Chapter 11 - The Phantom Syndicate
For the first eight months of our renewed engagement, life was a masterclass in unapologetic bliss. Our custom estate, anchored by the sweeping, elegant lines of its mái nhật roof, stood as a silent, unshakeable guardian against the harsh coastal winds. Inside, our lives revolved around the warm, glowing heart of the home. I would often stand in our flawlessly designed twelve-square-meter kitchen, tracing the cold, indestructible edges of the custom 304 stainless steel cabinets, marveling at the sheer beauty of the sanctuary Ethan and I had rebuilt from the ashes.
Professionally, my empire had achieved a god-like status. APT was no longer just a digital marketing firm; it was a global monopoly. Our fleet of hyper-realistic, AI-generated Virtual KOCs had completely decimated the American market. To maintain our absolute dominance, I was ruthless about our operational efficiency. I had recently personally overseen the overhaul of our entire design department, analyzing the functional differences between their old software and upgrading them from Canva Edu to the fully unlocked Canva Pro. The premium asset libraries allowed my team to generate hyper-converting article thumbnails and ad creatives that drove our engagement metrics into the stratosphere.
I was at the absolute pinnacle of my power. But in a world driven by algorithms and shadow money, the higher you climb, the bigger the target on your back becomes.
It began on a rain-slicked Tuesday morning in early November. I was sitting at my mahogany desk in our downtown headquarters, meticulously drafting the nội quy lao động—the strict workplace rules required by the government labor authorities to legally register our new international representative office. Every signature had to be flawless.
Suddenly, my private, encrypted office line rang. The caller ID was restricted.
"Sarah," I answered smoothly, my pen hovering over the compliance document.
"I prefer the term 'thief'," a woman’s voice whispered through the speaker. It was a cold, aristocratic voice, dripping with inherited arrogance and absolute malice. "You took a market share that belonged to my family, Sarah. And I have come to collect."
I stiffened, my CEO instincts instantly shifting into overdrive. "Who is this?"
"Marcus was an arrogant, sloppy fool, but he was still my brother," the voice purred. "My name is Vivian Vance. You put him in a concrete box, destroyed his legacy, and thought you could just walk away to play house in your little steel kitchen."
The blood in my veins instantly turned to ice. Vivian Vance was a notorious shadow billionaire, a woman who operated entirely in the dark web, funding corporate espionage and political sabotage for the highest bidder.
"Your brother is in a federal penitentiary because he was a corporate terrorist," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal, unwavering register. "If you try to follow in his footsteps, Vivian, I promise you will be sharing a cell wall with him."
Vivian let out a chilling, hollow laugh. "I am nothing like Marcus. He relied on brute force. I rely on precision. I suggest you check your primary servers."
The line clicked dead.
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Seconds later, Chloe, my lead marketing director, burst through the double oak doors. Her face was entirely drained of color.
"Sarah," Chloe gasped, her hands trembling as she held out her tablet. "It’s our Virtual KOCs. The entire American launch. They’ve been hijacked."
