Arthur sat in the private conference room of the Federal Reserve building, though officially, he wasn't supposed to be there. No seat at the table bore his name, no public record acknowledged his presence. Yet everyone who mattered in the room—a dozen of the world's most powerful bankers, fund managers, and policymakers—glanced toward him before speaking, as though awaiting his approval.
He had become the invisible conductor of the world's economy.
"Interest rates cannot move without a chain reaction," one old banker argued nervously. "If we cut them now, inflation will roar. If we raise them, businesses collapse."
Arthur leaned back, eyes half-closed, as though bored. In truth, he was feeling the rhythm of the world's finances beating inside his mind. His System-enhanced perception wasn't limited to wealth accumulation anymore. He could almost hear the global economy like a living organism: the quickened breath of desperate corporations, the sluggish pulse of overleveraged nations, the weak throb of failing currencies.
And like a physician with a patient on the table, Arthur knew exactly where to press.
"Raise them," Arthur finally said, his voice calm, absolute.
The banker flinched. "B-but—"
Arthur's gaze sharpened, silencing him.
"Raise them," he repeated. "Those who are weak will collapse. And when they do, we will buy them."
It wasn't merely about money—it was about domination. By tightening the pulse of credit, Arthur could starve industries. Steel companies that refused to submit to him would suffocate. Oil magnates trying to resist his buyouts would choke. Even media conglomerates—so arrogant in their independence—would crumble when financing dried up.
He wasn't simply playing the market. He was playing the human condition. Fear, greed, desperation—Arthur knew they would all bend to the steady beat he controlled.
And so the dominoes began to fall.
Within weeks, dozens of companies that once mocked his name were on the brink of bankruptcy. Billionaire families who thought themselves untouchable were now on their knees, their assets frozen, their banks refusing to extend another dollar.
Arthur moved like a vulture disguised as a king—swooping in to "rescue" them, acquiring their companies, lands, and legacies for pennies on the dollar.
His empresses played their roles flawlessly:
Vivian ensured politicians looked the other way, passing bills that favored Arthur's acquisitions.
Foxy engineered "market rumors" that accelerated crashes in targeted companies.
Bianca rewrote entire economic forecasts, making Arthur's moves look like natural inevitabilities.
At night, when the empire gathered, Arthur told them what he already knew:
"The world doesn't realize it yet, but I have placed my hand on its chest. Every empire, every nation, every dynasty… beats to my pulse now. And I decide whether it races or whether it stops."
And his words weren't exaggeration. Across the continent, noble families who had survived wars, scandals, and rivalries for centuries were finally being brought low—not by swords, not by armies, but by the invisible heartbeat Arthur had taken hostage.