The Group A meeting was held in one of the glass-walled rooms of the library. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Oliver had arrived early, organizing folders with almost childlike enthusiasm, convinced that this was the beginning of his rise. Beside him, three scholarship students—his loyal followers—nodded at every word about "ethics" and circular economy.
Then Astrid entered.
The air seemed to compress. She carried nothing but a slim tablet and that cold, indifferent gaze that made Oliver feel like a novice. She sat at the far end of the table, crossing her legs with an elegance that clashed with the room's plastic chairs.
"Alright," Oliver began, clearing his throat to reclaim command. "Dr. Vance's rules are clear: we can only operate within the campus. The 100,000 euros must be recorded in the faculty's accounting system, and every transaction requires double validation. I've been thinking of a prepaid tutoring system and a self-managed network of organic cafés to employ low-income students."
Astrid let out a dry, barely audible laugh as her fingers glided across the tablet.
"Tutoring and coffee, Oliver…" she murmured, looking up. "You're planning a school fair, not a capital structure."
"It's social impact, Astrid," Oliver replied, clenching his fists. "The administrative system must be transparent. Dr. Vance will review the accounting every Friday at five o'clock sharp. There's no room for Adrián's games."
Astrid leaned forward, invading the table's space. The scholarship students recoiled, but Oliver stood firm, though his heart raced at her proximity.
"Let's talk about real rules," Astrid said. "If we operate only on campus, the market is closed: 15,000 students and 2,000 employees. The only way to multiply capital under audit is through Service Arbitrage. Oliver, your café plan is too slow. My proposal: create an Internal Microinsurance System and a Supplies Futures Market."
Oliver blinked, confused. "Supplies futures? At a university?"
"Paper, toner, software licenses, even central cafeteria reservations," Astrid explained with devastating speed. "We buy supply rights now and resell them internally during exam week; the margin is 40%. Legal, accountable, efficient."
The scholarship students began taking notes, dazzled. Oliver felt his control slipping, but the idea was too brilliant to reject without looking like an idiot.
"And the social impact?" he asked, seeking a moral anchor.
"The profits will fund your scholarship network," she replied with a cold smile. "But for it to work, I need full access to the accounting system keys. I must record orders before Adrián moves his piece."
Oliver hesitated. His instincts screamed not to hand over the keys to the kingdom, but seeing Astrid there, supposedly "helping" him, made him relent.
"Fine," he finally conceded. "I'll give you access as chief of finance. But remember: Dr. Vance supervises everything."
Astrid nodded, returning to her relaxed posture.
As Oliver detailed the logistics of the microinsurance system, Astrid's tablet vibrated. It wasn't from the group; it was Adrián, in the dean's office, closing a "sponsorship" deal for the university's network system.
Adrián: "Got the keys yet?"Astrid: "In my hand. Oliver thinks we're saving the world. The futures system I suggested him is linked to the distributors you bought this morning. He'll buy from us, thinking he's beating the market."Adrián: "Good job, that's my woman. Don't wear yourself out with that idiot. See you at six."
Astrid put away the tablet and looked at Oliver. He smiled, believing they were finally on the same team. She felt a shiver of contempt: it was so easy to manipulate someone who thinks they're morally superior. Every figure he entered into Oliver's "transparent" accounting flowed, in reality, into Valmont's indirect accounts. Oliver wasn't just losing the competition; he was financing his own administrative destruction.
At the end of the meeting, Astrid stood. Before leaving, she approached Oliver and adjusted the collar of his shirt—a gesture that left him frozen.
"Tomorrow we'll present the first report to Elena," she whispered. "Make sure to rehearse your 'hero' speech. We need her to keep believing in you… as much as you believe in me."
She left the room, leaving behind the scent of her dense perfume and the shadow of a betrayal Oliver would not see until the balance sheet hit zero.
The Group B meeting was not held in a library room. It took place in the executive lounge of the graduate building, a space Adrián had "reserved" with a brief call to the dean.
There were no whiteboards with ethical slogans or motivational murals. Everything was in order. Perfectly ordered.
