The last laugh.

THREE:. The gods bleeds too

Power always comes with a price.

I just didn’t realize how high the bill would be.

A week ago, I thought my enemies were people who mocked me, fired me, dumped me. Small-time snakes who smiled while stepping on my neck.

Now, I knew the truth.

Those people were ants.

The real predators? They wore suits worth more than houses. They shook hands across countries. They owned everything — from food to weapons to presidents.

And I had inherited a seat at their table.

But I wasn’t like them.

I wasn’t born in silk sheets and billion-dollar bloodlines. I was made in broken homes, rainy streets, and microwave noodles.

And they made one mistake:

They let me live.

---

The Plan

Back in the penthouse, Felix and I went dark.

Phones off.

No internet.

All files stored in encrypted drives hidden in safes behind concrete walls.

“They’ll try to use your money to control you,” he said. “And if that fails, they’ll try to erase you.”

I paced the room, mind spinning.

“If they built the world,” I asked, “can I build something stronger?”

Felix looked up.

“That’s the first dangerous question you’ve asked.”

“Good,” I said. “Let’s be dangerous.”

---

Recruiting the Ghosts

First, we needed people.

Not just employees. Loyalists.

People who didn’t fold under pressure. People who owed nothing to the system.

We flew to Detroit. Manila. Lagos. Rio. Places the Table ignored — places they didn’t think mattered.

But that’s where the real soldiers were.

Felix knew exactly who to find.

A hacker named Nova, who once shut down a federal server in 6 minutes from a flip phone.

A former arms dealer called Deek, who smuggled weapons through 17 countries before the age of 25.

Amber, an ex-CIA analyst who disappeared after exposing black ops in South America.

K-Six, a street-level boss from Brooklyn who ran his block like a kingdom — and did it with principles.

I met with them face to face.

I told them the truth.

“I’m not building a business,” I said. “I’m building a new world.”

No politics. No fake charities. No puppet masters.

I wasn’t asking for loyalty.

I was offering purpose.

They all said the same thing.

“I’m in.”

---

The Rise of the Ash Circle

We didn’t call ourselves an army.

We weren’t looking for war.

But we prepared for one.

We called it The Ash Circle — because we were rising from the ruins of everything they tried to destroy.

We bought properties around the world. Not flashy. Low-key. Warehouses, bunkers, factories, hidden floors in hotels.

We created a digital currency that couldn’t be tracked.

We built servers in frozen mountains — invisible to satellites.

And through every step… we stayed silent.

Because the loudest power is the one no one sees coming.

---

Warning Shots

But the Table didn’t sleep.

And they didn’t wait.

It started with a whisper.

A banker I trusted vanished.

Then an oil deal I never made exploded on paper — and somehow had my signature.

The media turned.

“Jason Carter: Is the New Billionaire Hiding Dark Ties?”

I laughed when I read the headline.

“You’re being framed,” Felix said. “They want to paint you as a villain before you even speak.”

“They don’t scare me,” I replied.

“They should,” he said.

Then he handed me a file.

Inside was a photo of Lora — the woman who helped me, the ex-Table member who gave me the truth.

She was found dead in her home.

Suicide, they claimed.

I stared at her photo.

My jaw clenched.

“Enough.”

---

Making the First Move

That night, I leaked just enough.

Not everything. Just a taste.

A few corrupted contracts signed by Table members. Hidden accounts. Secret meetings with sanctioned nations.

I sent it through channels they didn’t control — rogue reporters, underground news hubs, whistleblower sites.

The fallout was immediate.

Two resignations from high-ranking political puppets.

A sudden stock crash in a major food conglomerate.

A few billionaires went silent online.

The Table didn’t move publicly.

But I knew they felt it.

The king had poked the gods.

---

The Backlash

A week later, they made their move.

I was attending a fake charity gala in Dubai. All glitter, fake smiles, overpriced suits.

Halfway through my speech, the lights went out.

Total blackout.

Seconds later, I felt it.

The air shift.

Someone had entered the room.

A message came through my private earpiece — Felix’s voice:

“They’re here. Move. Now.”

I slipped out through a side hallway and entered a back stairwell.

Two shadows followed.

They weren’t security.

They were cleaners.

