. You get the liability off your books, I get the land. We both win."

"Why do you want a dying plant?" Camille whispered loudly enough for the whole room to hear. "It’s literally a sinkhole for cash."

Radit smirked, tapping his temple. "It’s not a plant, Camille. It’s the world’s most expensive night-light. I want it on even when the rest of the country goes dark."

"It’s fossil fuel, Radit. It’s inefficient," she argued.

"The sun goes out at night, Camille. Wind stops. But heat? Heat is reliable. Sign the contract, Mr. Pramono. Or I give this deal to your competitor in Bekasi."

The man in the silver tie hesitated, then slid the paper across. "You’re making a mistake. You won't see a return on this for fifty years."

"I only need it for ten," Radit said, his pen scratching across the parchment.

As he handed the paper back, his phone buzzed violently on the table. It was a red alert notification.

"Radit," the charcoal-suit man said from the corner. "We have a problem. It’s the Financial Services Authority. They’ve flagged the wire transfer."

"How long?"

"Twenty-four-hour freeze. Full audit of your liquidity sources."

Radit froze. "Twenty-four hours? I have orders for sixty tons of reinforced concrete arriving in two."

"They say it looks like market manipulation. The Malindo short-sale made you a target."

"Of course it did," Radit stood up, his jaw tight. He looked at Camille. "Your editor. He’s golfing with the Chairman of the FSA today, right?"

"How would I—" Camille started, then blinked. "Wait. Yes. Saturdays at eight. But why would I help you?"

"Because if my accounts stay frozen, this entire plant becomes a pile of rust, and your 'exclusive' look into my empire ends in a police van."

"What are you planning?"

Radit walked to a secondary monitor. "I’m not planning. I’m reacting. Open the private database, Node 7."

"Radit, that’s confidential stuff," the suit warned.

"They want to audit me? Fine. Let’s audit everyone." Radit began typing, his fingers a blur of rhythmic clicks. "Here. Chairman of the FSA. Looks like he has a silent stake in a palm oil venture that isn't exactly... legal."

"You’re going to blackmail the regulator?" Camille gasped.

"No. I’m going to provide 'publicly available evidence' of their oversight. Camille, I need you to send a very specific anonymous tip to your editor's burner phone. Tell him it’s the lead on the 'Energy Thief' story."

"You want me to frame it as a leak about you?"

"The headline is me. The internal data is the Chairman. By the time they realize the difference, they’ll unfreeze my money just to make me shut up."

"This is insane. You're leveraging a whole government body on a hunch!"

"I don't have hunches," Radit said, staring at the screen as the upload bar hit ninety percent. "I have memories of their resignations. Do it."

Camille hesitated, then her fingers moved across her phone. "Sent. But don't think this makes us partners."

"Ten minutes," Radit said.

He stood near the window, watching the city skyline below. He adjusted his watch, his hand hovering over his own pulse.

"Radit," the charcoal-suit said, checking his tablet. "The freeze is lifting. They’re calling it a 'systemic error.' But look at the local news portals."

Radit walked over.

BREAKING: Radit Atmodjo, the Energy Thief of the South, Buys Up Coal Reserves Amid Grid Instability Fears.

"Energy Thief," Radit chuckled. "I like it. Has a nice ring."

"You're the most hated man in Jakarta right now," Camille said, standing up and tucking her phone away. "People think you're engineering a blackout to drive up prices."

"Let them think it. It keeps the tourists away from the mountains."

Radit walked toward the exit, signaling the guards to stand down. "The deal is done. Pramono has the funds, we have the grid access. Camille, you can go now. I’m sure you have a deadline."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," she said.

They walked out through the main lobby. The crowd of reporters at the entrance was massive, their flashes creating a staccato rhythm of white light through the glass.

"Stick close," Radit muttered. "Wait, where’s my briefcase?"

"You left it on the boardroom chair," the charcoal-suit man said.

"No, I had it in the hall," Radit snapped.

"I’ll grab it!" Camille said, ducking back into the corridor before the guards could object.

She reappeared moments later, handing the heavy leather case back to him. "There. Try not to lose your empire on the sidewalk."

"Right. Thanks."

Radit turned and plunged into the sea of reporters, his security team clearing a path to the armored SUV. Camille stood at the door, watching him disappear into the crowd.

Inside the SUV, Radit sat back, closing his eyes. "That was close. Too close."

"The girl’s persistent," the suit said from the driver's seat.

Radit looked down at his briefcase. His fingers ran along the bottom edge. He felt a tiny, raised bump near the stitching that hadn't been there an hour ago.

He didn't remove it. He simply looked at it, a cold, calculated smile forming on his face.

"What is it?" the driver asked.

"A gift," Radit said. "She wants to know where I’m going. So let’s give her a show."

Outside, Camille sat on her motorbike, her eyes fixed on a glowing green dot on her tablet screen.

"I have you now, you arrogant prick," she whispered, pulling her helmet down.

The SUV screeched away from the curb, and she kicked the engine over, following the pulse deep into the urban maze.