Chapter 2 - The Sinking Ship
"Security!" Donovan roared, his voice cracking with panic. "Get this lunatic off my property! He's a deranged stalker!"
Three massive guards moved toward Elias, but Elias didn't even flinch. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black remote. He pressed a button.
Suddenly, the massive LED screens erected around the pavilion—intended to show Donovan’s projected quarterly earnings—flickered. The graphs vanished, replaced by a live video feed of Donovan Cross, secretly recorded three days ago in a Miami hotel room, screaming at his accountant.
“I don't care if it's illegal, Marty! Move the offshore funds to cover the margin call! If Vance doesn't sign this weekend, the SEC is going to seize everything!”
The recorded voice echoed across the manicured lawns.
Arthur Vance set his scotch down on the nearest table. His face was a mask of absolute disgust. "You son of a bitch. You were going to use my fifty million to pay off your bad debts."
"Arthur, wait, it’s a deepfake! It’s AI!" Donovan pleaded, reaching for the tycoon.
Vance slapped Donovan’s hand away. "I’m calling the authorities, Cross. You're finished."
Panic erupted. The wealthiest people in the state began sprinting toward the exit, desperately trying to distance themselves from a man who was about to be federally indicted.
Elias stepped closer to Donovan amidst the fleeing crowd. "You took ten years of my life, Donny. I spent every day in that cell dreaming of this exact moment."
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The distant, rising wail of police sirens cut through the ocean breeze. Elias hadn't just crashed the party; he had called the FBI.
Donovan’s survival instinct kicked in. He didn't try to fight. He turned and sprinted toward the dense banyan trees at the edge of the property, abandoning his guests, his pride, and his fake empire.
