Volume 3: The Rise to Power
Summary: Jack begins secretly purchasing shares of Richard's company using the money he earned in the black market, while closely monitoring Richard's activities.
At five-thirty in the morning, the air in Brooklyn was cold and damp, carrying a salty tang of the sea. In the distance, Manhattan's skyline loomed like a cluster of sleeping giants—its skyscrapers silhouetted against the horizon, their uppermost windows glowing faintly like the eyes of slumbering beasts.
The red-brick warehouse in Red Hook appeared no different from the other derelict buildings on the block. Its iron gate, rusted and closed tight, occasionally echoed with the squeak of rats scurrying nearby. Yet inside, the space was alive with activity. Dim bulbs barely illuminated the interior, which had been divided into sections. Mountains of used tires filled one corner, emitting a sharp rubbery odor; bundles of compressed plastic bottles glistened under the light; and stacks of discarded books exuded a musty scent of ink and dust.
Jack stood before a table hastily assembled from scrap wood. He wore a faded hoodie zipped all the way up, hiding his neck, and a pair of jeans darkened by oil stains and dirt—perfect camouflage for the surroundings. Gone was the polished Wall Street executive who once dressed impeccably and commanded boardrooms. In his place stood a man hardened by struggle, his hair cropped short and swept back neatly, revealing a chiseled face where arrogance had been replaced by a quiet intensity honed by hardship.
Spread across the table were thick stacks of printed financial reports, pages dense with numbers that seemed to crawl like ants. An old secondhand laptop buzzed softly beside them, its screen flashing complex graphs—red and green lines pulsing like arteries tracking the rhythm of the markets. The room reeked of instant coffee, the bitter aftertaste a grim reminder that none of this was a dream.
Since being ambushed by Richard's carefully laid trap and falling from grace, Jack had come to understand that revenge and redemption would only come through his own efforts. He could rely on no one's pity or help. He had to find opportunities in the shadows and fight for survival in the cracks of society. Using both the knowledge he had gained on Wall Street and his innate instincts, he began building an underground business empire.
He was no longer the extravagant financier—he started from scratch, accumulating wealth and connections piece by piece. He invested in a junkyard, a humble but steady source of income. To him, trash was treasure. He also ran a used car dealership, buying abandoned vehicles at auctions, refurbishing them, and reselling them for modest profits. Additionally, he partnered with some friends from Chinatown to open a small restaurant serving cheap but flavorful home-style dishes, drawing in workers, truck drivers, and students with tight budgets.
These ventures weren't glamorous—they were even somewhat dirty—but Jack didn't care. They were the foundation upon which he was rebuilding himself. More importantly, they introduced him to a network of people living on the fringes of society, each with unique skills and ambitions, united by a hunger for power and profit. These were the allies he now trusted most.
"Jack, there's something wrong with Richard Corp.'s stock."
The voice belonged to Li, a wiry Chinese man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses behind which his eyes gleamed sharply. Dressed in a wrinkled shirt with worn cuffs, he had previously worked as an actuary at a major investment bank until he uncovered some internal corruption and was fired for it. Jack saw his potential and recruited him to handle financial analysis.
Li's fingers flew over the keyboard, lines of code cascading down the screen in dizzying speed. Like a human supercomputer, he could extract hidden truths from seemingly unrelated data.
Jack lifted his head, fixing his gaze on the fluctuating stock chart. "What's off?" His voice was low and calm.
"You see, officially, the drop is attributed to their acquisition of BioTech Solutions. Market concerns about high costs are just a smokescreen," Li explained, pointing at an unusual sell-off curve. "Someone is dumping massive amounts of Richard Corp. stock in secret."
Jack's brow furrowed slightly. "Secret dumping? Who's behind it?"
"It's a highly encrypted account—it's extremely difficult to trace. I spent the entire day just getting a vague lead." Li adjusted his glasses, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "But what I can say is that whoever it is has insider knowledge about Richard Corp., and they don't want anyone to know. They're slowly draining Richard's wealth."
A faint smirk curled at the corner of Jack's lips, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Richard, it seems you've got bigger problems than I thought," he murmured. He knew that Richard had made countless enemies on Wall Street, many eager to bring him down. But for Jack, this was a golden opportunity. While Richard was distracted, Jack could quietly build strength and wait for the perfect moment to strike.
"Keep digging. Find out who's behind this account. And be careful—don't let them detect us," Jack ordered. He understood that Richard's resources and connections far exceeded his own. He needed to proceed cautiously if he wanted to avoid another trap.
Suddenly, the warehouse door swung open violently, letting in a wave of diesel fumes and cigarette smoke. Isabella walked in.
She wore a tight black leather jacket that hugged her curves, paired with ripped jeans that revealed tanned skin. Her fiery red hair stood out under the dim lighting like a flickering flame. She owned a local bar and served as Jack's most crucial intelligence source in the underworld. Sharp-tongued and well-connected, she had informants everywhere in New York—and could get any information—for a price.
"Jack, I've got good news for you," Isabella whispered as she approached. "Someone wants to talk to you—about Richard Corp." A mysterious smile played on her lips, hinting at secrets she alone possessed.
Jack's eyes narrowed. His heart pounded. "Who?"
"An old-timer. Spent his whole life on Wall Street. Used to be Richard's partner," Isabella explained. "Then Richard kicked him out. He hates him and has some damaging evidence. You know how these old guys always keep a few cards up their sleeves."
Jack's pulse quickened—as if struck by electricity. This was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for. A disgruntled insider who knew everything about Richard could be the key to his downfall. He needed proof of Richard's crimes—only then could he destroy him completely and ruin his reputation forever.
"Why does he want to meet me?" Jack asked, carefully masking his emotions.
"He's cautious. Doesn't trust easily. He knows about your history with Richard and thinks you might be useful." Isabella shrugged with a sultry smile. "He'll only meet you alone—at my bar. Tomorrow night at eight."
"No problem," Jack replied without hesitation. He knew this was a rare chance—one he couldn't afford to miss.
Isabella studied him for a moment, her gaze heavy with meaning. She had seen his rise and understood the depth of his hatred. She knew Jack was walking a dangerous path—one with no turning back. He was like a wounded beast, licking his wounds and waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Be careful, Jack. Richard isn't easy to beat," she said softly, concern lacing her voice. She didn't want to see him hurt again.
"I know," Jack nodded, his expression unwavering. He was ready for whatever lay ahead.
The sun finally rose, bathing Manhattan in golden light, illuminating the towering skyscrapers below. Wall Street was awakening, teeming with people chasing fortune and influence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, countless secrets and conspiracies lurked in the shadows. A storm was brewing—an invisible war over wealth, power, and vengeance.
Jack picked up his cold cup of coffee and drained it in one gulp. The bitterness jolted his senses, reminding him that the road to revenge was paved with pain. But he would not stop. He would send every person who had crushed him straight to hell.
Tomorrow night's meeting would mark a critical step in his plan. He needed to be fully prepared—no mistakes allowed.
He walked to the window and stared at the distant Manhattan skyline. Sunlight bathed his face, but it couldn't warm the ice in his heart. His eyes burned with hatred and desire. He would reclaim what was his—and make Richard pay the ultimate price.