At PrimeBite, Ethan Black and Avery Brooks were mid-lunch, plotting her pop star ascent via the Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest game's $15B NovaVibe challenge. The Syndicate's shadow loomed—Jake Riley, Avery's sketchy college classmate, had just left after dropping a business card and some serious frat-bro vibes. Ethan's game flagged Jake as a 78% likely Syndicate affiliate, and the black SUV idling outside wasn't helping his nerves. Still, Ethan kept it cool, munching his truffle burger while Avery picked at her vegan wrap.
Jake, now lingering by PrimeBite's exit, wasn't done. Back in college, he was a nobody—think generic dude in cargo shorts. But six months ago, his family's old apartments got demolished for a strip mall, landing him a $5M "demolition heir" payout. Now a self-proclaimed "entrepreneur," Jake had dollar signs in his eyes and a crush on Avery, the campus crush he never had a shot with. Spotting her with Ethan, he saw a chance to flex his new cash and maybe steal her attention. Ethan? Just some guy in a hoodie, no threat—or so he thought.
Ignoring Ethan, Jake slid back to their table, all fake swagger. "Yo, Avery, what's your gig these days?" His grin was pure used-car salesman.
Avery, polite but chilly, kept it short. "Streaming at StarPulse Entertainment. You?"
Jake puffed up like he'd won Shark Tank. "Oh, I run a boutique in downtown Westfield. Pulling in, like, $200K a month, give or take." Total lie—his vape shop barely cleared $10K, but Avery didn't need to know that. "Sometimes hits $500K when the stars align," he added, winking.
Avery's eyes widened. "$500K? That's… insane." Her yearly StarPulse paycheck was a fraction of that. Was retail that lucrative?
Ethan, half-listening while eyeing Jake's shady vibes, smirked. Jake's "boutique" sounded like a front, and his watch screamed knockoff Rolex. The game's Syndicate Alert still buzzed in Ethan's head, but he let Jake dig his hole.
"Peanuts, really," Jake bragged, leaning closer to Avery. "My shop's in Westfield's core, prime spot. But I'm leveling up. Got my eye on NewWest Plaza—y'know, that mega-mall? Planning to snag, like, eight or nine stores there. Diversify, baby."
Ethan's ears perked up. NewWest Plaza? That was his mall, a $200M asset snapped up via the game. He'd only visited once, but he owned every square foot. Eight or nine stores? Jake was either delusional or blowing hot air.
Avery, impressed despite herself, gasped. "NewWest Plaza? That place is, like, Fort Knox for retail. My friend Tara tried renting a storefront there—had the cash, but no dice. The waitlist's longer than a Black Friday line, and you need connections."
Jake grinned, smelling his moment. "Connections? I got 'em. Piece of cake for me." He leaned in, voice dripping with fake humility. "Real talk? I'm tight with NewWest's owner. One call, and I'm renting stores like it's Monopoly. Easy money."
Ethan choked on his burger, coughing to cover a laugh. Tight with me? Since when? He didn't even know Jake's last name until 10 minutes ago. This guy was serving bull thicker than PrimeBite's milkshakes.
"Seriously?" Avery asked, buying it. "That's wild. Tara's been stressing for months—her boutique's ready, but NewWest's gatekeepers are brutal. Could you, like, talk to your friend? Maybe get her a spot? She'd pay premium rent."
Jake froze, his bravado cracking. He'd nabbed NewWest's leasing office number from a shady "investor" (Syndicate handler, unbeknownst to him), planning to call about one store, not eight. Friends with the owner? Pure fiction to impress Avery. Now she'd called his bluff, and Ethan was watching like a hawk.
"Uh… yeah, sure," Jake stammered, sweat beading. "Might be tricky, but I'll try. No promises." He couldn't back down—Avery's starry eyes were his shot at a date, and Ethan's chill vibe made him think he could skate by.
"Wow, thanks!" Avery beamed. "Tara's gonna flip. You're a lifesaver."
"No biggie," Jake said, puffing up again. "Just a phone call. Watch this." He pulled out his phone, hands shaky, and scrolled to the leasing office contact—labeled "NewWest Boss" to look legit. Double the rent offer, he thought. No one says no to cash. For Avery, he'd bleed his trust fund dry.
Ethan's phone, on the table, lit up at the exact same moment. The caller ID? NewWest Leasing Office. His private line, forwarded to his cell. Ethan's smirk turned wicked. Jake wasn't just a liar—he was calling him.
"Hold that thought, Jake," Ethan said, grabbing his phone. He answered, voice all business. "NewWest Plaza, Ethan Black speaking. Who's this?"
Jake's face went ghost-white, his phone slipping. "Uh… what?" he squeaked, voice cracking like a bad Twitch stream. Avery's jaw dropped, her wrap forgotten. The restaurant went quiet, waiters pausing mid-step.
"Yo, Jake, you okay?" Ethan asked, feigning innocence. "Thought you were calling your 'buddy,' the mall king. That's me. So, what's up? Eight stores, you said?"
Jake's mouth opened, but only a wheeze came out. Avery blinked, piecing it together. "Wait… you own NewWest Plaza? Like, the whole thing?"
"Pretty much," Ethan said, tossing a fry in his mouth. "Jake here says we're BFFs, so I'm curious. What's the deal, man? Need those stores or what?"
Jake bolted upright, knocking over his chair. "I-I gotta go!" he stammered, sprinting for the exit like he'd seen a ghost. His phone hit the floor, screen cracked, still showing the "NewWest Boss" contact.
Avery burst out laughing, clutching her sides. "Oh my God, he crumbled! What was that, Ethan? You're, like, the king of plot twists!"
Ethan grinned, but his eyes flicked to the black SUV outside, now peeling away. Jake's card was still on the table, and the game pinged:
[Syndicate Update: Jake Riley Confirmed as Low-Level Operative. Uploading False Data to Handlers. Neutralize or Monitor.]
Ethan's grin faded. Jake wasn't just a blowhard—he was Syndicate, feeding lies to whoever pulled his strings. "Avery," he said, standing, "Tara's shop? It's hers. I'll hook her up, no premium needed. But we've got bigger problems."
Avery, still giggling, caught his tone. "What's up? Jake's not that dangerous, right?"
"Maybe not," Ethan said, pocketing Jake's card. "But his friends are." His Ferrari keys jangled as he headed for the door, the game's $15B prize and Avery's pop star dream now tangled with a Syndicate web. Across the street, Jake ducked into an alley, whispering into a burner phone: "Plan's blown. Black knows."