Arthur stood before a sprawling digital map projected in his Manhattan war room. Every light represented a corporation, a noble family estate, or an old-money banking house across North America. Red lights pulsed—targets struggling under debt. Green lights glowed—assets already under his control. And yellow blinked—still resisting, though weakening by the day.
"The heart beats," Arthur murmured to himself, recalling the empire he had just tightened with interest rates. "Now the blood must flow."
The empresses gathered around him like stars orbiting their sun. Vivian's political insight had weakened laws protecting old dynasties. Foxy had spread rumors that slashed the credibility of his enemies' stock. Bianca had already forecasted their collapse. But the arteries needed more than numbers—they needed conduits of loyalty.
Arthur didn't just buy companies. He absorbed families.
In Boston, the Harrington shipping dynasty resisted him at first. Their great-great-grandfather had built a maritime empire, and they prided themselves on being untouchable. Arthur visited their mansion personally, not as a businessman, but as an emperor.
"I don't want your ships," Arthur told the trembling patriarch, his System amplifying his presence until the old man felt as if a king of ancient days stood before him. "I want your bloodline to serve me. Your heirs will marry into my network. Your fortune will flow into my arteries. Refuse, and your family name will drown in debt until history forgets it existed."
Two weeks later, the Harrington crest flew beneath the Ashford banner.
Similar stories unfolded across North America.
The Montclairs of Chicago lost their rail networks, forced to integrate into Arthur's logistics monopoly.
The Ruiz family of Texas, oil magnates for generations, collapsed under orchestrated shortages until they begged Arthur to absorb them.
The O'Briens of New York, proud financiers once allied to rival noble houses, bent their knees when Arthur saved them from orchestrated political ruin.
Each conquest was not just an acquisition—it was a transfusion. Arthur had turned families into veins, their wealth and loyalty flowing directly into his imperial system.
But with growth came opposition.
A coalition of surviving nobles, whispering under the name The Old Guard, began plotting in secret. They had seen empires rise and fall. They thought Arthur was just another tyrant, another rich man destined to burn. What they didn't understand was that Arthur wasn't playing by their rules. He wasn't another family vying for dominance.
He was reshaping the entire organism.
Late at night, as Arthur stood at the balcony of his skyscraper fortress, looking over the endless lights of New York, he clenched his fist.
"Finance is the heart," he whispered. "The families are my arteries. Soon, the Old Guard will learn… you cannot fight a living empire. You can only submit to its blood."
Behind him, Nora wrapped her arms around his waist, her voice a whisper of both devotion and steel.
"Then let us make sure, Arthur," she said, "that every drop that flows belongs only to you."
And with each passing day, it did.