Recruitment
I'd handled everything so quietly this time around—no media buzz at all, unlike my previous escapades.
"News is dead quiet, huh? Thought the reporters would be all over this like flies on shit."
The voice phishing scam had blown up in the press and freaked me out a bit, but after the donation story hit, riding the wave again felt kinda fun.
It's just been handed off to the police, so the reporters haven't caught wind yet.
"Makes sense. How long ago did Im Seok-hoon turn himself in?"
Six hours ago.
Half a day in—kinda ambiguous timing.
"It'll sort itself out. No leaks to the outside means no harm to us, right?"
Right. It could get messy if it drags on, so quiet closure might be best.
"Cool, shelve this one then. Let me know when it's wrapped up nice and tidy. No point digging deeper for scraps."
Got it.
All I could hope was that this near-terror-level mess would at least clean up the public opinion poll a bit.
Master. Mind using some assets to set up a real company instead of these ghost corp shells?
"A company? Outta nowhere, why?"
Been mulling it over—it fits your vibe pretty well. Low profile outside, dopamine hits inside. Plus, it could act as a shield if shit hits the fan.
"You'd handle all the management, obviously?"
...Yeah.
"Then I'm good. But what dopamine rush do I get from owning a company?"
Master, that game you're playing—you hate it, right?
"Yeah. Wanna snap the devs' necks."
Perfect use case. Personal buyout? Risky as hell. But front it through our new company?
"Still noisy, but arrows don't point at me...?"
Bingo. Opens doors to stuff you couldn't touch personally.
Just imagining it had me hooked already. Me fixing this trash balance game?
Easy there, Master. Heart rate's spiking.
"Just picturing it drives me nuts—in a good way. Pure bliss."
Right?
"Fuck, can't hold back. Let's roll. Where we setting it up?"
Remember the company that owns your house and office?
"Yeah. Black somethin', right?"
Long English name—couldn't recall the full thing.
Spot on. Black Ridge Capital, my Singapore-based private equity fund. Time to tweak it.
"How?"
Remember Ether Global?
Vaguely rang a bell.
"Uh... heard it from you, but drawing a blank."
It's the parent company overseeing all my ghost entities. Ether Global acquires Black Ridge Capital, wipes the Singapore traces, rebrands as a domestic Korean PE fund.
"Ah, yeah—day two after we met?"
Yup. Anyway—erase all Singapore records, slap a Korean PE hat on it. Route big money moves through there.
"Gotcha. But won't they bitch about a 'domestic' PE owned by a foreign shell?"
If heat turns our way, leak some of my dirt collection. Reporters swarm that instead.
"...What kinda dirt you got?"
Would just bum you out. But a sliver keeps 'em busy for a month—no sweat.
That NIS tail last time must've bruised her ego hard.
"You factored that in too?"
Of course! What kinda AI do you think made me?
Praised her, and Athena's energy spiked like she was buzzing.
"Let's kick it off. Made bank—time to splash big."
New York, southern Manhattan—11 Wall Street. Home of the NYSE, where trillions swap hands daily, human greed and madness distilled into digits, the world's economic heartbeat.
Arthur J. Sullivan had survived there 30 years.
Wharton MBA valedictorian, stints at Goldman Sachs and BlackRock—he'd been betrayed by a cousin he trusted, derailing his career.
"Victor... my dumbass for believing that prick."
Distant kin, but supposedly sharp. Victor played him like a fiddle, massive losses, fund boot.
But you don't hole up after a firing.
"Ugh... weather's too damn nice."
Killing time in the park with coffee, phone pinged.
"Huh? Nobody hits me this hour."
Checked anyway.