The last laugh.

Two: On His knees

Some people hurt you so deeply, so publicly, that no apology could ever undo it.

I wasn’t looking for revenge.

I was building a legacy.

But some wounds need stitches… and others need fire.

That’s what my ex-boss, Mr. Dyer, taught me.

He didn’t just fire me.

He destroyed me in front of the entire office.

He called a meeting. Brought in HR. Pulled up my “underperformance” numbers on a screen like I was a damn PowerPoint. Then — and I’ll never forget this part — he tossed three silver coins at my feet and said, “Here, Jason. Just in case begging becomes your next career move.”

Laughter. The kind that stings.

No one spoke up for me. No one stood. They just stared at their screens, pretending I didn’t exist as I picked up the coins with shaking hands.

I remember walking out of that building, humiliated and cold.

Now?

Now I owned the entire block that building stood on.

It started with a quiet call to Felix.

“I want Dyer’s company,” I told him, sitting inside my new Manhattan penthouse, staring out at a skyline that looked smaller than I remembered.

“Acquisition or destruction?” Felix asked without missing a beat.

“Both,” I said. “Buy it. Burn it. Deliver the ashes to his desk.”

He smirked. “Understood.”

Within 24 hours, I was the shadow owner of Dyer & Co., thanks to a front company set up by the Orion legal team. It took less than a day to turn his empire into my puppet.

That’s what happens when your wealth can feed a small nation.

You don’t break doors down. You buy the building and change the locks.

The trap was simple: call a board meeting and force Dyer to present the company’s quarterly numbers.

He walked in smiling, wearing that smug grey suit with a paisley tie he always thought made him look “powerful.”

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, gripping the mic like he was a rockstar.

He had no idea he was standing on a trap door.

“I’d like to start today with some exciting updates,” he continued, flipping through slides. “Profits are up. Marketing’s aggressive. We’re lean, we’re mean, and—”

“Excuse me.”

The voice came from the back of the room.

Every head turned.

I stood up slowly, dressed in a black suit tailored so precisely it moved like liquid. Beside me was Felix, silent as always.

Dyer squinted. “Security? This man isn’t authorized—”

“I own the building,” I said, walking toward the front.

A buzz moved through the room like electricity. Whispers. Eyes widening.

“Jason… Carter?” someone gasped.

Dyer froze. His grip on the mic tightened like it might protect him.

I stepped onto the small stage, inches from him.

“Long time, huh?” I said.

He swallowed hard. “I—look, whatever this is, it’s not—”

“I bought your company last night,” I interrupted. “Every board member signed off. You're no longer CEO. You're not even staff.”

He turned red. “You can’t just—”

“I did.”

He stared at the room. The silence crushed him.

“This is a hostile takeover—!”

“No,” I corrected. “It was peaceful. You were just asleep.”

I turned to the room.

“This man laughed at me when I had nothing. He called me a beggar. Now he begs for the same job he fired me from.”

Dyer tried to speak, but I held up my hand.

“You have two options,” I said, pulling out a small folder. “You can walk out now with a small severance package… or stay and get humiliated like you did to me.”

He looked at the papers.

His hands trembled.

Then — he dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” he said. “I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that. I was stressed. I took it out on you. Please… just don’t ruin me.”

There it was.

The same man who once tossed coins at me was now on the floor, looking up like I was a god.

I bent down, picked up a silver coin from my pocket — the same one he threw at me — and placed it gently on the table in front of him.

“No hard feelings,” I whispered. “Just business.”

Then I stood, buttoned my suit, and walked out.

The silence in that room would echo in his nightmares for years.

I sat on the balcony of my penthouse, looking at the city like it was a board game I now owned.

Felix poured a glass of bourbon and handed it to me.

“You’re on every news channel,” he said. “You’ve become an urban legend overnight.”

I nodded slowly.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said. “But it brings attention. Real attention.”

He handed me a small black folder.

“Intelligence reports. Someone is asking questions about you. Real questions. From people with no faces.”

“Feds?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Worse,” he said. “Old money. People who don’t like new kings.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“What do they want?”

“To know if you’re a threat,” Felix said. “Or a pawn.”

I smirked. “Then we’ll show them I’m neither.”

Two days later, I visited my old neighborhood again.

But this time, I came not with revenge — but opportunity.

See, revenge is loud.

But change? Change is silent power.

I bought the rundown strip mall where people used to sell stolen cellphones. Turned it into a tech hub.

I built a free housing complex for single mothers three blocks down from the shelter I once stayed in.

I hired the guy who used to sweep floors at the corner store and made him head of security.

Because just because they tried to bury me didn’t mean I couldn’t plant seeds where I once bled.

The night after I dismantled Dyer, I heard a knock on my penthouse door.

Unusual. No one just knocks here.

I opened the door and found a woman in a white suit with an emerald brooch.

“Mr. Carter,” she said. “My name is Evelyn Black. I represent a group called The Gilded Table.”

Never heard of it.

But the way she stood… I knew she wasn’t just anyone.

“We’ve been watching you,” she continued. “You’ve risen fast. Made enemies. Broken rules.”

“I’ve made moves,” I corrected.

“Some moves come with consequences,” she said. “We protect the balance of power. You’ve upset it.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “And what does this Table want from me?”

“To sit down,” she said. “Or be removed.”

She handed me a card.

Black. No name. Just a silver circle.

“Midnight. One week. Wear black.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Felix appeared behind me, eyes narrowed.

“Trouble,” he said.

“No,” I replied, flipping the card in my hand. “The next level.”

Power comes in layers.

The streets? That’s the bottom layer. Cash, guns, hustle.

The next layer? Companies. Stocks. CEOs pretending to be gods.

But above all that?

There’s a hidden world most people don’t even know exists. A place where real decisions are made. Where kings bow and countries shift with a whisper.

