Chapter 6: The Oracle's Gambit
The serviced apartment was a stark, temporary cocoon, a far cry from the opulent personality of his penthouse. For Luca, it was perfect. It was a command center, devoid of sentimentality. The only personal touch was a single, large monitor mounted on the wall, constantly streaming financial news feeds, satellite weather patterns, and encrypted communication channels.
Luca sat before it now, a sleek laptop humming on the glass desk before him. The first tranche of his illicit wealth—over four hundred million euros—was parked across a dozen offshore accounts. It was a formidable war chest, but it was static. To build his empire, he needed to make it grow exponentially. He needed to become a financial oracle, betting on the world's imminent collapse with god-like certainty.
He started with the obvious. Using a complex chain of brokerages and shell companies, he began taking massive short positions against the entire travel and tourism sector. Airlines, cruise lines, international hotel chains. He didn't just bet against them; he buried them under a mountain of leveraged puts and options, timed to expire just after the projected outbreak date. To any analyst watching, it would look like the most reckless, concentrated act of financial suicide in history. They couldn't see the loaded gun he knew was pointed at the industry's head.
Next, he turned to commodities and practical necessities. He began buying up futures contracts for diesel fuel, propane, industrial batteries, and bulk medical supplies, locking in current prices for delivery over the next nine months. The brokers thought he was funding a remote mining operation or a disaster relief NGO. They had no idea he was building the lifeblood for a post-apocalyptic citadel.
His most audacious move was in technology and energy. He took major positions in companies specializing in geothermal drilling equipment, advanced solar panel manufacturing, and water purification systems. He then used shell companies to anonymously purchase massive quantities of their products, directing them to his mountain site. He was not just investing; he was strip-mining the modern world for the technology that would allow him to survive its death.
The trades were executed with machinelike precision. There was no thrill, no gambler's high. Each click of the mouse was a clinical, calculated step. He was not a trader; he was a mortician, preparing the corpse of the global economy for burial.
A secure chat window pinged on his screen. It was Soo-jin.
SJ: The architect, Mr. Kim, and the engineering team have arrived at the mountain site. Preliminary survey is beginning. Initial reports confirm the structural integrity of the main bunker is sound, but the ventilation systems are archaic and the power grid connection is non-existent. SJ: Also, a delivery of "construction samples" from the German tech firm has arrived at the Busan port warehouse. Awaiting your instructions.
Luca typed a swift reply.
LM: Instruct the engineers that their first priority is independent power and air filtration. Geothermal and solar. Money is no object. Hire the best specialists in the world and offer them triple their rate to live on-site for the duration. LM: The shipment is to be broken down into smaller lots and moved to Storage Facility Gamma. Use the new team Bauer is recruiting for security on the move.
He leaned back, the leather chair creaking softly. The sheer scale of the operation was immense, a thousand spinning plates. It was a pressure that would have broken most men. For Luca, it was a focusing agent. The complexity silenced the ghosts. There was no room for the memory of Soo-ah's screams when his mind was consumed by logistics of geothermal drilling and futures contracts.
His phone buzzed—a different phone, a cheap burner. Only one person had that number. Valentin.
"Mr. Moretti. I have the information you requested on the ballet company. A particular swan seems to have caught your eye. Her name is Elena. Russian. Here on a six-month visa. Ambitious. She has… expensive tastes. She often dines alone at the café in the Cheil Building after rehearsals."
"Thank you, Valentin." Luca ended the call.
He allowed himself a five-minute break, pulling up the company's roster online. He found her picture. Elena Volkova. She was ethereally beautiful, with pale blonde hair swept into a severe bun and piercing blue eyes. She possessed a graceful fragility that stood in stark contrast to the hardened women of the wasteland he remembered. She was a relic of a dead world, beautiful and utterly doomed.
A plan, cold and precise, formed in his mind. She wasn't just a diversion; she was a symbol. A piece of the old world's beauty that he would possess and protect, a testament to his power to defy fate itself.
He stood and walked to the closet, selecting a simple black Brunello Cucinelli sweater and trousers. He wasn't going to overwhelm her with a suit of armor. He would approach her as a connoisseur, a man of refined taste. The predator would wear the skin of a patron.
He left the apartment, his mind already shifting from billions of dollars and tons of equipment to the simple, delicate art of a first encounter. Both were forms of conquest. Both required absolute focus. And both were essential to building his new world.