2025-07-14 11:46:00The hall was hushed with anticipation as Mr. Jack adjusted the mic on the centre stage.
“Noel and Jerry’s group, you may proceed,” he announced.
With that, the crowd stirred like a tide crashing forward. It was time.
Whispers shot across the room like electricity. Bets were made. Predictions were exchanged. Excitement was in the air. Most students were split into two sides—Team Noel and Team Jerry. Others, just curious spectators, leaned in, eager to see who would come out on top.
Each group member walked confidently toward the secret donation room, leaving cheers behind them. They entered one by one, the tension building like steam in a kettle. Four went in first. Quietly. Swiftly. Then, Noel stood up, adjusted his cuffs, and moved toward the room.
The whole room stood in applause.
“Noel! Noel! Noel!”
Seconds later, Jerry followed, tossing a smug grin toward John and Anna’s table. His new girlfriend blew him a kiss, and his entourage stood with pride.
This was their moment. Their victory. Their spotlight.
Minutes later, both boys emerged from the room, looking calm, like they had already decided. They took their seats side by side, surrounded by their loyal followers, waiting for the announcement with arms crossed and heads high.
Then came Mr. Jack, stepping onto the stage again, paper in hand, glasses low on his nose.
The entire room leaned forward.
“I know you’re all eager,” he began, “but we must wait. The final group has not donated yet.”
Groans echoed across the hall like thunder. Many had already started celebrating prematurely. Now, they were forced to wait again.
Anna’s and John’s group was called.
The crowd quieted again—but only for a moment before laughter and murmurs rippled.
“John? He’s still in this?”
“Waste of time.”
“He probably wants to donate used buckets and mops.”
But Anna stood and walked tall toward the donation room, heels clicking gracefully on the marble floor. When she returned, the hush that followed her was heavier than silence. All eyes turned to John.
John stood calmly.
He adjusted his collar and walked with a quiet strength toward the door. But minutes passed—far more than expected—and he didn’t come out.
Whispers grew into shouts.
“What’s he doing in there?”
“Counting coins?!”
“Maybe he’s begging for a discount!”
Finally, the door opened, and John stepped out.
No panic. No rush. Just a faint smile on his lips.
He returned to his seat beside Anna, ignoring the stares, the murmurs, and the burning curiosity in the room. He leaned back comfortably and reached for a glass of juice.
As if the chaos of the room didn’t exist.
The DJ turned up the music, trying to ease the tension, and for a moment, a few students returned to dancing and laughing. But the true storm hadn’t started yet.
Mr. Jack came back on stage once again, clearing his throat loudly.
“Before we announce the winning group, I have something to say,” he said.
The mic screeched slightly.
“Due to the nature of these donations, we will now list the names and individual amounts donated by each student in the two top groups—Group Noel-Jerry and Group Anna-John. All other groups will remain confidential.”
The crowd went wild.
Students chanted, clapped, some even stood on chairs.
But John froze.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
He hadn’t expected his name to be revealed—especially not after what he just donated.
Mr. Jack continued. “Additionally, the group with the highest combined donation will receive a special award of honor and recognition at the Chancellor’s assembly.”
The room exploded into cheer.
Mr. Jack looked at the paper in his hand and adjusted his glasses.
“We’ll begin with the Noel-Jerry group.”
He paused for effect. The tension was thick now. You could hear a pin drop.
“Noel Johnson — $900,000.”
Applause thundered across the room.
“Jerry Martins — $900,000.”
The noise doubled. Chairs shook. Students screamed.
“Total donation: $1,800,000,” Mr. Jack announced.
Fireworks graphics lit up the big screen on stage. People shouted like they’d won the lottery.
“Record broken!” someone screamed. “That’s higher than last year!”
Noel and Jerry stood up and bowed, enjoying the spotlight.
And then… silence.
“All right,” Mr. Jack said, turning the page. “Now for the Anna-John group.”
The excitement dipped slightly, but curiosity still held everyone captive.
“John Anthony — $900,000.”
Gasps filled the air.
Eyes shot wide open. Mouths dropped. Silence followed for a few seconds.
“Wait, did he say John?”
“No way.”
“Where would John get $900,000?!”
Some students began to cheer, especially those who had bet on the underdogs. Others just sat frozen in disbelief.
Anna looked at John, unsure of what to say. Collins and James stared at him like they didn’t recognise him anymore.
“And… Anna Thompson — $900,000.”
More gasps. But nothing compared to the chaos that followed the next announcement.
Mr. Jack took one more look at the paper, his brow furrowed.
“Correction,” he said, “Apologies—John Anthony actually donated $1,000,000.”
The room erupted.
People stood. Screamed. Fainted.
$1,000,000?!
From John?
“Impossible!”
“How?!”
“Even Noel and Jerry didn’t give that much!”
Now the room was split—some were celebrating, but most were whispering, confused and suspicious.
Even Noel and Jerry sat still, looking at John like they were trying to see through him.
“How is this possible?” Noel muttered under his breath.
“Who is this guy?” Jerry added, fists clenched on the table.
Then, like a spark to gasoline, the question was asked loudly by one of Jerry’s boys.
“Where did John get $1,000,000 from?!”
The room turned to face him.
“Yeah! Who is this guy really?”
“Did he steal it?”
“Is it fake?”
One by one, the crowd began to murmur louder.
Anna glanced sideways, concerned.
Collins whispered, “John… what’s going on?”
John didn’t speak. He sat calmly, hands folded, his face unreadable.
The pressure was building. Whispers turned to accusations.
“He must have hacked someone’s account.”
“Or stole it from the event fund!”
“If even Jerry and Noel didn’t give that much, how could he?!”
Jerry stood up. “He needs to explain.”
