Leon's grandfather's office was a time capsule. The smell of old leather and polished wood. The massive, solid oak desk, clear of the sterile tech clutter Damien favored. On it sat a single, framed photograph: a younger version of Leon, maybe ten, being helped by his grandfather to fly a kite on a windswept hill. The city skyline was a blur in the distance behind them.
The ache that hit him was physical, a fist in his chest. It wasn't just grief. It was the weight of letting that man down. For a year, he'd carried that weight. Now, he let it settle, not as a burden, but as a foundation.
[Environmental Context Recognized: 'Legacy Heartground'.]
[Effect: 'Founder's Aura' potency temporarily increased. Emotional resonance enhances skill stability.]
He sat in the high-backed chair. It fit him differently than it used to.
Finch stood before the desk, placing a slim tablet on the surface. "Victoria Sterling. She owns 38% of the city's major media outlets, direct or indirect. Her blog, 'The Sterling Standard,' sets narrative trends. She is not a journalist. She is an arbitrageur of perception. She bet against Gray Star. You surviving, let alone fighting back, costs her real money."
"So she'll try to destroy my character before the 72 hours are up," Leon said, staring at the city. The Sterling Media Tower was a needle of black glass and arrogance visible in the distance. "Make me look unstable, vengeful. Scare the calculators on the board for good."
"Precisely. Her usual method is a cascade. A 'source-driven' piece on her blog at 6 PM. Syndicated across her networks by 7. Talk show pundits discussing the 'tragedy of a legacy undone' by 9. By morning, public opinion is set. Your audit becomes a 'coup.' Your motivations become 'spite.'"
Leon processed this. A direct denial would be useless. A legal threat would be slow and feed her narrative of him being litigious and paranoid.
The System pulsed softly in his vision.
[Mission Generated: 'Silence The Vulture']
[Primary Objective: Neutralize Victoria Sterling's narrative attack with a superior, legitimate counter-narrative.]
[Secondary Objective: Publicly expose her financial conflict of interest. Convert her arrogance into capital.]
[Constraint: You cannot buy her media outlets. Yet.]
[Reward: Variable Humiliation Points. Potential unlock: 'Media Perception' skill tree.]
He couldn't buy her. But he could bankrupt her credibility.
"Finch," Leon said, his eyes still on her tower. "What's her vanity?"
The old lawyer almost smiled. It was a terrifying sight. "Her charity. The 'Sterling Foundation for Ethical Journalism.' Annual gala is in three days. It's her night to be feted as a pillar of integrity. She curates the guest list like a dragon hoarding gold. An invitation is a social weapon. A denial is a slight."
An idea, cold and perfectly formed, clicked into place.
"Get me everything on that gala. The venue. The caterer. The event planner. The charity's board. And find me the one person she wanted most as a guest but couldn't get."
"That would be Eleanor Vance," Finch replied without hesitation. "The retired Chair of the Global Press Freedom Commission. A true legend. Hates Sterling's guts. Calls her 'a toxin in a Tiffany vial.' Sterling has asked her for five years running. Always rejected."
Leon's smile returned. "I want Eleanor Vance at that gala. As my guest."
"Impossible. She's a recluse. Hates the spotlight she spent a lifetime defending others from."
"She also hates Victoria Sterling," Leon countered. "And she loved my grandfather. They served on two boards together. Use that. Don't ask her to come for me. Ask her to come for him. To see what his grandson is trying to do. Frame it as an observation mission. A chance to look Sterling in the eye from inside her own castle."
Finch was silent for a long moment, reassessing the young man in the old chair. "That… is a non-zero possibility. But it doesn't stop the hit piece tonight."
"No," Leon agreed. "For that, we need to change the story before she can tell it." He tapped the System interface in his mind, pulling up his new balance. $2,850,000. "How much to hire, on a one-night contract, the three most respected, boring, and unimpeachable financial forensic journalists in the city? Not bloggers. Not pundits. The ones who write textbooks."
