CHAPTER 176: TOMMY CHEN: THE COVER STORY

The week blurred past like a caffeinated montage of spreadsheets, encrypted calls, and bad coffee. Charlotte, proving she deserved every penny of her mythical 20% cut, orchestrated the cover story like a Bond villain with a heart of gold.

She staged a legitimate interview process for her "Revolutionary AI Development Team"—twenty top-tier candidates from Ivy League and MIT-level universities, all desperate for the glitter of Quantum Tech Industries. Recorded, documented, professional.

Each candidate brilliant enough to make you question why you ever bothered leaving your dorm.

Then she added number twenty-one at my request: Tommy Chen.

"This is some Willy Wonka golden ticket bullshit," Tommy muttered in the waiting room, sweat soaking through his only dress shirt while MIT grads around him quietly flexed their portfolios like gym rats.

"Just... be yourself," I told him through the call. "Smart version of yourself. Not the one who spent three hours last night arguing whether hot dogs are sandwiches."

"They’re clearly tacos," he muttered.

Charlotte’s "selection" of Tommy was nothing short of performance art. Public announcement, press release, full-on optics:

"While Mr. Chen lacks formal advanced education in AI development, his intuitive understanding of system integration and innovative problem-solving made him stand out. Sometimes fresh perspective trumps traditional expertise."

The other candidates exploded. Tech blogs called it "another questionable Quantum Tech decision." Board members added it to Charlotte’s growing file of "naive heiress incompetencies."

Perfect.

Tommy officially became a Junior Development Consultant with a salary of $125,000—a number high enough to cause mild euphoria, low enough to avoid triggering SEC-level panic attacks.

Later, when our API project "accidentally" sold for $30 million through Quantum Tech channels, Charlotte would generously give him 90% of the profits. A modest windfall disguised as a business accident.

"Won’t this wreck your reputation?" I asked during one of our encrypted calls.

Her laugh cut through the line like a scalpel. "Peter, my reputation is already ’incompetent heiress who got lucky.’ Let them think I’m dumb enough to give away millions. Makes it easier to move in the shadows."

She poured scotch, the kind that would make my old family budget weep. "Phase one complete," she said. "Your friend is officially a Quantum Tech employee. Salary won’t raise eyebrows. Now we watch him become essential... without anyone realizing it."

*

"Ninety percent?" Tommy’s voice cracked like a pre-teen hitting puberty. "But that’s... if it sells for thirty million..."

"Twenty-seven million to you guys. Three to the company," Charlotte said, swirling her scotch like it was a prop in a Bond villain monologue. "I’ll be roasted by shareholders for giving away that much. But honestly, I’ve always been far too generous with talent. But hey, It’s my fatal flaw."

Her fatal flaw is being a puppet master who everyone thinks is incompetent. Yeah, keep underestimating her, board members—you’re going to need therapy after this.

"Your friend exceeded expectations," she continued, the smile audible in her voice. "Genuinely impressed the interview panel with his IT knowledge."

Finally, someone here knows the difference between Java and existential dread.

Kid actually knows his stuff. Just don’t ask him to argue why grilled cheese isn’t a sandwich—he might start a 3-hour debate on food ontology.

"The board bought it?" I asked.

"Completely. Young talent, fresh perspective, unconventional thinking—all the buzzwords they love. And it distracts them from why I abandoned the AI search in the first place."

Ah yes, the classic "Look over here at the shiny rookie while I do shady billion-dollar maneuvers behind your back" trick. Elegant.

The beauty of the plan? Simple: Tommy fronts our API software, gets the credit, and Charlotte "generously" hands over 90% of the profits.

"Thirty million?" I confirmed, because yes, sanity still requires double-checking insane numbers.

"Conservative estimate. Could go higher if we play the bidding war correctly." She leaned back like she invented gravity itself. "Some will praise my eye for talent; others will mock my poor business sense. The mix? Perfect optics."

"Make it authentic," I said. "Young CEO geniuses or morons—they expect either extreme. You’re threading the needle like a drunken tailor on espresso."