Rita crossed her arms and added loudly, “Maybe he robbed someone. Or maybe someone paid him for something.”
John clenched his jaw. Still, he didn’t speak.
Mr. Jack suddenly rushed back to the stage, stopping the murmuring.
“Everyone, please!” he shouted over the mic. “Please… quiet!”
The hall slowly settled down.
“I have an announcement.”
Everyone paused, tense and eager.
“A top personality has just arrived at the campus. We ask that all students remain seated and respectful.”
The doors at the back of the hall opened.
All heads turned.
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Chapter 361: THE GENERAL’S FINAL KEY
He didn't look back or check for Lady Hampton. He simply walked as the mission was complete.John was two blocks away, high on a rooftop, studying the scene through binoculars, when his phone buzzed again.The refinery is open. Go. I will join you at the site when I am done.Done. He got it. She hadn't just flipped a switch. She had walked into The Exchange to tie up her own loose ends, to seal the John family’s destruction with her own hand.Another coded message followed immediately: Location: Sector Nine, old Thorne Oil Refinery. Single door, retinal scanner. Two minutes.He snapped his head up. Twenty minutes to Sector Nine. He needed a vehicle and a clean driver immediately. A taxi or a bus was too slow, too public.He pulled up Sarah’s contact. Lady Hampton had forbidden him from using her for the 'test.' But this was not a test of obedience; this was a billion-dollar race against the clock. He couldn't afford to trust Lady Hampton’s timing.He sent a single, encrypted word to S
Chapter 360: THE PHOENIX CODE II
The encrypted sequence. The first lock. A wave of cold air washed over him. His father had planned for this, for total collapse. It wasn't sentimentality at all; it was a contingency plan hidden inside a memory.He studied the code for twenty seconds, his memory, honed by years of handling classified data, committing it instantly. He closed the box, slid it back into its compartment, and twisted the master key until he heard the final, satisfying click.Before he left, he wiped down the vent cover, the small area around the box—everything. He was a ghost, leaving nothing behind. Following her rules perfectly.He climbed out of the vent and retreated through the maintenance tunnels, finding a different route to the surface. He emerged from a side door, half a block from City Hall, just as the 8:00 AM rush hour started to choke the streets.He pulled his phone. A single word to her: Rising.The reply was instantaneous: The second key is not a key. It is a place. Meet me at The Exchange,
Chapter 359: THE PHOENIX CODE I
“Done,” John said. The single word felt like a death—of his old life—and the cold, hard birth of a necessary war.Lady Hampton’s cold, triumphant smile vanished, replaced by a look that was purely business, sharp as a surgical tool. “Good. We are partners now, John. First rule: silence. Total. The people hunting us aren't just listening; they have eyes everywhere. Everything will be two-step coded. Here is the first task.”She didn't hand him a file, and didn't need to. Her voice was low and precise. "The first key is in the old City Hall, safety deposit box 441. It’s a ghost box, registered to a company that died sixty years ago. The vault is set for audit at ten sharp. They seize the contents then. You have four hours."John glanced at his watch: 6:05 AM. "What does the key unlock?"“The first of three locks. Your father was a sentimental man with triple-layer security. This first key is for a dead man’s switch—a hidden account. The encrypted access sequence is printed on the back o
Chapter 358: THE FINAL NEGOTIATION
He was interrupted only once, by a short, coded message from one of his officers—not about the stock market, but about the private security firm. The cash from his asset fire-sale had successfully bought the controlling shares. He still owned the biggest private army in the City. He had a weapon, even if he had no country to defend. He was a general without an army to lead.Just before the first pale light of dawn touched the office windows, Sarah came back, looking calmer but exhausted."Sir," she said, putting a thin file on his desk. "The Bastion Trust. We found a loophole. It has one single hidden owner, protected by three layers of shell companies in three different countries. The last layer is a charity based in a faraway, neutral place. We tracked the charity’s registration to her old university professor—the same law expert who helped her with her father's estate decades ago. He’s dead, but the papers are flawless. She built this whole thing herself, starting when she was a s
Chapter 357: THE BETRAYAL
The phone was dead and cold in John’s hand—a useless piece of metal and glass. He didn’t throw it or drop it. He just slowly lowered it, looking at his own face reflected in the window as the city lights started to turn on for the night. The reflection was of a man utterly empty. His suit was still expensive, his watch a masterpiece, but the man wearing them was hollow. All his power, influence, and money had been violently ripped away and spilled out onto the street.“Sir,” Sarah, the legal messenger, whispered, her voice shaking. She stood exactly where she had been, holding the papers that legally took everything from him, as if they could somehow protect her from the financial disaster happening outside. “What should we do?”He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He knew the fear in her eyes, the terror of everyone who had depended on him. He had been their sun, and now he was a weak, dying flame.“My orders,” John repeated, the word feeling like dust in his mouth. He finally t
Chapter 356: THE NECESSARY ALLIANCE
“I will burn the fields to deny Lady Hampton the harvest she is waiting for. Sell it all, and use the liquid capital to secretly purchase two specific things: a majority stake in every major Senate member’s personal investments, and the controlling shares of the City’s largest private security firm, the one Thorne tried to purchase.” His officers stared at him, aghast at the sheer scale of the destruction he was planning. “But the loss of face, the public humiliation of selling off so much in a single day—”“The loss of face is temporary and can be recovered. The loss of my entire life’s work is permanent and cannot be recovered if I do nothing,” John roared, full of fury. “Go, now! If the market thinks I’m suddenly weak and losing control, I’ll be buying my own government and my own private army in the span of a few hours. She took the past. I will control the very near future.”The market reacted within the hour, exactly as John had predicted. John’s public companies saw massive se
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