Man, that hangover was brutal! The effects of Andy's overdose were seriously punishing Jack's new, young body, even though it was built like a tank. He staggered over to the fancy Manhattan study's bathroom. The expensive cologne couldn't hide the sour ache in his skull. When he looked in the mirror, the shock was enough to stop the nausea dead.
This wasn't his old, tired face. This was Andy Stark's face. Perfect skin, a jawline so sharp it looked carved—totally chiseled, like a movie star! The guy even had a six-pack showing faintly under his rumpled, thousand-dollar shirt. Wow. He finally had the "look" of power, but seriously, what a joke! All the real power was going broke.
He splashed cold water on his face, forcing the two sides—the cold banker brain and the rich kid's raw emotion—to chill out. Andy's sadness about his dad and the family betrayal was still there, but Jack's ruthless pragmatism took charge. The mission was simple: survive the next six months.
He knew he couldn't touch the stock market yet. If he tried a big, quick trade, people wouldn't think he was a genius; they'd think he was a cheat trying to loot the place. Every single account and trade over a million bucks was under the microscope. He was playing defense in a glass arena, and he had to be smarter than that.
His best weapon was the company's core strength: speed. The Stark Group wasn't just big; it was known for being insanely fast at building stuff, setting a global standard that made other firms look like they were moving at a snail's pace.
"Andy? You up?" A soft, careful knock came at the door.
It was his mom, Elena Stark. Her voice was shaky, full of exhaustion and desperate hope. Jack opened the door. Her designer dress was wrinkled, her eyes were red, but she was trying to hold it together.
"Oh, thank God, Andy. You look awful, sweetheart. No more drinking, got it?" She didn't even mention the corporate chaos, just the immediate worry for her son.
Jack felt a wave of inherited loyalty. Andy's love for his mom was a pure thing. It was a weakness, maybe, but also his rock. He squeezed her hand firmly, not the weak tremble she expected.
"I understand, Mom. I'm done." Jack's voice, coming out of Andy's young throat, sounded commanding—something the original Andy never had. "Where are my brothers and sisters?"
A brief, icy shadow crossed her face. "They're handling their own money. They sent notes, of course. They… they think it's best if you step away. They guaranteed your trust fund, Andy."
Guaranteed my trust fund. Oily, right? They secured their millions and totally hung their little brother out to dry, hoping the corporate wreckage would just swallow him whole.
"And you?" he asked, gently.
Elena's composure finally broke. Tears welled up, but she blinked them away. "This was your father's life. The company is everything. If it goes, the name means nothing. I can't leave New York. I won't."
Bingo. That was the trigger. Jack Lockwood hadn't just inherited a fortune; he had a mission of desperate survival and the unwavering loyalty of a son. He finally had a fight worth fighting.
"Go rest, Mom. I need the room clear. I need to know exactly what kind of mess we have left."
Elena looked totally surprised, then nodded, a faint light of hope returning as she retreated.
Jack went back to the desk, the massive monitor glowing with bad news. He didn't have time for massive new projects; he needed cash flow, immediate profit, and proof he could pay back American Express, JPMorgan, and Deutsch Bank.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. The System, that ghostly blue prompt, popped up. This wasn't a spreadsheet; it was a crystal ball with easy footnotes!
"System," Jack thought, using his old, cold banker focus. "Show me the projects that are basically done—like 80% or more—but only stopped 'cause they ran out of cash. And they gotta be able to sell or rent in 90 days max!"
The System didn't hesitate. It just delivered. Hundreds of projects filtered down to twenty-two. These were the skeletal remains of the Stark Group's speed: massive towers and residences around the world that needed the final, costly 20% to generate 100% of the revenue. They were starving, sitting idle, and losing goodwill fast.
One project just screamed at him, flashing bright blue: Project Chimera. A huge apartment complex in downtown Seoul.
Done Status: 92%
Cash Needed to Finish: $400 Million (US)
Time to Finish (Stark Fast): 45 Days
Predicted Profit: 60%
Time to Cash: 75 Days
Four hundred million bucks was still a huge chunk of change, but a 60% return in just 75 days was insane! A return only possible because of how desperate the market was and the guaranteed demand in that city. It was a surgical lifeline to inject capital.
Jack opened his eyes. The fatigue was gone, replaced by the white-hot clarity of a man who saw the path. He still had a massive hole to climb out of, but he knew the first step. He had $20 billion in the accounts. He had the money to start. He had the foresight to choose the right project. And best of all, he had the company's legendary, maniacal construction crews waiting for a command.
He needed to move that $400 million without raising red flags and light the fuse on Project Chimera tonight. He grabbed the sleek executive phone, his fingers already flying to the number of the Chief of Construction—a guy who, according to Andy's memories, lived for a challenge.
"Get me David Karras," Jack demanded, his voice echoing with the icy, demanding tone of a twenty-seven-year-old banker who just found his first billion-dollar deal. "Tell him I want a private jet prepped. Seoul. We're finishing Project Chimera."