The New Tycoon Conquers Every Business

Chapter 6: The price of attention

The SUV's interior smelled like leather and menace. The enforcer sat beside Marcus, close enough to grab him if he tried anything stupid. The silver-haired man occupied the front passenger seat, turned sideways to watch Marcus like a scientist observing an interesting specimen.

"Smart boy," the man said. "Stupid boys run. They end up in unfortunate accidents."

"Who are you?" Marcus kept his voice steady despite his racing heart.

"You can call me Mr. Voss. I represent certain financial interests in Chicago. Interests that become concerned when large amounts of money start moving through unusual channels." He pulled out a tablet, swiping through screens. "Marcus Sylvester. Twenty-two years old. High school graduate, no college. Three minimum-wage jobs until this week. Bank account that's never held more than two hundred dollars suddenly receives deposits of thousands." He looked up. "Want to tell me where it's coming from?"

Marcus's mind raced. The system had warned him—spending boldly drew attention. He'd been so focused on proving himself to Derek and Vanessa, on helping his family and Keisha's father, that he'd forgotten the first rule of sudden wealth: people notice. And some of those people are dangerous.

"Inheritance," Marcus said. "Distant relative died."

Voss smiled. "Try again. We checked. No probate records, no inheritance tax filings, no deceased relatives with estates. The money appears in your account from a source called 'Limitless System.'" He leaned closer. "That's not a registered business, bank, or financial institution. So I'll ask once more: where is the money coming from?"

The system interface flickered:

[LIE DETECTION ACTIVE]

[SUBJECT: EXPERT LEVEL]

[RECOMMENDED STRATEGY: PARTIAL TRUTH]

[MISDIRECTION, NOT DECEPTION]

"It's an investment app," Marcus said carefully. "Cryptocurrency returns. The company's overseas, the deposits are automated. I got lucky with timing."

Voss studied him for several long seconds. "Cryptocurrency. Of course." He tapped his tablet. "Here's the problem, Marcus. People in my line of work, we see a lot of money laundering. Drug dealers, embezzlers, tax evaders—they all need ways to make dirty money clean. And they all have stories. Inheritances. Gambling winnings. Investment apps." He set down the tablet. "You understand why I'm skeptical."

"I'm not laundering money. I'm just—"

"Poor kid who suddenly got rich. Yes, I heard the story. And maybe it's even true." Voss's expression hardened. "But rich or not, you're operating in my city now. Spending money in my establishments, making investments in my territory. That requires permission."

"Permission?" Marcus's fear was being replaced by anger. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

"Illegal is a flexible concept. What matters is respect. Protocol." Voss nodded to the enforcer. "My associate here, his name is Garrett. Garrett ensures that people who make money in Chicago understand the importance of community contribution. Call it a tax. Call it protection money. Call it whatever makes you sleep at night."

"You're shaking me down."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to avoid problems." Voss pulled out a business card, placed it on the seat between them. "Twenty percent of your monthly income. Paid the first of every month. In exchange, you operate freely, no questions asked, no interference. You decline, and suddenly your mother's building has electrical fires. Your sister's scholarship disappears. Your father's employers discover undocumented immigration issues—whether they exist or not."

The threat hung in the air like poison gas. Marcus looked at Garrett, who hadn't spoken once but whose presence communicated violence more effectively than words ever could.

The system flashed:

[EXTORTION DETECTED]

[SUBJECT: ORGANIZED CRIME AFFILIATE]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: ACCEPT TEMPORARILY]

[PLAN COUNTER-STRATEGY]

[WARNING: DIRECT CONFRONTATION = 94% FAILURE RATE]

Marcus picked up the card. Victor Voss. Financial Consultant. A phone number. Nothing else.

"How much are we talking about?" Marcus asked.

"You've spent thousands of dollars yesterdays. At that rate, twenty percent monthly would be around thirty thousand dollars." Voss smiled. "But I'm reasonable. Let's start with ten thousand this month, as a gesture of good faith. You have until Friday."

"And if I can't pay?"

"Then we'll discuss alternative arrangements." Voss gestured to the door. "We're done here. Think carefully about your decision, Marcus. Nobody likes being pressured. But everybody likes staying healthy."