They call it The Gilded Table.

And I just got my invitation.

---

The card she gave me was black. Heavy. Thicker than any business card I’d ever seen. A silver ring in the center. No name. No words. Just one thing printed on the back:

Midnight. One week. Wear black. Come alone.

Felix studied it under the light like it might explode.

“I’ve heard whispers,” he said. “The Gilded Table is the group behind the groups. They don’t just move money. They move empires.”

“And now they want to meet me?” I asked.

He looked me dead in the eye.

“They want to decide if you’re worth letting live.”

---

The days leading up to the meeting were quiet — too quiet.

My phone buzzed nonstop.

Everyone wanted a piece now.

The same people who ignored me before were suddenly reaching out:

That girl who curved me in college? Now she “misses my vibe.”

The old manager who said I’d never amount to anything? Sent me his resume.

Even some of my old enemies suddenly wanted “to talk.”

I ignored them all.

I wasn’t here to settle scores anymore.

I was here to conquer.

---

The Night of the Meeting

I wore all black. Slim-fit suit. No tie. One black onyx ring — a gift from Felix.

“You’re going alone?” he asked as I stepped into the car.

“They told me to.”

“I’ll be nearby,” he said. “If anything feels wrong—”

“I’ll handle it,” I said. “I didn’t come this far to flinch now.”

The car took me to an abandoned building on the Upper East Side. Looked like nothing from the outside — cracked windows, boarded-up door, graffiti.

But once I stepped inside?

It was like walking into another world.

Gold-lined walls. Crystal chandeliers. Candlelight glowing over a long black table with twelve velvet chairs.

Ten of them were filled.

I stepped forward.

A voice echoed from the head of the table.

“Jason Carter.”

I nodded.

“Sit.”

I did.

Across from me sat Evelyn Black — the woman in the white suit. To her left, a bald man with eyes like steel. Next to him, a woman in a red dress who never blinked.

Every face at that table was clean. Polished. But cold.

No smiles. No warmth. Just power.

Real, raw, silent power.

Evelyn spoke first.

“You’ve disrupted the balance.”

“How?” I asked.

“You rose too fast,” said the steel-eyed man. “The streets didn’t make you. Wall Street didn’t make you. We didn’t make you.”

I leaned forward.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t need any of you.”

A ripple moved through the table like a silent threat.

Evelyn didn’t blink.

“You inherited wealth, Mr. Carter. But what you do with it — that’s what we’re watching.”

“Why?” I asked.

She tapped her ring against her wine glass.

“Because men like you either become allies…” she paused, “…or become problems.”

“And what happens to problems?”

The steel-eyed man grinned.

“They disappear.”

---

They asked me questions for over an hour.

About my past. My plans. My morals. My ambition. My loyalty.

I answered every one with calm fire.

I told them I didn’t want to be a piece on the board.

I wanted to flip the board.

When I said that, the room went dead silent.

Then Evelyn smiled — the kind of smile you couldn’t trust.

“Welcome to the Table,” she said.

“But be careful, Jason. Power is a seat you never really own. It’s just on loan.”

---

After the Meeting

I stepped outside into the cold night, brain buzzing.

What the hell had I just stepped into?

Felix pulled up in the car.

“Well?” he asked.

“I’m in,” I said. “But it’s not a club. It’s a test.”

“They’re going to watch everything you do now,” Felix warned. “Every dollar. Every deal. Every person you meet.”

“Good,” I said, looking out at the city lights. “Let them watch.”

---

Two Days Later

I got a call from an unknown number.

Usually, I ignored them.

This time, something told me to pick up.

“Jason Carter?” a deep voice said.

“Who’s asking?”

“You don’t know me. But we have something in common.”

“Yeah?”

“We both want The Gilded Table to fall.”

The call ended.

No name. No details. Just that sentence.

I stared at the phone.

Whatever world I had entered…

It was bigger than I thought.

---

Back at the Penthouse

Felix was already ahead of me.

He had files laid out. Photos. Names. Maps.

“You’re not the first new blood they’ve let in,” he said. “Most of them vanish after a few years.”

“What happened to them?”

He pointed at one photo.

A young billionaire from Dubai. Missing. No trace.

Another.

A crypto genius from Miami. Dead. “Accident.”

Another.

A tech guy from Nigeria. Disappeared mid-flight.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“They don’t play games,” Felix said. “And they don’t allow threats to survive.”

I leaned back in the chair.

“I need to get ahead of them.”

Felix nodded. “Then we need allies. And dirt.”

---

One Week Later

I flew to Geneva.

There was someone I needed to see.

A woman named Lora. Former Table member. Rumored dead.

But Felix found her.

She lived in a fortress in the mountains. No Wi-Fi. No trace. Just guards with machine guns.

It took two hours of convincing to even get her to come to the gate.

She stepped out wearing a thick black coat, snow in her hair.

“You’re either bold or stupid,” she said. “No one comes here unless they want to die.”

“I came for the truth,” I told her.

She stared at me. Long and hard.

Then she said one word:

“Come.”

---

Inside, she poured tea. No small talk.

“You’re dealing with snakes in suits,” she said. “They smile while they poison you.”

“I noticed.”

“They think you're too green. But they don’t understand the street in you. That’s your weapon.”

“What did they do to you?” I asked.

Her hand trembled as she lifted the tea.

“They killed my brother,” she said. “Because he found something he shouldn’t have.”

“What?”

She looked at me.

“A ledger. Proof they’re not just rich. They’re controlling wars. Replacing leaders. Laundering blood money. The Orion money you inherited?” she paused. “It’s part of it.”

My heart slowed.

“What does that mean for me?”

“It means you were never supposed to survive,” she said. “But now that you have… you’re the most dangerous man in their world.”