CHAPTER 3 — I SOLD MY COMPANY BEFORE THEY COULD LAUGH

The glass-walled conference room of Carter Logistics was dead silent.

Four senior board members sat around the mahogany table, staring at me like I had suddenly sprouted a second head. Across from them sat Marcus Vance, the lead representative for Apex Global Private Equity, holding a fountain pen mid-air over a stack of legal documents.

"Let me get this straight, Ms. Carter," Marcus said slowly, adjusting his silver rimless glasses. "You want to complete the full transfer of your controlling shares... today? Within the hour?"

"By noon, Mr. Vance," I said, tapping my knuckles against the polished wood. "And I don't want stock options, convertible bonds, or structured payouts. I want the twelve point five million dollars wired directly into my liquid cash holding account in full."

My Chief Financial Officer, Arthur, practically choked on his espresso.

"Mia, are you out of your mind?!" Arthur sputtered, dabbing his mouth frantically with a napkin. "Carter Logistics is experiencing a record quarter! We just expanded our fleet into three neighboring states! If you wait six months, the valuation will easily hit twenty million!"

"Six months?" I smirked, leaning back in my leather chair. "Arthur, in six months, paper money won't even be good for starting fires."

Arthur stared at me in total shock, then turned to the other board members and whispered, "It's the breakup. I told you. Ever since she kicked Jason out yesterday, her emotional state has completely collapsed."

"I heard that, Arthur," I said mildly. "And my emotional state is perfectly fine. What isn't fine is wasting another five minutes sitting in this room."

Marcus Vance looked at me intently. A shrewd, predatory glint flashed in his eyes. To an investor, an owner making an panicked, irrational cash sell-off after a personal scandal was a dream scenario.

"Twelve point five million, lump sum, immediate wire transfer," Marcus said, clicking his pen. "If we sign right now, my legal team will waive the standard thirty-day audit period and clear the escrow before twelve o'clock. But once it's signed, Ms. Carter, you forfeit all rights to the company's emergency reserves, real estate, and fleet assets."

"Sign it," I said, sliding the contract toward him.

"Mia, don't!" Arthur yelled, jumping out of his seat. "This is insane! You're throwing away your family legacy because of a fight with your boyfriend! Everyone in the industry is going to laugh you out of the room!"

"Let them laugh," I said, pressing the digital pen onto the electronic signature pad.

BEEP.

[Signature Verified. Transfer Approved.]

Within three minutes, my phone vibrated against the mahogany table.

Deposit Alert: +$12,500,000.00.

Current Total Available Balance: $12,514,450.00.

I stood up, smoothed down my blazer, and picked up my leather handbag. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Vance. Gentlemen, enjoy the company."

As I walked toward the glass doors, Arthur rushed up beside me, his face red with frustration.

"Mia, listen to me!" he pleaded, keeping his voice down. "Jason and Sabrina are downstairs in the lobby! They've been telling everyone from sales to reception that you had a mental breakdown! Jason is claiming you attacked him, and Sabrina is threatening to sue you for defamation!"

"Is that so?" I paused, looking down over the balcony railing into the grand marble lobby four floors below.

Jason was standing near the security desk wearing a cheap neck brace and dark sunglasses, holding a thick stack of printed papers. Sabrina stood beside him, waving her hands dramatically as a small crowd of my former employees listened in rapt attention.

"—she completely lost it!" Jason’s voice carried up the atrium. "She snapped! She sold her own car, canceled my corporate line, and assaulted me while I was sleeping! She’s liquidating everything because she’s mentally unstable!"

"She took my coat!" Sabrina added tearfully, dabbing her dry eyes. "She threw me out into the hallway in my socks! She needs medical help!"

I let out a low chuckle, pulling out my phone, and dialed the building's Chief of Security directly.

"Chief Henderson?" I said into the mic. "This is Mia Carter."

"Ms. Carter! I heard about the buyout—"

"I need a small favor before my security clearance expires in five minutes," I interrupted smoothly. "There are two trespassers in the main lobby harassing staff and spreading false claims about corporate leadership. One is wearing a fake neck brace, and the other is yelling about a coat."

"Say no more, Ms. Carter. We're on it."

