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Chapter 855:
Miles away, deep in the subterranean operations center of the Compton Group, Cole sat before his monitors. His assistant had just delivered the report: Crawford Love had successfully blackmailed three of the four bidders into withdrawing.
Cole stared at Crawford’s digital photograph on the screen. His eyes burned with a cold, obsessive hatred.
“That arrogant media clown thinks he can protect her,” Cole muttered, his voice laced with venom.
He reached out and rested his fingers on the glowing screen, over the document authorizing his three-billion-dollar Cayman shell company.
Across the dark, freezing expanse of Manhattan, two billionaires sat in their separate war rooms, locked in a silent and invisible death match — both desperate to lay the world at the feet of a woman who wanted nothing to do with either of them.
𝖱𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝗈𝘯 𝗮𝗇у 𝖽𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘤e 𝗈ո 𝗴𝖺𝘭no𝘷е𝘭ѕ.𝗰o𝘮
The holographic screens in the subterranean data center cast a sickly pale blue light across Cole’s face. It was 2:00 AM.
He sat deep in the ergonomic leather chair, his eyes heavily bloodshot, red veins stark against pale sclera. He dragged his gaze from Crawford’s digital profile and fixed it on the smirking face of Arthur Pendleton.
His chief assistant stepped to the console with a freshly decrypted intelligence report, his hands visibly trembling as he held it out.
“Sir,” the assistant said, his voice tight. “Crawford Love’s intimidation tactics at The Core Club failed. Arthur Pendleton refused to withdraw. He is bringing five billion dollars in liquid cash to the auction this morning. He plans to crush the floor p>
Cole let out a low, harsh laugh that scraped against the silent walls of the bunker.
“Crawford is a fool,” Cole said, his eyes turning to chips of black ice. “He thinks he can win a war with tabloid gossip. He doesn’t understand what real force looks like p>
He pushed himself out of the chair. His boots hit the concrete floor with a dull, heavy thud. He crossed to the massive global financial network topology map projected across the main wall, the sheer weight of his presence causing his assistant to take an unconscious step back.
Cole turned. “Activate it p>
The assistant swallowed and typed a twenty-four-character encryption key into the terminal.
A new window appeared on the center screen: a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands under the name Valkyrie. The account balance read zero.
Cole drew a titanium pen from his tactical vest, picked up the physical authorization document from the console, and signed his name without hesitation. He was siphoning three billion dollars directly from the Compton family’s most restricted reserve vaults.
The assistant scanned the document and executed the transfer. A sharp electronic chime rang through the quiet room. The balance updated instantly: $3,000,000,000.00.
Cold sweat broke on the assistant’s forehead. He wiped it away. “Sir,” he whispered. “Moving this much liquid capital overnight will trigger a massive liquidity event on Wall Street by tomorrow afternoon p>
Cole’s hand shot out and clamped around the assistant’s collar, twisting the fabric against his windpipe.