The Rise Of The Quintillionaire

Chapter 5

Marcus spilled his drink on his shoes. "What in the world is going on?" he shouted angrily. 

The guests gasped and backed away in fear. Marching through the wide double doors was not the normal hotel security team. 

It was a private army. 

Twenty men dressed in pure black tactical suits marched into the room. They moved together with terrifying, perfect military speed. They wore black earpieces and cold, serious expressions. They did not look like security guards; they looked like highly trained killers. 

They quickly spread out, surrounding the exits. They did not say a word to the rich guests. They simply took control of the room in less than ten seconds. 

Marcus's face turned red with anger. He felt foolish in front of the Mayor. He stomped forward, waving his arms. 

"Hey! Who do you think you are?" Marcus yelled at the silent guards. "I rented this entire floor! I am Marcus Vance! Where is the hotel manager? Get him out here right now!"

A small, older man in a gray suit came running out from the kitchen area. It was Mr. Higgins, the general manager of the Grand Plaza Hotel. He was sweating heavily, and his hands were shaking violently. He looked like he was about to cry.

"Mr. Higgins!" Marcus barked. "What is the meaning of this? Throw these goons out immediately! I paid for private security!"

"I... I cannot do that, Mr. Vance," the manager stuttered, wiping sweat from his forehead with a napkin. 

"What do you mean you cannot?" Marcus yelled. "I am a very powerful man! I will buy this hotel and fire you!"

"You cannot buy the hotel, Mr. Vance," the manager said, his voice squeaking with terror. "It... it was already sold. Ten minutes ago."

The guests around them began to whisper wildly. Sold? Ten minutes ago? How was that possible? The Grand Plaza Hotel was worth nearly a hundred million dollars. Who could buy a famous landmark in just ten minutes in the middle of the night?

"Sold?" Marcus repeated, staring at the manager in shock. "To who?"

"To... to the new owner, sir," the manager whispered, pointing a shaking finger toward the open mahogany doors. "And he has just arrived."

The whispers in the room suddenly stopped. The air in the grand ballroom grew very cold and heavy. Everyone turned their heads to look at the wide, open doors. 

The elite black-suited guards stepped back. They formed a straight line on both sides of the entrance. They stood perfectly still, creating a wide, empty path through the middle of the crowd. It was like they were parting the Red Sea. 

Footsteps echoed from the dark hallway outside. 

Click. Click. Click.

The footsteps were slow, steady, and incredibly heavy. Each step sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil. 

Out of the shadows, a man stepped into the bright, golden light of the ballroom. 

Lisa was standing near the front of the crowd, holding a fresh crystal glass of champagne. She looked at the man. At first, she did not understand what she was seeing. 

The man was tall, with broad, powerful shoulders and a thick chest. He wore a completely black, custom-made Tom Ford suit that fit his dangerous body perfectly. There was no tie, just a crisp black shirt unbuttoned slightly at the top. He moved with absolute, terrifying authority. He did not look around the room like he was impressed. He looked around the room like he owned every single person in it. 

Then, Lisa saw his face. 

Her heart completely stopped beating. 

The man had a strong, sharp jawline. He had a small, white scar running along the side of his chin. But it was his eyes that caught her. They were a deep, piercing color. They were the exact same eyes she used to look at every morning across the breakfast table. But they were no longer warm and kind. They were empty, freezing, and full of violent promises. 

It was impossible. He was dead. She saw the heavy wooden beam crush his leg. She saw the thick black smoke. She watched the fire surround him. He had burned to ash six months ago. 

And yet, here he was. Standing right in front of her. 

As Alex Carter walked slowly down the open path, something even more shocking happened. 

Standing in the crowd were three very old, very famous men. One was Lord Roth, a billionaire oil tycoon from London. Another was a famous European banker. These were men who had more money than entire countries. Marcus Vance had tried to speak to them earlier in the night, but they had ignored him. 

As Alex walked past these legendary billionaires, they did not look at him with anger. They did not ask who he was. 

Instead, Lord Roth and the great bankers stepped forward. They lowered their heads. They bowed deeply to Alex, showing him the ultimate respect. They treated him like a supreme king. 

Marcus Vance stood completely frozen. His mouth was open in shock. His $500 million fortune suddenly felt like pocket change. Whoever this man was, he was a god in the world of the rich. 

Alex stopped walking. He stood in the exact center of the ballroom. 

He slowly turned his head. His cold, freezing eyes locked directly onto Lisa. 

He stared right into her soul. He did not blink. He did not say a single word. He just let her look at him. He let her see that he was alive. He let her see the unbelievable power he now held. 

Lisa’s fingers went completely numb. She lost all feeling in her hands. 

The expensive crystal glass slipped from her fingers. It fell through the air in slow motion. 

CRASH!

The glass hit the hard marble floor, shattering into a hundred sharp, tiny pieces. The loud sound echoed through the totally silent room. The yellow champagne spilled over her expensive high heels. 

Lisa's legs began to shake violently. The heavy diamond necklace around her neck suddenly felt like a heavy chain choking her throat. She could not breathe. The room began to spin. 

She stared at the man she had murdered. She stared at the man who was now a king. 

Lisa's breath hitched in her throat as her mind completely broke. 

"Alex...?" she whispered into the dead silence.