Down in New Havenport, the news of the charred building had long since settled into routine operations. Gordi's top security operative, Miller, recently briefed his boss after receiving final reports from the field.
"Neo Trading is completely incinerated, boss," Miller reported, sliding charred-site photographs across the glass desk. "All physical server mainframes melted down. Furthermore, our financial scouts dug into the aftermath. A well-capitalized private equity ring out of New Havenport stepped in immediately, buying up the distressed domain names and customer lists under a new entity: Apex Capital."
Gordi took a slow draw from his cigar, exhaling a thick ring of gray smoke. "Are they connected to the old owners?"
"We checked every thread," Miller answered smoothly. "The leadership trail was heavily obfuscated. The public face is just local brokers and software developers who relocated to Willow Creek. Whoever the original puppet master was, he's wiped clean."
Gordi frowned, tapping his cigar against an ashtray. "What about XOR Group? Our market analysts say their luxury electric vehicles are scaling up production, and Apex Capital holds a massive financial stake in them."
Miller hesitated. "We could launch a retaliatory sabotage campaign against their assembly lines, boss—"
"No," Gordi interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Let it go. Casperian clean-energy laws are gaining traction, and launching another overt corporate sabotage campaign right after that Frankstad fire would draw federal antitrust and terrorism investigators straight to Apex Petroleum. Besides, manufacturing cars at scale is a capital-burning nightmare. Let them build their luxury cars; they can't replace the entire transport grid overnight."
Gordi leaned back, waving his hand. "If we fight them, we do it the old-fashioned way: through slow, boring legislative lobbying and red tape. Consider the direct conflict closed."
In Gordi's mind, the corporate war was over. He had stepped back, completely unaware that his opponent was an eleven-year-old prodigy.
Miles away in his private Frankstad office, Ethan watched the encrypted data feeds streaming from Willow Creek and New Havenport.
Through RO2's network monitors, the system had intercepted Gordi's final command word-for-word.
RO2: "Boss! Look at this! Gordi just officially backed down from targeting XOR Group. He's shifting his entire strategy to slow-moving political lobbying and red tape."
Ethan's lips curved into a quiet, satisfied smile.
"Smart move on his part," Ethan murmured, leaning back in his leather chair. "If Gordi had doubled down on physical sabotage, I would have had to completely dismantle his personal assets. By retreating into safe, legal lobbying, he just bought himself a peaceful retirement."
RO2: "It means the corporate war is officially over, Boss! Apex Capital is printing steady millions in Willow Creek under Jacob, Elena, and Marcus; XOR Group is fully secured and scaling its EV production; your family farm is prosperous and safe; and Gordi is looking the other way."
Ethan turned his gaze from the financial monitors to the second screen on his desk—the one displaying the ancient botanical maps, medicinal texts, and topographical coordinates of Savithan.
For months, the corporate mechanics had been a necessary tool—a means to build a financial fortress and secure his family's survival. But Ethan had no interest in writing a slow-burn Wall Street drama. The business machine was built, automated, and running smoothly under trusted hands.
It was time to pivot away from balance sheets and step back into the shadows.
Ethan pressed his desk intercom, routing a secure line straight to Willow Creek.
"Elena," Ethan said, his voice calm and authoritative.
"Everything is locked in, Boss," Elena's voice responded instantly. "Marcus has finalized the primary vault agreements with the regional bank, Jacob is personally verifying our physical platinum reserves, and Willow Creek's servers are handling the user load without a bottleneck. Apex Capital is fully self-sustaining."
"Good," Ethan replied. "The day-to-day operations are entirely yours, Jacob's, and Marcus's. I am stepping back from active oversight. From here on, Apex Capital runs on autopilot."
"Understood, Boss. We've got everything handled here."
Ethan hung up the receiver. He closed the financial tracking software, terminating the live tickers that had dominated his dual monitors for the past three years.
RO2: "Financial empire: established and automated. Family protection: secured. Next stop..."
"Savithan," Ethan finished, standing up from his desk and stretching his eleven-year-old limbs.
The corporate prologue in Casperia was officially closed. The true hunt—the path toward the ancestral valley, the Narasimha bloodline, and the bio-engineering of the beast gene—was about to begin.