The SUV stopped at the same corner where it had picked him up. Marcus got out on shaking legs. The vehicle pulled away, leaving him alone on the street.

He looked at the business card in his hand, then at his phone. Current balance: $4,520.47. Ten thousand dollars by Friday was three days away. The system could generate that easily—but paying it meant accepting Voss's authority, admitting he could be controlled.

Not paying meant putting his family in danger.

Marcus walked home in a daze. The apartment was empty—his mother at a doctor's appointment with Zoe, his father at work. He sat on the couch and finally let himself shake.

The system interface appeared, but its tone had changed:

[THREAT ANALYSIS COMPLETE]

[VICTOR VOSS: LOAN SHARK, EXTORTIONIST, SUSPECTED MONEY LAUNDERER]

[ORGANIZED CRIME CONNECTIONS: CONFIRMED]

[DIRECT CONFRONTATION: INADVISABLE]

[ALTERNATIVE STRATEGIES AVAILABLE]

[QUERY: DO YOU WISH TO NEUTRALIZE THREAT?]

Marcus stared at the words. Neutralize. The system made it sound clinical, simple. But this was real life. Real danger. Real consequences.

His phone rang. Keisha.

"Hey," he answered, trying to sound normal.

"Marcus, Dad's actually excited about your offer. He hasn't been excited about the restaurant in years." Her voice was warm with hope. "Are you sure about this? It's a lot of money."

Marcus thought about Voss, about the threat to his family, about the impossible situation he'd created by wanting more than his assigned place in the world. "I'm sure," he said. "Tell your dad I'll have the contract by tomorrow."

After they hung up, Marcus pulled up his bank account and made a decision. If Voss wanted money, he'd get money. But not as tribute. As bait.

Marcus called the number on Voss's card. It rang twice.

"Mr. Sylvester. I'm pleased you're being sensible."

"I'll pay," Marcus said. "But I have a condition. I want to know who told you about me. Who's been watching me."

Voss laughed. "That's not how this works."

"Then neither do I. You want ten thousand dollars? You tell me who's feeding you information about my finances."

Silence. Then: "You're either very brave or very stupid."

"Maybe both. Do we have a deal?"

More silence. Marcus held his breath.

"Friday. Noon. Navy Pier, south entrance. Bring the money in cash. I'll bring your answer." The line went dead.

The system chimed:

[BOLD MOVE DETECTED]

[RISK LEVEL: EXTREME]

[POTENTIAL REWARD: HIGH]

[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: STRATEGIC THINKING]

[MISSION UPDATE: MULTIPLE OBJECTIVES ACTIVE]

[1. ACQUIRE DEREK'S ASSET - 6 DAYS]

[2. NEUTRALIZE VOSS THREAT - 3 DAYS]

[3. COMPLETE MORRISON INVESTMENT - 2 DAYS]

[WARNING: FAILURE CASCADE POSSIBLE]

[RECOMMENDATION: PRIORITIZE SURVIVAL]

Marcus looked at the countdown timers, at his bank balance, at the photo someone had sent of his mother's building. Three problems, all urgent, all dangerous.

And somewhere, someone was pulling strings. Someone had sent Voss after him. Someone had taken that photo. Someone knew about the system, or at least suspected that Marcus's money wasn't what it seemed.

His phone buzzed. A text from Derek:

You made quite the impression at Skyline. Cute. My father wants to meet the kid who's throwing money around like he matters. Tomorrow, 6 PM, Hastings Automotive headquarters. Don't be late, delivery boy.

Marcus stared at the message. Derek's father. Richard Hastings, CEO of a billion-dollar company. Why would he want to meet Marcus?

Unless.

Unless Richard Hastings was the one who'd sent Voss.

Unless this had never been about Derek at all.

The system flashed one final message:

[PATTERN RECOGNIZED]

[YOU'RE BEING TESTED]

[PASS OR FAIL]

[SURVIVAL NOT GUARANTEED]

Marcus looked around the empty apartment—the water-stained ceiling, the second-hand furniture, the walls that had contained his small life for twenty-two years.

Three days ago, he'd been nobody. Now he was somebody's target.

The question was: whose?

And the answer might get him killed.