The StarPulse Entertainment parking lot was finally quiet, the dust settling after Ethan Black's CEO bombshell sent Vanessa Steele and Greg Thornton packing—Vanessa on probation, Greg demoted to her babysitter. Ethan bid a quick goodbye to Avery Brooks, the streamer who'd stuck her neck out for him, her eyes still wide from the plot twist. "Catch you later, Avery," he said, flashing a grin. She nodded, muttering, "Still processing… boss."
Ethan, flanked by COO Claire Hudson and her jittery exec squad, strode into StarPulse's gleaming HQ. Avery stayed behind, staring at Ethan's retreating figure. "CEO? Ethan Black?" she whispered, cheeks burning. She'd pegged him as a fresh-outta-college intern, even begging Vanessa to spare him. Now? She'd tried to "save" the guy who owned $300M of StarPulse. "I'm such a dork," she groaned, picturing her streamer chat losing it: Avery tried to white-knight the BILLIONAIRE?! Her X mentions were already blowing up, #AveryMeetsBoss trending at 10K likes.
Inside, StarPulse's boardroom was a pressure cooker. Ethan sat at the head, his hoodie clashing with the mahogany table, his face all business—no trace of the kid who'd roasted Vanessa outside. The execs, usually cocky C-suite types, sat like kids in detention, heads down, ties loosened. Claire, sweating through her blazer, kept sneaking glances at Ethan, praying he wouldn't fire them all. The vibe? Like a Succession episode where the new boss might nuke the company for fun.
Ethan cleared his throat, and the room flinched. "What happened out there?" he said, voice cold as a January wind. "I don't want that circus in my company again. Clear?"
The execs nodded like bobbleheads, some scribbling notes to look busy. Claire, stepping up, stammered, "Mr. Black, I swear, that was a fluke. We'll keep it tighter than a Netflix budget."
"Good," Ethan said, leaning back. "Greg was a problem—nepotism's a disease. I don't care how things ran before, but I'm here now. If anyone's playing favorites or pulling a Greg, you're out. Quit now or I'll find you." His eyes swept the room, and a VP dropped his pen, hands shaking.
Claire jumped in. "We'll audit every department, sir. Anyone tied to Greg's clique—gone by Monday." "Make it Friday," Ethan said. "I don't do slow."
The execs gulped, visions of pink slips dancing in their heads. Ethan stood, signaling the meeting's end. "Get to work. I want StarPulse lean and mean." He left, Claire trailing like a nervous puppy, leading him to the CEO's office—a corner suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, a marble desk, and a coffee machine fancier than most cars.
Claire launched into a report—Twitch metrics, TikTok campaigns, revenue spikes—but Ethan's mind wandered. She left to handle the audit, and he was alone, pacing the office. He stopped at the window, Westfield's skyline sprawling below—skyscrapers, traffic, the pulse of a city he was starting to own. His $500M net worth, built from pocket change via Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest, felt real now. This wasn't just money—it was power. The kind that made execs sweat and influencers beg. Addictive, like a viral TikTok you can't stop scrolling.
Ethan grinned, imagining StarPulse ballooning from $1B to $100B, maybe $1T. Why stop there? With the game's cheats, he could be Westfield's king, America's richest, the world's richest. What's it like to stand atop a trillion-dollar empire, untouchable? "Guess I'll find out," he muttered, his reflection smirking back. "Lonely at the top? Nah, I'll bring snacks."
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of it. A new game alert:
[Challenge Update: Assert Dominance]
Status: 90% Complete. Deliver a Game-Changing Vision to the Board.]
Reward: AI-Driven Content Engine, $20.00 (Boosts StarPulse Revenue by 300%)]
[Warning: Syndicate Agent Sabotaging StarPulse Servers. Act Fast.]
Ethan's smirk vanished. The Syndicate—those black SUV stalkers—had an agent inside, messing with his servers? Maya Quinn's warnings screamed in his head. His empire was a target, and this was no glitch. He glanced at the office's security monitor—a hooded figure, StarPulse badge glinting, slipped into the server room. Gotcha.
Lunchtime hit, and Ethan texted Avery. Meet me at PrimeBite, my treat. Thanks for having my back. PrimeBite, his upscale restaurant, was a no-brainer—killer food, and he owned the place. Plus, Avery deserved a nod for her loyalty. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in his Ferrari, Avery still starstruck. "You own this too?" she asked, eyeing the restaurant's neon sign. "Perks of the game," Ethan said, winking.
As they stepped out, Ethan's phone pinged again:
[Urgent: Syndicate Agent Planting Malware. Server Shutdown in 60 Minutes.]
Ethan's eyes narrowed. Lunch would wait. The Syndicate was playing dirty, and he was done being prey. "Avery," he said, voice low, "you good with tech?" "Uh, I stream on Twitch," she said. "Does that count?" "Close enough," Ethan grinned. "Stick with me. We're hunting a rat."
Across the street, the black SUV's driver adjusted his earpiece, watching Ethan's every move. "He's onto us," he whispered. "Escalate to Phase Two."