The kind that leave no trace.

But they made one mistake:

They didn’t expect me to be ready.

Amber had installed security mirrors along the route. Deek had planted flash-bang buttons in my cuffs.

The two men ended up blind and screaming on the marble floor.

I didn’t stop to watch.

By the time the lights came back, I was gone.

---

A Message for the Gods

The next day, I sent The Table a gift.

A black box.

Inside it: the silver coin Dyer once threw at me… now melted and reshaped into a middle finger statue.

No words.

Just the message:

I’m not your pawn.

---

Whispers in the Dark

Felix stood at the window that night, watching the skyline like it might attack us.

“They’ll come harder now,” he said.

“Let them.”

“They’ll use your past.”

“I buried it.”

“They’ll try to turn your own people.”

I turned to him.

“Then we build a bond deeper than fear.”

He smiled. “You’re not just playing the game anymore.”

“I never was,” I said. “I’m writing my own.”

---

A Letter in Blood

Three days later, a black envelope arrived by drone — no return mark.

Inside it was a sheet of white paper.

One sentence written in deep red ink:

"We built this world. You only inherited it. Stay in your lane."

Under it was a single fingerprint.

Not mine.

Not Felix’s.

Lora’s.

Post-mortem.

---

The War Has Begun

No more hiding.

No more tests.

The Gilded Table had drawn the line.

And I wasn’t stepping back.

I gathered my circle.

We stood inside a hidden bunker outside Tokyo, staring at a map of the world.

Dots marked every asset the Table owned.

Banks. Media. Water. Technology. Armies.

We circled every weakness.

We planned every strike.

And I said the words that started it all:

“They had their empire. Now it’s time for ours.”

---

They say money can’t buy peace.

That’s true.

Because when you become the richest man in the room, you don’t get peace.

You get attention. Envy. Enemies.

The more I rose, the more they watched.

The Gilded Table — the secret group that ran the world behind closed doors — didn’t like me.

I was too fast. Too loud. Too different.

And I wasn’t asking for permission.

Now, they were trying to scare me.

They sent threats. Killed people I talked to. Set up lies in the media.

But I wasn’t scared.

I had already been at the bottom.

Nothing down there but hunger and silence.

This time, I had something they feared:

Power with no leash.

---

Ash Circle HQ – Tokyo

Inside a secret bunker beneath a hotel in Tokyo, my team was gathered.

We weren’t wearing suits.

We weren’t sipping wine.

We were working.

Amber pulled up a screen filled with red lines and faces.

“These are the people tied to the Table. Bank owners. Media bosses. Tech giants. Not just rich — connected.”

She clicked another screen.

“This is what we hit last week: their fake charity, their shell company in Dubai, and a hidden money transfer out of Russia.”

K-Six leaned forward. “They’re bleeding now. Quietly.”

Deek smiled. “Let’s make it loud.”

---

My First Real Strike

I made my move in daylight.

No more shadows.

I walked into a bank — one of the biggest in Europe. The same bank that froze the accounts of anyone who spoke against the Table.

I bought it.

On the spot.

Not a piece.

The whole thing.

Then I went live on national TV.

I didn’t speak much.

I just smiled and said:

> “Some banks steal quietly. This one? Now it gives back. Free accounts for every underdog who ever got shut out.”

It went viral in 30 minutes.

The Table’s silence was loud.

---

The Counterpunch

Two days later, they hit back.

Headlines everywhere:

> “Jason Carter Investigated for Money Laundering”

> “Did Billionaire Jason Carter Buy His Way Into Power?”

> “Ex-Employee Says Carter Paid to Silence Mistakes”

All fake.

But it didn’t matter.

In the world of media, the first lie always hits harder than the truth.

Amber called me in the middle of the night.

“They’re trying to bury your name before it becomes unstoppable.”

I took a deep breath.

“Then let’s give them something to talk about.”

---

The Empire Speech

I called a press conference.

No fancy hall.

Just a street corner in Brooklyn — where I once slept in a shelter.

Cameras showed up expecting an apology.

What they got instead?

A fire.

I stepped onto a small wooden stage, surrounded by my team and a crowd that had no idea what was coming.

