Chapter 268: Execute! (Bonus - )
The morning sun had barely begun to filter through the blinds of Jake’s penthouse, but the kitchen was already filled with the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Catharine stood by the counter in a soft silk robe, pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. When Jake walked into the kitchen, dressed in a sharp, dark charcoal suit with his tie perfectly straightened, she turned and handed him a cup with a warm, gentle smile.
"You’re up early," she said softly, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against his cheek. "Big day?"
"The bell rings at nine," Jake replied, taking a slow sip. "Today, I get to settle the score with the Newmans."
Catharine looked at him, her eyes tracing the calm, unshakeable confidence on his face. She knew better than anyone the sheer volume of capital he was about to move, but looking at him now, he was as unbothered as if he were simply stepping out for a morning walk.
"Don’t push yourself too hard," she murmured, adjusting his lapel with a quiet touch. "And make sure you eat something before you start tearing down empires."
Jake chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close for a brief moment. "I’ll keep that in mind love."
Twenty minutes later, Jake was seated in the back of his Brabus as it glided through the bustling morning traffic of the financial district. Looking out the window at the towering glass skyscrapers, a thought crossed his mind.
’Relying on external institutional divisions for these major operations gets the job done, but it’s time Golden Investments built its own dedicated, high-security trading floor.’
Having his own internal, battle-tested execution team directly under his control would make moves like this far more efficient in the future.
’Guess I should start by personally seeing what the so-called Rivers Seven are made of,’ Jake thought, a subtle smirk touching his lips as the sedan turned toward the bank.
---
Meanwhile, in the uptown district, rain hummed relentlessly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Sam Newman’s private penthouse.
Sam stood by the marble kitchen island, his designer shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair disheveled. He stared furiously at his phone screen before slamming it face-down onto the marble surface.
Standing across from him, unbuttoning his charcoal jacket, was Julian Croft—a senior partner at Croft & Mercer and Sam’s personal legal counsel.
"He didn’t take the bait," Sam hissed, his voice raw with frustration. "My proxy accounts were wide open! Troy was supposed to take the offshore liquidity line to build his vote-buying war chest, which would have given me total leverage to hand his head to Dad on a platter! Why didn’t he take it?!"
"Because your uncle Troy is as arrogant as he is reckless," Julian replied calmly, setting his slim leather briefcase onto the counter. "He didn’t bother using offshore proxy pools to buy out minor shareholders behind your father’s back. Instead, he tried a direct, clumsy smear campaign to force Golden Investments to take a hit. And as you can see, when that blew up in his face he panicked and printed a cheap retraction."
Sam let out a bitter, explosive laugh, running a hand through his hair. "So instead of falling into my trap, Troy went and handed Jake Rivers an open invitation to wipe our entire family off the map! Now Dad has me locked in this apartment like a dog, while Rivers is about to tear the company apart at the opening bell!"
"Your time will come, Sam," Julian said smoothly, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. "Let your father and brothers face the initial storm. If Rivers breaks through their lines today, Richard will have no choice but to give the three of you a piece of the company before everything goes under."
---
Over at the Newman Enterprise Group tower, the atmosphere inside the executive suite was suffocating.
Richard stood frozen before the glass windows overlooking the city. Dark, heavy bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes—stark evidence of forty-eight hours without a single minute of sleep. Behind him, Finn was frantically refreshing live pre-market order flow on his laptop, while Ray sat slumped on the sofa in complete silence.
"Where is Troy?" Richard asked, his voice low, dry, and gravelly.
"His assistant said he’s still sleeping at his beachfront villa," Finn answered bitterly, not looking up from his screen. "He doesn’t even care! He thinks because he paid for that retraction article, everything is magically back to normal!"
"He’s a complete idiot," Ray muttered from the couch, staring blankly at the floorboards. "He has no idea what’s coming."
Before Richard could respond, the line on his desk phone flashed red. He walked over and pressed the speaker button.