"This is really happening," Tommy whispered, eyes wide like a kid realizing Santa’s sleigh is actually a Tesla. Tommy muttered. "Holy shit, this is really happening."

"Language, Mr. Chen. You’re a Quantum Tech employee now." Charlotte’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Peter, your friend will need to produce something remarkable in two weeks. No pressure."

Two weeks. Or, as we call it in the business world: "time to make a miracle look like a coincidence."

"Already in development," I said. "ARIA and I have the framework built. Tommy just needs to learn enough to fake it convincingly."

"I still can’t believe you named your AI ARIA," Tommy grumbled. "Such a weeb move."

Says the guy whose apartment looks like a figurine museum slash anime shrine. Noted.

"Says the guy with anime girl figurines," I shot back.

"Those are collectibles!"

Charlotte watched us like a game show judge who didn’t care if the contestants embarrassed themselves. "Gentlemen, entertaining as this is, logistics first. The board is already sniffing around Mr. Chen’s hiring. We needs to produce something impressive fast—make them stop questioning and start worshiping."

"Give it a week, relax a bit," I said. "You’ll have a demo that makes Microsoft weep, and the Google execs reconsider their life choices."

"Excellent. Mr. Chen, you start Monday evening, work evenings during the week, and full-day Saturdays. I suggest you spend the weekend studying. Peter will make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of a board full of millionaires who think AI stands for Absolutely Incompetent."

As we left the building, Tommy was practically vibrating like a phone on steroids. "Dude. DUDE. I’m gonna be rich!"

"We’re gonna be rich," I corrected. "Partners, remember? Not just ATM machines with legs."

"Right. Yeah. Fuck." He stopped mid-step, finally feeling the gravity of reality. "This is real. We’re really doing this."

"Tommy, focus. Three days to become convincing as a software genius. That means less celebrating, more studying. And yes, that includes memorizing buzzwords that sound like Hogwarts spells."

"But can we at least get good food? I’m tired of ramen."

I laughed, throwing an arm around his shoulders like a slightly sinister big brother. "Buddy, once this sells, you can buy the ramen company, rename it, and force everyone to eat premium noodles like peasants bowing to royalty."

Edward thought he could storm our house and flex his daddy issues. Charlotte’s board thought they could control her with spies and spreadsheets. Everyone thinks they know the game. Everyone is wrong.

"Peter?" Tommy asked as we waited for the elevator. "What happens if someone figures out, I didn’t actually create the API?"

"Then we convince them you did. Or we make them not care. Or we make them disappear." I grinned at his pale face. "Kidding about that last one. Mostly."

"Sometimes you’re scary, you know that?"

You have no idea, buddy. No idea at all. I’m terrifying enough to make corporate sharks soil themselves, but charming enough to make it look like fun.

But scary was what we needed right now. Edward’s little performance had reminded me that money alone wasn’t enough. You need power, protection, and the ability to make people regret every single life choice that led them to threaten your family.

The API project would give Tommy and me legitimate millions. Charlotte’s protection gave us corporate cover. But my brain was already five moves ahead, like a chess prodigy raised by villains.

Edward wants to play games? Fine. But he better be ready to lose everything. And maybe have his Instagram hacked for good measure.

"Come on," I told Tommy. "Let’s go make you a millionaire."

From broke teenage conspiracy theorist to multimillionaire. Kid’s going to need therapy after this, or at least a champagne IV.

From getting tossed in trash cans by discount Captain America (Jack) to owner of a literal fortress. Not bad for a month’s work. I deserve an award—or at least a reality show deal.

My mind was busy calculating Edward Sterling’s undoing. The man had made a critical mistake insulting Mom. He was about to learn exactly what happens when you threaten the wrong family.

Dude’s got more skeletons than a Halloween store. Real estate developers with political connections are basically gift baskets of chaos waiting to happen.

For now, though, there was an empire to build and a best friend to turn into a millionaire. The Vampire House wasn’t just a building anymore—it was a throne. And Peter Carter? Ready to show the world what real power looked like.

Edward Sterling has no idea what kind of enemy he just made. But spoiler alert: his morning coffee is about to taste like defeat.

Time to change everything.