Adrián did not sit at the head of the table. He chose a side armchair, black coffee in hand, laptop closed in front of him. Around him were the heirs of the campus's most influential families: young people accustomed to commanding from the cradle, who in his presence became parts of a larger mechanism.
"I'm not here to tell you what to do," he said, his voice low but filling the room. "You are the best in your fields. I chose you because I trust your judgment. The 100,000-euro fund is just the seed. Our goal is not to spend; it's to build infrastructure."
He turned to Julian, son of a telecommunications magnate.
"Julian, you control access to the university network. I don't want you developing apps. I want any platform we use to have priority bandwidth. Any external attempt should be unstable… but flawless for us."
"Understood," Julian said, noting metrics. "I can justify it as a system stress test."
Adrián turned to Sofía, logistics expert and heir to international ports.
"Sofía, don't buy supplies. Sign six-month exclusivity contracts with all campus vendors: stationery, food, printing. Use the fund for advances. Block the market. If anyone wants a paperclip, they'll have to ask us… or pay triple."
Sofía nodded, adjusting an Excel sheet on her tablet. "If we secure the production capacity of the three local print shops, any external initiative will be late."
During the meeting, Adrián listened to every proposal, evaluating silently, interrupting only to refine the plans. Every suggestion that passed through him became a stronger, more precise mechanism.
"Adrián," one proposed, "if we implement an internal digital currency for the executive café, we could collect consumption data from professors and sell the analytics to external brands."
Adrián processed the idea in seconds. "Perfect it," he said. "But don't call it digital currency. Call it the 'Academic Loyalty Program.' No one can object."
At the end of the meeting, he stood. No speeches, no motivation. Just one instruction:
"When Dr. Vance reviews the books on Friday, I want to see assets, not profits. Idle money is for those who don't know what to do with it. We will own the campus's means of production."
As they left, Julian approached. "Astrid is still with us, right?"
Adrián smiled, a cold smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
He paused for a few seconds, letting the statement hang in the air.
Then he simply stood and left, leaving behind the scent of black coffee and the certainty that nothing moving on campus would escape his control.
The hotel suite was bathed in warm light that failed to soften the austerity of the space. Adrián was reclined in a leather armchair, fingers interlaced behind his head, watching the reflection of the city at night. Selene stood by the table, back straight, her gold watch catching the lamp's glow.
"Adrián," she said, her measured voice commanding respect. "Before I accept, I need to understand exactly what my role is. I'm not interested in showing up for an audit just to be a figurehead."
He smiled slowly, letting the tension settle for a moment before speaking.
"Selene, you don't need to do anything for now," Adrián replied, with the calm of someone who knows he has already won. "You're here to safeguard the result, an insurance. If everything goes according to plan, you won't even have to lift a finger. But if someone decides to play dirty, you ensure nothing slips through."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "So I'm basically the emergency factor. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Exactly," Adrián said, standing and walking to the table. "Group B is already operational. My resources, my contacts, my team… everything is in motion. You only appear if something threatens the structure. Think of it as a last-resort parachute."
She crossed her arms, evaluating every word. "And the conditions? This isn't a favor."
"Simple conditions," he replied. "You participate officially as an external auditor. You'll be linked to the project; your participation is recorded in all reports. If the plan works as I expect, my profit percentage will adjust slightly to reflect your contribution: from 70/30 to 60/40, 60 for me, 40 for you. Nothing more."
Selene smiled faintly, accepting the arrangement. "Fine. I like clarity. And I like the security that, for now, I won't have to intervene directly."
"Perfect," Adrián said, returning to the armchair. "I want you to remember this: no one should suspect you're involved. For all intents and purposes, you're invisible, a mere name in the audit. Your power is discreet, silent."
She nodded, adjusting her watch, her gesture of approval as subtle as it was calculated.
"Then we are agreed." Selene opened the suite door, ready to leave. "And, Adrián… let no one forget I can appear at any moment."
"That's exactly what I expect," he replied, with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Selene left the hotel with the same calm she had entered. Adrián remained alone, contemplating the lit city, his mind already reviewing every move of Group A and Group B. Everything was under control. The contingency piece was in place, invisible, ready to activate only if necessary. And, as always, no one had any idea that the game was already practically won.