"Richard, what’s going on?" the sharp voice of Mary Newman, one of the primary board members, echoed through the room. "We just picked up a massive five-hundred-million-mark capital credit entry in our primary clearing account overnight. The board hasn’t authorized any secondary debt issuance or credit lines! Where did this money come from? Do we need to convene an emergency board meeting right now?"
Richard swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain firm and composed. "Mary, relax. It’s a temporary liquidity guarantee I personally negotiated to protect our order books during the morning open. The board doesn’t need to panic. Everything is under control, and if we need an emergency session, I will personally call one after the opening bell."
"It better be under control, Richard," Mary warned coldly before disconnecting.
Richard let out a long, ragged breath, resting his hands heavily on the edge of the desk.
"Finn," Richard said, his tone deadly serious. "Is Stuart Sheele’s transfer active?"
"The standby credit guarantee is online," Finn nodded quickly, his hands trembling slightly over his keyboard. "Five hundred million in capital support is sitting directly in our prime clearing ledger. Currently Newman Enterprise Group has a total market cap of 142.5 billion marks—100 million outstanding shares priced at $142.50. It’s a massive valuation, but it’s still only about half of Golden Investments’ entire total net worth. With Sheele’s five hundred million sitting on our buy wall, the moment Rivers tries to short us at the bell, we can instantly absorb his volume and keep the price stabilized."
"Good," Richard muttered, clenching his trembling hands into tight fists as he stared at the digital clock on the wall. "Let him try."
---
At 08:55 AM, five minutes before the opening bell, Jake walked into the high-security trading floor of Sterling International Bank.
Unlike standard corporate office floors, this was a specialized institutional division reserved exclusively for ultra-high-net-worth liquidity operations. Dozens of top-tier quantitative traders sat before ultra-wide multi-monitor setups, their headsets adjusted, waiting in total silence.
When Jake stepped onto the floor, every single head turned.
To these traders, Jake Rivers wasn’t just another wealthy client. He was the Gold King—a legendary market operator who had executed multi-billion-mark positions in the global markets without recording a single losing trade. Working on one of his execution orders was considered the absolute pinnacle of a trading career.
Silas Thorne, who is also the head of the division, immediately stepped forward to meet him, holding an active tablet.
"Mr. Rivers," Silas said respectfully, keeping his voice brisk and professional. "All sixteen dedicated execution desks are online. We have direct market access routed through four offshore dark pools and two primary exchange gateways. Everything is primed for the opening bell."
Jake walked up to the master desk overlooking the main floor, looking at the massive wall screen displaying the live ticker for Newman Enterprise Group (NEG).
The pre-market price flashed: $142.50.
"Mr. Rivers," Silas noted, tapping a floating order block on his tablet. "Our intelligence indicates that the Newman Group secured an emergency credit line overnight—around five hundred million marks—probabbly intended to bid up their own stock the moment we start selling. They want to absorb our initial short volume and force a squeeze."
A cold, faint smile appeared on Jake’s face. He knew Stuart Sheele was behind that liquidity, but it didn’t change a single thing. He wanted the Newmans to spend every single cent they had borrowed trying to fight back, only to watch it crumble anyway.
"Let them spend it," Jake said calmly, leaning his hands on the edge of the master desk. "I don’t care if we take a temporary loss on the initial borrows. I’m not here to skim a quick profit on this trade, Silas. I want Newman Enterprise Group shorted to zero."
The room went dead quiet. The traders exchanged subtle, breathless glances. To throw hundreds of millions into an aggressive short campaign purely to erase a 142.5-billion-mark market cap was a move only a man with unyielding confidence and endless liquidity could execute.
"Understood, sir," Silas replied, his eyes lighting up with sharp professional intensity. He turned to face the entire floor, his voice booming across the room. "Listen up! Direct orders from Mr. Rivers! No passive laddering! The moment the clock hits 09:00, we flood the order book with market-on-open short blocks! Exhaust their buy wall!"
The digital clock on the wall ticked down in glowing red numbers:
08:59:58...
08:59:59...
09:00:00.
BZZZZZ!
The opening bell rang.
"EXECUTE!" Silas barked.
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