The PrimeBite lunch scene was pure chaos, and Ethan Black was eating it up—figuratively and literally, with his truffle burger half-gone. Jake Riley, Avery Brooks' wannabe-smooth college classmate, had just fumbled his big shot to impress her by claiming he was "BFFs" with NewWest Plaza's owner. Problem was, Ethan was that owner, and Jake's call to the "mall boss" rang Ethan's phone right there at the table. Jake's face? Priceless, like a TikTok fail hitting a million views. Avery was still giggling, her vegan wrap forgotten, as Jake stood frozen, his knockoff Rolex glinting under PrimeBite's neon lights.
"Dude, you good?" Ethan asked, voice dripping with mock concern. "You're calling me, right? Your 'buddy' at NewWest?"
Jake's eyes bugged out, his phone trembling. "Yo, chill, man, I'm busy!" he snapped, jabbing at his screen. "Hang up or take it outside, okay? I'm dialing a big shot here!" His voice cracked, sweat beading like he was auditioning for a panic-attack montage.
Avery leaned in, whispering, "Is he… okay? He's melting down harder than a popsicle in a microwave."
Ethan grinned, hitting Answer on his phone. "Yo, Ethan Black, NewWest Plaza. Who's this?" he said, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.
Jake's phone echoed the same "Yo," and his jaw dropped like he'd seen a jump-scare. "What the…?" he squeaked, staring at his screen. He shuffled a few steps away, muttering, "Gotta be a glitch. No way…" He redialed, desperate to save face, and Ethan's phone buzzed again.
Ethan picked up, smirking. "Still me, Jake. You wanna talk shops or what?"
Jake froze, realization hitting like a bad Yelp review. He spun around, eyes locking on Ethan, who waved casually with a fry. "You… you're…?" Jake stammered, voice barely a whisper.
"NewWest's owner, yeah," Ethan said, leaning back. "So, about those eight stores you're renting? Or was that just you flexing for Avery?"
Jake's face went from red to ghost-white, his phone slipping to the floor with a crack. Avery clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Oh my God, he's done," she whispered, eyes sparkling. The waiters, pretending to wipe tables, were clearly live-tweeting the drama—#JakeFlops was already trending at 5K likes.
Jake stumbled back to the table, legs wobbly. "You're… Ethan Black? Like, the Ethan Black? NewWest Plaza's kingpin?" His voice was a mix of dread and disbelief, like he'd just bet his trust fund on a losing horse.
"That's the one," Ethan said, tossing Jake's business card back to him. "Pro tip: don't claim you're tight with someone you've never met. Makes you look like you're selling fake NFTs."
Jake's bravado collapsed like a bad crypto scam. "I-I didn't mean… I was just…" He trailed off, realizing every word dug him deeper. Avery, now openly grinning, shook her head. "Jake, you said you and the owner were, like, golf buddies. You didn't even know his name!"
"I… uh…" Jake's eyes darted to the exit. "Gotta bounce!" He bolted, tripping over a chair and leaving his cracked phone behind. The black SUV outside revved, and Ethan's game pinged:
[Syndicate Update: Jake Riley's Cover Blown. Operative Instructed to Retreat. Monitor for Further Activity.]
Ethan's grin faded. Jake wasn't just a poser—he was a Syndicate pawn, and his "investor" contacts screamed trouble. But for now, he'd handled the clown. Turning to Avery, he said, "Your friend Tara's boutique? It's a done deal. Tell her to hit up NewWest's leasing office tomorrow—standard rent, no hassle."
Avery's jaw dropped. "For real? Ethan, you're… wow. Tara's gonna cry happy tears. Thank you!" Her gratitude was raw, and Ethan felt a spark of pride. Helping Avery and her crew wasn't just good karma—it was building loyalty for the $15B NovaVibe challenge.
"No sweat," Ethan said, tossing cash for the bill. "Let's roll. I've got a company to run and a pop star to make." Avery giggled, grabbing her bag, but her X notifications were blowing up: Avery's lunch with THE Ethan Black?! #NewWestKing.
They headed out, Ethan dropping Avery at StarPulse HQ. Inside, he cornered COO Claire Hudson, who was still reeling from the parking lot fiasco. "Claire, two things," Ethan said, all business. "One: reallocate Vanessa Steele's old resources—studio time, PR budget—to Avery Brooks. She's our next big thing. I want a full plan to make her a singing streamer by tomorrow night."
Claire nodded like her job depended on it. "Got it, Mr. Black. I'll rally the team—vocal coaches, Twitch collabs, the works. Plan's on your desk by 8 p.m. tomorrow."
"Good," Ethan said. "Two: keep an eye on anyone tied to Greg Thornton or Vanessa. The Syndicate's sniffing around, and I don't trust loose ends." Claire's eyes widened, but she didn't ask questions—just promised a security sweep.
Satisfied, Ethan headed to his Westfield villa, the city's skyline glowing against the dusk. His phone pinged with a game update:
[Challenge Progress: Star-Maker (Avery Brooks)]
Status: 5% Complete. Launch Streaming Career to Advance.]
[Warning: Syndicate Escalating Operations. NewWest Plaza Targeted.]
Ethan's jaw tightened. The Syndicate wasn't playing—Jake's flop was just the appetizer. He needed to lock down his empire, fast.
Meanwhile, across town in a swanky steakhouse's private room, Vanessa Steele and Greg Thornton fidgeted like kids outside the principal's office. Vanessa, still stinging from her StarPulse probation, clutched her purse, while Greg, now her glorified babysitter, mopped his brow. The door swung open, and in strutted Monica Vance, a powerhouse in a pearl choker and a suit sharper than a Wall Street shark. CEO of Vortex Media, StarPulse's bitter rival in the influencer game, Monica was Westfield's queen of cutthroat deals.
"Monica, thank God," Vanessa blurted, standing. "You gotta help us!"
"Sit," Monica said, claiming the head seat like she owned the restaurant. "My assistant filled you in, right? Vortex wants dirt on StarPulse's new golden boy, Ethan Black. You two got axed—spill the tea."
Greg gulped. "He's… intense. Owns 30% of StarPulse, maybe more. NewWest Plaza, too. Kid's, like, 20 and runs half the city."
Monica's eyes gleamed. Vortex had been eating StarPulse's dust for years, their Twitch and TikTok numbers lagging. Ethan's rise was a threat—and an opportunity. "He's got enemies," she said, sipping wine. "I've got… friends. Powerful ones. They want Black's empire cracked open. You in?"
Vanessa hesitated, then nodded. "He humiliated me. I'm in."
Greg, sweating, muttered, "Me too. But Monica, who's backing you? This feels… big."
Monica smirked, her pearl choker glinting. "Let's just say my investors don't play nice. Stick with me, and StarPulse's new king will be begging for a lifeline."
Outside, a black SUV idled, its driver tapping an earpiece. "Vortex deal's live. Black's move." The Syndicate's web was tightening, and Ethan was walking straight into it.