Chapter 9 — Seventy-Eight Billion And The President Has No Heir

After the incident at warehouse No. 17, Vu took me to the group's safe room.

The place had no windows, only a conference table, two monitors and a fireproof filing cabinet. I hated the room from the first moment. It makes it look like a war that has been in the works for years, when I just picked up the lottery ticket less than a month ago.

“What accident have you had?” I asked.

Vu took off his watch and placed it on the table.

"I discovered that my father's investment fund was withdrawn through ghost companies. The day I was about to announce it, the yacht exploded."

“How do you live?”

"A captain rescued me. Then I was in a rehabilitation facility in Singapore. I let them think I was dead because they wanted to see who would rush to sign on my behalf."

I looked at him.

“And now you know?”

"Khai signed seventeen contracts. Chau set up three smear campaigns. The person my father trusted the most transferred his shares to his wife's name."

Hoang Nam turned on the projector. Vinh's phone records show a name: Ta Quang Lam, former chief auditor of Tan Cuong. Lam quit his job right before I was fired.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“A tea farm in Lam Dong,” Vu replied. “But he doesn't want to see me.”

I suggest going. Vu refused, saying I had become a target. I pointed to the profile.

"They used my signature. I'm the only one who can prove the system was compromised."

Finally, he agreed on the condition that I go with the security team.

Before leaving the room, Vu placed an envelope on the table.

"This is the new alliance contract. If something happens to me, the voting rights of the shares I authorized will transfer to you."

I'm not open.

“Are you using me as your heir?”

“I have no heir.”

“That sounds like the opening line of a marriage contract.”

Vu smiled softly.

“I have no intention of marrying a shareholder.”

My phone vibrates. Khang sent a photo of the newly rented kitchen, a small room with a window overlooking the alley.

“I signed the contract,” the message read. "I don't need your money. I want to try."

I looked at the two envelopes in front of me: one for the president with no heirs, one for the husband who just wanted a kitchen.

I put both in my pocket, knowing that from today, money and love will both require me to choose.