I looked straight into the cameras and said:

> “I was broke two months ago. Fired. Dumped. Disrespected.”

> “Now I’m worth more than half the world.”

> “And you want to know what scares the people at the top?”

> “That I didn’t come from their bloodline. I didn’t come from their schools. I didn’t ask for a seat at their table. I made my own.”

> “You want the truth? I’m not hiding anything.”

> “I was hungry. And now I eat first.”

> “If you want me gone, you better do more than lie.”

> “Because I’m not just a rich man now…”

> “…I’m a storm.”

The video broke the internet.

My name trended in 15 countries.

Every underdog, every hustler, every outsider — they started calling me the people’s billionaire.

And the Table?

They stayed quiet.

But I knew they were watching.

---

Felix’s Warning

That night, back in the penthouse, Felix spoke quietly.

“They’ll come again. Bigger. Dirtier.”

“I’m ready.”

He looked at me.

“No. You’re getting ready.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you haven’t hurt them yet.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Embarrassed? Yes. Threatened? Maybe. But real pain? Not yet.”

He slid a file across the table.

I opened it.

Inside were photos.

Bank deals. Secret meetings. A new fund.

All connected to a man named Dominic Voss.

“Who’s this?”

“The Chair of the Gilded Table,” Felix said. “The one pulling strings.”

I stared at the photo.

He looked like every rich man I used to hate — grey suit, cold smile, dead eyes.

“What’s his weakness?”

Felix leaned in.

“His son.”

---

The Setup

Dominic’s son was named Leo Voss.

Twenty-two. Spoiled. Wild. All over social media.

Partied in Monaco. Raced cars in Dubai. Did whatever he wanted with his dad’s money.

He didn’t know me.

But I knew him.

I arranged a party.

A big one.

Not just music and drinks — a full event. Celebrities, cameras, live performances, a luxury giveaway.

Leo Voss showed up without an invite.

He thought he was crashing my party.

But really?

He walked into my plan.

---

The Flip

Three hours in, Leo was dancing with models and popping champagne.

That’s when I walked up to him.

He blinked. “Wait… You’re Jason Carter?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude! You’re like… everywhere right now.”

“Appreciate it,” I said, handing him a drink.

We talked for twenty minutes. Just enough for him to feel cool.

Then I asked him one question:

“You ever wonder where your dad’s money really comes from?”

He laughed. “My dad? Man, he’s got money from everywhere. Why?”

I handed him a folder.

Inside: proof.

Photos. Transactions. Files showing what the Table really did.

He opened it. Frowned. Looked up at me.

“This is real?”

“100%.”

He was silent.

Then he said:

“…I always knew he was shady. Just didn’t know how deep.”

“Now you do.”

And I walked away.

---

Gods Can Bleed

The next morning, a video dropped.

Leo Voss.

Sitting on a beach.

Looking into the camera.

Saying five words:

> “My father funds global corruption.”

Boom.

The world froze.

Dominic Voss denied it.

But the video hit too hard.

The cracks began to show.

And for the first time…

The Table bled.

The moment Leo Voss called out his father on video, the world cracked.

Nobody had ever touched Dominic Voss before.

Nobody had ever even tried.

But now? His own blood had put him on blast for the entire world to see.

And I didn’t lift a finger.

That’s the beauty of truth.

You don’t have to scream it.

You just have to open the door and let it walk in.

---

The Fallout

Every major news station covered it.

“Heir to Fortune Turns Against Billionaire Father.”

“Jason Carter Linked to Voss Family Drama?”

“Is the Gilded Table Falling Apart?”

Dominic released a statement two days later.

> “My son is misguided. He has been manipulated. There is no truth to these claims.”

But it was too late.

People didn’t care what he said.

They cared that he bled.

And I was the one holding the knife.

---

Back at the Penthouse

I was sitting in silence, drinking cold juice and scrolling headlines, when Felix walked in with a strange look on his face.

“You won,” he said.

“No,” I corrected. “I started winning.”

He tossed a phone on the table.

A message flashed across the screen.

Unknown Number:

“You’ve made your point. Now step down.”

I smiled.

“Was that supposed to scare me?”

Felix sat across from me.

“That wasn’t a threat.”

“Then what was it?”

