Chapter 216: Old School Screen four filled with Marcus Webb’s psychological profile—a sharp-faced bastard in his forties who looked like he’d been genetically engineered for financial warfare. The data painted a picture of methodical destruction: fifteen years of increasingly complex corporate raids, forty-three companies destroyed, over twelve thousand jobs eliminated, approximately $7.2 billion in extracted value for his masters. "The infection runs deeper than a fucking cancer," ARIA announced with digital satisfaction. "Seven executives in Quantum Tech, all dancing to Marcus Webb’s tune." Screen five exploded with the corruption network—a spider web of betrayal that made my blood sing with anticipation. David, recruited through gambling debts and family threats. Jessica turned through career promises and blackmail involving her prescription drug addiction and her mother. Marketing Director Suzzie Cen compromised when her son’s legal troubles mysteriously evaporated after her cooperation began. Each corruption was a masterpiece of psychological manipulation, tailored to exploit specific vulnerabilities with surgical precision. These weren’t random acts of betrayal—they were targeted strikes against carefully selected pressure points. "The purchasing entity is Ascendion Capital," ARIA continued, "but the bitch running the show has been invisible until today." Screen six revealed a face that made my predatory instincts howl with recognition. Dr. Helena Voss—steel-gray hair, shark eyes, the kind of executive who probably ordered executions between wine tastings. "Holy shit," I breathed, genuine respect mixing with bloodthirsty anticipation. "Helena Voss," ARIA announced with the reverence usually reserved for apex predators. "Former CIA operations director, dishonorably discharged for ’exceeding operational parameters’—which is government speak for war crimes. She runs Ascendion Capital and seventeen shell companies that serve as the financial spine for every vulture operation." The scope was fucking staggering. This wasn’t just corporate takeover—this was economic warfare that affected entire market sectors. Voss’s fingerprints were on bank failures, pension fund collapses, and at least six suspicious deaths of executives who’d opposed her clients. "But here’s where these paranoid fuckers get interesting," ARIA continued, frustration creeping into her voice. "The operational links between Voss and Marcus Webb are completely analog. No digital communications for their real business—nothing I can hack, intercept, or trace." Another screen displayed surveillance footage of Marcus Webb visiting an exclusive club in Miami—the kind of establishment where membership cost more than houses and every employee had signed NDAs backed by mysterious disappearances. "The Meridian Club," ARIA explained. "Three hundred members globally, each one vetted through intelligence networks that make the CIA look like mall security. Complete electronic isolation—no signals, no devices, no recording equipment beyond the entrance lobby." This sounded like the same club Madison had offered to me with the wellness center and the escort agency. The security footage showed Webb’s ritual: arrive alone, surrender all electronics to club security, disappear into the main facility for exactly ninety minutes, emerge and immediately drive to operational briefings with his network. "Old school paranoia," I observed, my respect for these enemies growing despite my desire to crush them. "Paranoia perfected through modern resources," ARIA corrected. "I can’t penetrate that club, Master. It’s designed specifically to defeat every form of digital surveillance I possess." But she’d done something almost as valuable—identified the pattern. Webb’s visits followed mechanical precision: every Saturday and Monday, 8:47 PM arrival, 10:17 PM departure. And every visit was followed within seventy-two hours by devastating moves against Quantum Tech. "Tomorrow night is his next scheduled meeting," ARIA announced, "and this afternoon they executed the final share acquisition to complete their 20% position after yesterday visit. They’re moving into endgame." I leaned back in my command chair, feeling the weight of stepping into a war where people disappeared for knowing too much. The Three Vultures hadn’t just been planning to destroy Charlotte’s company—they’d been systematically deconstructing entire market sectors to create acquisition opportunities. "So we need concrete proof linking Ascendion Capital to Nexus Corporation," I said, my mind already racing through possibilities. "Something that connects Voss to Webb in a way that gives us actionable intelligence." "Exactly, Master. Since our only digital connection exists through your tracking software, we need evidence that will hold up when we move to annihilate them." The challenge was elegant in its complexity. These enemies had spent decades perfecting their methods, building networks that operated in complete digital darkness. They’d anticipated every form of electronic surveillance and prepared countermeasures that would defeat most intelligence agencies. But they’d made one critical fucking mistake—they’d revealed themselves to someone who combined technological superiority with supernatural enhancement and absolutely zero moral constraints when protecting what was mine. "Old school it is, then," I said, my voice carrying the edge that made ARIA’s processors hum with anticipation. "Old school indeed, Master. Time to dig these fuckers out with a shovel if technology can’t reach them." I stared at the screens, watching real-time data show the systematic destruction of Charlotte’s inheritance while she struggled with responsibilities she’d never been prepared to handle. The Three Vultures had been playing a game decades in the making, positioning themselves to swallow everything William Bob Thompson had built. But they’d targeted someone under my protection. Someone whose gratitude had given me resources they couldn’t calculate, whose survival was connected to a system mission that promised rewards beyond their comprehension. "Let’s finish this mission and get our fucking rewards," I said, my voice carrying the quiet menace that had made grown men piss themselves. "It’s time to step into the world that’s either going to swallow me whole, or I’m going to devour it completely." Because if things went south with enemies this powerful, this connected, this willing to commit murder for quarterly profits, death would be the most merciful outcome I could expect. But that just made the hunt more interesting. The Three Vultures had spent their careers perfecting corporate destruction, thinking themselves apex predators in the business ecosystem. Now they were about to learn what happened when they targeted someone under the protection of an actual monster. Time to show these professional killers what a real predator looked like when it decided to feed.