CHAPTER 228: ACTUAL PREPARATIONS

A Few Moments Ago...

***

I found Charlotte parked on the marble balcony like it was her throne, Miami skyline blazing behind her like some stock photo labeled "Wealth Porn." She was scrolling her phone with surgical precision—the kind of laser focus that only meant two things: insider trading or world domination.

"Planning global conquest?" I asked, dropping into the chair across from her.

She looked up with that face she reserved for corporate kill shots. "Actually, yeah. I’ve been coordinating with our legal team about the auction."

Of course. Leave it to Charlotte to casually plot billion-dollar chess moves like she was ordering Uber Eats.

"How’s it going?" I asked.

"Better than expected." She set her phone down like it had just lost a war. "I scheduled it for Thursday at the Heights Hotel back home. And Peter—" her tone sharpened, "—the response to our API announcement has been fucking insane."

I leaned forward. "Define insane."

"Microsoft, Google, Oracle, Amazon—they all immediately agreed to attend. Some are even sending advance teams to evaluate the tech beforehand." Charlotte’s eyes were actually glowing now, the way normal people’s do when they see a puppy. "These are companies that usually ignore anything under a billion-dollar acquisition, and they’re treating our little project like the next Apple."

Yeah. That tracked. What I’d built wasn’t just an API. It was the holy grail of business integration. Plug it in, and suddenly the ugliest corporate software in existence could talk to each other like Tinder matches at 2 AM. No wonder these tech dinosaurs were frothing at the mouth.

"What exactly did you tell them?" I asked, curious how she’d packaged my genius.

"That we’d developed a universal integration solution that could connect any enterprise system—CRM, ERP, accounting, project management—through a single API layer," Charlotte said, warming up like she was pitching on Shark Tank. "No technical details, just enough to show them the scope."

"And they bought it?"

"They’re arrogant enough to be skeptical," she admitted, smirking, "but even if they think we’ve only built the framework, that’s enough for them to want it. They’ll believe they can buy it, slap their logo on it, and finish the job."

That was the beauty of corporate hubris. These companies still thought innovation was something you could bully into existence by throwing money at Stanford grads and ping-pong tables. Cute.

Spoiler: what I’d built wasn’t human. It couldn’t be replicated, reverse-engineered, or improved. If the API was an iPhone, they were still out here worshipping their Nokia bricks.

"Got any valuation estimates?" I asked.

Charlotte’s smile could’ve powered Miami’s grid. "That’s the best part. Acquisition specialists think the API could sell for sixty million minimum—even if buyers assume it’s still in early development."

Sixty. Million. For something I cobbled together in a few hours with system-enhanced brainpower. The ROI was so obscene it made Dogecoin look like a safe retirement plan.

Honestly? It felt less like selling software and more like robbing billionaires blind—while they thanked me for it.

Charlotte perched on the balcony like a queen hosting court, Miami skyline glowing behind her like some neon cathedral built for sin.

"Where’s the auction happening?" I asked.

"Heights Hotel ballroom. Since it’s just me and the vultures who own Quantum Tech shares now, I don’t need board approval for major decisions. I just booked the venue and sent invitations."

Of course. Corporate warfare boiled down to booking a ballroom and sending out Outlook invites. Somewhere, Jeff Bezos was crying into his rocket fuel.

"What’d you tell your employees?"

"That we’re exploring strategic partnerships and potential licensing deals. They don’t need to know we’re basically selling the crown jewel of our intellectual property."

See, people always thought Charlotte was some spoiled heiress who bought her degrees. Cute myth. In reality? The girl was playing corporate politics like a surgeon with a scalpel. Nobody survived in a pit of venture capitalists without knowing exactly when to smile and when to slit throats.

"You’ve got this handled," I said honestly. "I trust you to manage every detail flawlessly while I focus on other priorities."

Her eyes narrowed. "What other priorities?"

"Taking care of Harvard and Stanford before someone weaponizes your academic history. And protecting your mother while I’m out liberating Miami’s unhappily married elite."

That earned me a look caught between gratitude and Jesus, this man is insane.

"My girls are definitely going to win that hundred thousand dollars you bet against yourself," she said.

"Probably. Question is, who picked the right number?"

"Any favorites?"

"Nope. If I match someone’s prediction, it’s coincidence. I’m not playing favorites in my harem’s betting pool."

Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. "Your life has become absolutely surreal."

"Says the woman whose corporate salvation depends on an API built by a supernatural teenager."

"Fair point."

I checked my watch—7:15. Showtime. Margaret Thompson’s little gathering of Miami’s neglected wives and trust-fund widows would be in full swing soon.

"Charlotte, start getting ready for the party," I said.

"Already ahead of you." She stood, stretching like a cat that knew exactly how expensive it was. "Picked something that says ’successful tech CEO’ without screaming ’please don’t eat my company alive.’"

"Perfect. Tonight’s going to be interesting."

"For all of us." She hesitated, then added softly, "Peter, thank you. For everything. I know I hired you to save my company, but you’ve done so much more than that."

"We’re not done yet. Thursday’s auction is when we really fuck over the vultures."

"And tonight?"

I looked at the skyline, Miami glittering like a hunting ground laid out just for me. That hunger was there again—the system-edge coiled and ready.

"Tonight, I start collecting souvenirs."

She disappeared inside, leaving me with the skyline and my thoughts. Everything was aligning: the auction would bankroll Charlotte’s empire and bury her enemies, Harvard and Stanford would lose their teeth, and tonight’s party? That was fresh territory—a buffet of Miami’s finest untapped decadence.

My phone buzzed. Madison: "Ready to watch your man work some Miami magic?"

I grinned, thumb flying. "Ready to see how many sisters you’re about to gain."

The game wasn’t just beginning—it was rigged. And Miami was about to learn what happens when a digital god decides to go hunting.