He looked me in the eyes.

“That was your final warning.”

---

Blood Always Shows Up

Three nights later, I got a visitor.

Not security.

Not a friend.

Not a stranger.

My brother.

I hadn’t seen Kenny in five years.

He’d been in and out of jail, rehab, fights, the streets. We came from the same house, but two different paths.

Me?

I tried to break out.

Him?

He leaned into the chaos.

Now, he was standing in my gold elevator, wearing the same dusty sneakers I remembered from high school.

“Damn, Jay,” he said, eyes wide. “You really did it, huh?”

I stepped forward.

“What are you doing here?”

“Word is… you’re in deep. Real deep. People watching you. Coming for you.”

I crossed my arms. “Since when do you care?”

He didn’t answer that.

Instead, he said:

“Ma would’ve been proud of you.”

That one hit me.

Hard.

---

Family Drama

We sat on the rooftop. Just me and Kenny. No guards. No suits.

I told him everything.

The inheritance.

The power.

The Gilded Table.

The fights, the threats, the pressure.

He nodded slowly.

“So you’re like… rich rich?”

“I could buy a small country.”

He laughed. “And you still drink orange juice from the carton?”

I laughed too.

That was the first real laugh I’d had in weeks.

Then he got serious.

“I heard about Voss. That’s big. But be careful, Jay. These rich folks ain’t like us. They don’t fight fair. They’ll go for your head… or your heart.”

I stayed quiet.

But I felt that.

I’d built an empire.

But I hadn’t protected the people around me.

Not yet.

---

Enemies in the Shadows

The next week, someone hacked my personal assistant’s phone.

Private photos leaked.

Messages taken out of context.

They even posted screenshots of me rejecting business deals with a few companies tied to corrupt oil firms — trying to spin it like I was plotting against the environment.

The media started biting again.

The headlines twisted the story.

But it didn’t matter.

Because my followers — the streets, the underdogs, the dreamers — knew who I was.

They defended me.

They made my name trend again.

Not as a villain.

But as a symbol.

That’s when I realized something powerful:

> They couldn’t kill my name anymore.

> Because it wasn’t mine alone — it belonged to the people now.

---

Jason Carter: The Brand

Felix helped me roll out a plan.

If they wanted to paint me as dangerous?

Fine.

We’d own it.

The Carter Initiative launched the same week.

Free tech training centers in poor neighborhood

Scholarships for kids with dreams.

A fashion brand that gave 80% of profits to building schools.

The rich hated it.

Because I wasn’t just rich now.

I was popular.

And power without popularity is easy to ignore.

But a billionaire with a voice? That’s scary.

Especially when people listen.

---

Another Visitor

It was past midnight when the doorbell rang.

I checked the screen.

Evelyn Black.

The woman from the Table.

Cold eyes. Sharp suit. Red lipstick.

I opened the door slowly.

“You don’t usually knock,” I said.

She stepped inside like she owned the place.

“You made a mess,” she said calmly.

“No,” I replied. “I exposed one.”

She walked to the window, looked out at the city lights.

“You’re louder than the rest. Flashier. But you’re still just one man.”

“I’m not alone.”

She turned to face me.

“We gave you a seat at the table. You were supposed to take it and sit quietly.”

“You thought I wanted a seat?”

I stepped closer.

“I came to flip the damn table.”

---

The Offer

She placed a gold folder on my desk.

Inside: a contract.

If I signed it, I’d get full control of a trillion-dollar fund. Real power. No limits.

But in return?

I’d shut down the Ash Circle.

Stop the speeches.

Stop the movement.

Just play rich. Quiet. Controlled.

I didn’t even blink.

I pushed the folder back toward her.

“I don’t need your money,” I said. “I already have something better.”

“What?”

I smiled.

“Belief.”

She stared at me.

Then walked out.

No goodbye.

Just silence.

---

Kenny’s Message

My brother left a note before flying back to L.A.

I found it on my kitchen counter.

> “Jay,

I used to think money made people monsters.

But watching you? Maybe it just makes you more of what you already are.

Don’t lose that heart. You’ll need it.

-K”

I folded the note and kept it in my pocket.

Because no matter how much money I had…

That was the only wealth that really mattered.