All Chapters of The Trillionaire System: Chapter 51 - Chapter 57

The night was long in Kane Veylor’s mansion, but sleep didn’t dare come near the men who served him. The air was thick with tension, heavy with smoke and the sharp tang of whiskey. Kane’s inner circle had gathered again in the grand hall, but this wasn’t the calm strategy session of a ruler in control. This was the council of a king whose throne had been shaken.Kane sat at the head of the table, his massive frame leaning forward, eyes burning with fury. Around him, lieutenants shifted nervously, waiting for the storm to break.And Marcus Dale, sitting two seats down, felt the weight of Kane’s gaze like a blade pressing against his throat.Marcus Under the LensMarcus had been in the room for less than fifteen minutes, but already his shirt clung to his back with sweat. Kane hadn’t called him out, hadn’t spoken his name, but every time those burning eyes swept across the table, Marcus knew. Kane was looking at him. Testing him.For years, Marcus had lived in Kane’s shadow, carrying ou

The rain weakened to a mist by dawn, leaving the docks slick and silver. Sirens never came. No uniforms asked questions. The city pretended not to notice—like it always did when devils and upstarts drew lines in the dark.Kane Veylor noticed.Kane: Raising the Black FlagThe mansion’s war room smelled of damp wool and burnt tobacco, a sour perfume of defeat and defiance. Kane stood at the head of the long table, coat still wet from the night, water ticking from the hem onto the marble. His lieutenants ringed the room, faces pallid with exhaustion and fear.Four stretchers sat against the far wall, men groaning under bloodied bandages. Not dead—embarrassed. Kane preferred humiliation as a prelude to discipline. It allowed fear to marinate.Rourke tried to speak first. “Boss—”“Quiet,” Kane said without looking at him.Silence folded over the room. Kane set his palms on the table and leaned in, knuckles whitening. “He lured us. Me. He cut our lights. He fried our comms. He took my men a

The East District was never truly dark. Even at midnight, the streets glowed with the lurid pinks and blues of neon signs advertising noodle stalls, nightclubs, and cheap motels. Steam rose from sewer grates, mixing with the tang of frying oil and exhaust fumes. To most of the city, this was just another restless night. To Gamma Team, it was a test of loyalty, faith, and survival.The Convoy Rolls InFive SUVs rolled through the narrow lanes, tires splashing through shallow puddles. Their matte-black paint drank in the neon light, turning them into moving shadows.Marcus rode shotgun in the lead car, his rifle across his knees, jaw set tight. His reflection stared back at him from the rain-streaked window—a face hardened by years under Kane, yet marked tonight by something more dangerous: doubt.The men in the back seat argued in low voices.“Light envelopes again,” one muttered bitterly. “Three hundred short this time. Don’t tell me that’s an accident.”“Shut up,” his partner hissed.

The mansion never slept, not anymore. Where once there had been the rhythm of power—businessmen arriving in the evenings, politicians leaving before dawn, soldiers laughing in the courtyards—now there was only tension. Guards paced in pairs, lieutenants whispered in alcoves, and everywhere, Kane’s shadow stretched long.Marcus could feel it in the walls. The empire was sick, but the disease wasn’t Ethan Cross. It was Kane’s paranoia, spreading faster than any rival could.Kane Calls His CourtThe summons came before dawn. Men shuffled into the war room, boots echoing on marble, rifles slung but unnecessary—nobody dared draw a weapon in Kane’s presence unless ordered.The war room itself felt more like a throne chamber. A long mahogany table stretched toward the far wall where massive windows overlooked the city. The blinds were half-drawn, allowing slits of gray morning light to cut through smoke that hung heavy in the air.Kane stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, eyes