Finch named a figure. It was a large chunk of his newfound wealth.
[Action Analysis: Strategic Media Allocation. High Cost, High Potential Return.]
[Proceed?]
Proceed.
"Do it," Leon said. "Give them full, embargoed access to the initial Legacy Audit findings—the clean, financial conflict parts. Damien's shell companies, the stock manipulation timeline, Sterling's short positions. Have them in this building tonight. Let them see the documents, interview the audit team. Their piece will be dry, factual, and devastating. It won't be out tonight. It'll be out in 48 hours. In the Journal of Financial Ethics and its partner news wires."
He was creating a time-delay bomb of legitimacy to counter Sterling's fireworks of gossip.
"And for tonight?" Finch asked, already typing on his tablet.
"Tonight," Leon said, standing up. He walked to the window, looking at the Sterling Tower. "We give her a different story to chase. One she can't resist."
He opened a new tab on the office computer, accessing a high-end concierge service his grandfather had used. With a few clicks, he spent a staggering amount of his remaining money.
[Transaction: $150,000.]
[Service: 'Theatrical Logistics & Immediate Delivery.']
"What are you doing?" Finch asked, peering over.
"Ordering a carrot," Leon said. "A very, very shiny one."
Two hours later, at 5:45 PM, a delivery van bearing the logo of a legendary, by-appointment-only jeweler pulled up to the Sterling Media Tower's private entrance. A uniformed courier, carrying a black lacquered box, was ushered up to Victoria Sterling's penthouse office.
Leon watched via a live feed Finch had… acquired. The courier presented the box. Victoria Sterling, a woman in her fifties with a sharp, predatory beauty and ice-blonde hair, opened it with a curious smirk.
Inside, on black velvet, lay a breathtaking art deco brooch—a platinum vulture with diamond eyes, holding a single, large ruby in its claws. It was vicious, beautiful, and cost a fortune.
The attached card was simple, engraved.
'An admirer of your keen eye. A token, ahead of the conversation we should have.—L.G.'
Victoria Sterling's smirk vanished. She stared at the brooch, then at the card. Her face cycled through confusion, suspicion, and then a dawning, incredulous rage. He wasn't denying her. He wasn't begging. He was gifting her. A brooch of a vulture. It was an acknowledgment and an insult wrapped in staggering expense. It was a gauntlet thrown in silk.
She couldn't report on it. It would make her look unstable. "Billionaire Heir Sends Me Jewelry" wasn't a hit piece. It was a society column teaser. It muddied her narrative before she could even speak.
She picked up her phone, her movements jerky with anger. She likely canceled the 6 PM piece. It would need rewriting. The story had just gotten complicated.
In his office, Leon received the alerts.
[Primary Objective Progress: 40%. Target's opening narrative disrupted. Confusion introduced.]
[Humiliation Points: +25. Target: Victoria Sterling. Arrogance temporarily converted to furious calculation.]
[New Asset Unlocked: 'The Shining Carrot' (Temporary). Victoria Sterling is now personally, obsessively engaged. Hostility is focused, predictable.]
Finch let out a slow breath. "A $150,000 provocation. That is… a style all its own."
"It's a down payment," Leon said, turning from the screen. The System's balance was lower, but it felt more real now. It was a tool. A weapon. "Now, make the call to Eleanor Vance. And get those forensic journalists in here. We have work to do."
He looked back at the photograph on the desk. The boy with the kite.
I'm learning, Grandpa, he thought. They think the game is money. Or power. It's not. The game is the story. And I just bought the pen.
[Mission: 'Silence The Vulture' – Phase 1 Complete.]
[Phase 2: The Gala. Awaiting Initiation.]
The city's lights began to wink on below. The battlefield was no longer a boardroom. It was the front page, the social feed, the whispered rumor. And Leon had just announced he could play there, too.