Down in the lobby, four heavy-set security guards immediately converged on Jason and Sabrina from both sides.

"Wait—what are you doing?!" Jason squawked as a guard grabbed him firmly by his elbow, accidentally catching his fake neck brace and twisting it sideways. "Ouch! Hey! My neck!"

"Sir, you need to leave the premises immediately," Chief Henderson announced loudly, taking the stack of printed papers right out of Jason's hands and tossing them into the trash bin.

"Don't touch him!" Sabrina shrieked, slapping at a guard's arm. "Do you know who I am?! I'm Mia Carter's stepsister!"

"Ms. Carter just personally ordered your removal," Henderson replied flatly. "And as of two minutes ago, you are officially blacklisted from all Apex Global properties. Move it."

The entire lobby erupted into snickers and hushed laughter. Coworkers pulled out their phones, snapping photos of Jason trying to adjust his crooked neck brace while being dragged backward through the sliding glass doors alongside a screaming Sabrina.

I took a sip of my bottled water, watching them get dumped unceremoniously onto the hot sidewalk outside.

Ding!

A crisp, metallic notification chimed inside my mind.

[Host successfully executed public retaliation and finalized capital accumulation.]

[System Assessment: Highly Satisfying.]

[System Storage Progress: 50 Cubic Meters ➔ 80 Cubic Meters.]

[Bonus Reward Granted: $500,000 Direct Stockpile Subsidy!]

My mind's eye opened to reveal the vast, clean storage dimension expanding even further—now roughly the size of a small commercial warehouse floor.

I stepped into the elevator, hit the button for the underground parking garage, and pulled out my tablet.

"Twelve point eight million dollars," I muttered, opening a satellite blueprint map of the city’s surrounding industrial hills. "Time to buy a fortress."

Twenty minutes later, I drove my heavy SUV into the private driveway of a heavy steel-reinforced underground utility bunker on the outskirts of the city—a former Cold War military communications relay station listed by a private security contractor.

The broker, a grizzled veteran named Miller, wiped sweat from his neck as he unlocked the heavy three-inch steel vault door.

"It’s blast-proof, air-filtered, and sits on thirty feet of solid granite," Miller grunted, swinging the massive door open with a deep, metallic CREAK. "Has its own deep-water well and a independent septic system, but nobody wants to buy it because the interior is completely empty. Just raw concrete."

"I'll take it," I said without hesitation. "Cash. Full price."

Miller blinked, holding his key ring mid-air. "Uh... don't you want to inspect the air scrubbers first?"

"I'll pay an extra fifty thousand if your team can install two industrial diesel generators and three tons of reinforced steel shelving inside by tomorrow morning," I added, pulling out my digital transfer terminal.

Miller’s jaw dropped. "Tomorrow morning?! Miss, that's impossible work—"

"One hundred thousand extra," I said flatly. "Done or not?"

"Done!" Miller blurted out, slamming his hand onto the table. "I'll have three crews working overnight shifts!"

I stepped back out into the afternoon heat, leaning against my car as the transaction cleared. I pulled out my laptop, opening a wholesale bulk supply website, and began tapping the screen at lightning speed:

100 Barrels of Purified Drinking Water (20,000 Liters)

500 Cases of Instant Beef Noodles

200 Bags of Commercial White Rice (25 kg each)

300 Cans of SPAM & Corned Beef

50 Boxes of Broad-Spectrum Antibiotics & Trauma Surgical Kits

Click. Click. Click.

Orders were confirmed instantly across five different regional distributors, scheduled for express delivery directly to my new bunker starting at dusk.

Suddenly, my phone on the dashboard buzzed with a emergency news alert pop-up.

I looked down at the screen. A breaking news headline flashed in bold red text:

[LOCAL NEWS ALERT: Bizarre Outbreak at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital. Multiple Patients Display Violent Aggression and Resistance to Sedatives. Quarantine Protocol Implemented.]

I stared at the glowing screen as a cold breeze swept through the trees surrounding the bunker.

The first incident. It was starting forty-eight hours early.

I looked down at my system interface, watching my 80-cubic-meter space prepare to receive its first mountain of supplies.

"Bring it on," I whispered.