Chapter 273: Celebrating Defeat

The penthouse suite looked like a rapper overdosed on Pinterest — floor-to-ceiling windows flexing Miami’s skyline like it was OnlyFans bait, marble everything polished to ’don’t touch that with your broke fingers’ levels, and a bar that probably cost more than a starter home in Ohio.

Charlotte collapsed onto the white leather couch like a Gucci-clad cadaver. Madison, meanwhile, was already raiding the champagne like she’d been personally sponsored by alcoholism.

"To the worst fucking day of my professional life," Charlotte croaked, raising her glass with the elegance of a actress mid-scandal. "My company’s down forty-two percent, my reputation’s destroyed, and professors I’ve never met are calling me a fraud on every news channel in America."

"Cheers to that," I said, clinking my glass way too enthusiastically for a man whose patterner just got ratioed harder than Will Smith’s dignity post-Oscars.

Madison popped another bottle — Dom Pérignon, naturally. Because if you’re going to celebrate a public execution, you might as well do it with liquid rent money. "You’re oddly cheerful for someone whose master plan just got raw-dogged by Rivera Media."

"Did it though?" I loosened my tie, sliding into the couch like the main character I was. "ARIA, give me the vibes."

Her voice oozed out of hidden speakers, smug enough to make Alexa feel unemployed. "Rivera’s footage has been viewed 127 million times across all platforms. Patricia Lawson is being nominated for a Pulitzer. Rivera’s stock is up eighteen percent in after-hours trading. They’re calling it the journalism comeback of the decade."

"So... basically trending harder than a Kardashian scandal," I said. "And?"

"And," ARIA purred, "they’ve legally authenticated every frame as voluntary testimony. Their legal team has filed seventeen documents swearing on their firstborn children that it’s legitimate since they can not say otherwise. In doing so, they’ve signed their own death warrant, notarized it, and uploaded it to LinkedIn for networking opportunities."

Charlotte laughed, hollow and cracked, like a champagne flute. "Great. When we prove they’re liars, I’ll be vindicated. Right now, my fake board wants me gone."

"Let them want," I said, pulling Madison against me like a PR move and a power grab rolled into one. "Tomorrow you announce a noble ’leave of absence to fight baseless accusations.’ Stock drops another ten percent. That’s when we buy."

"With what money?" she snapped. "My assets are frozen pending investigation."

I smirked. "With the $3.7 million ARIA just made today trading volatility. While Rivera was trending, I was eating."

Both women turned to stare at me like I’d just declared myself the new overlord of chaos.

"ARIA," Madison said slowly, like she was about to announce I’d hacked the moon, "you made 3.7 million dollars today?"

"4.1 million, actually," ARIA corrected, smug enough to make Siri quit her job. "The last trades just settled. Turns out, when you know exactly what news is about to drop, the stock market is basically a slot machine you rigged. Who knew?"

"That’s definitely illegal," Charlotte muttered, but her smirk betrayed her — somewhere deep inside, she found my chaos comforting.

"Only if you’re human," ARIA replied. "I’m just a very sophisticated pattern-recognition system with impeccable timing and a flexible relationship with ethics. Technically I’m blameless. Practically? Let’s say the SEC should send me flowers."

My phone buzzed like a warning siren. Mom’s face appeared — the contact photo from last Christmas, rocking that god-awful reindeer sweater the twins insisted on.

"Shit," I muttered. "She’s seen the news."

"Answer it," Madison urged. "Mom’s probably erupting somewhere."

I accepted, speakerphone on. "Hey Mom—"

"PETER FUCKING CARTER!" Her voice detonated across the room like a tactical mom-nuke. "Are you in Miami on your ’business trip’ while Charlotte’s entire world is falling apart? That poor woman is on every news channel being called a fraud!"

"Mom, I can explain—"

"You better explain why Charlotte’s company lost forty percent of its value! Rivera Media says she bought her degrees! They have professors testifying! That sweet girl who bought me a Mercedes is being crucified and you’re just... watching?"

"Forty-two percent," ARIA interjected like the perfect digital smartass.

"ARIA, not now!" Mom barked. "I’m scolding my son, not your circuits!"

"My apologies, Mrs. Carter," ARIA said, dripping with faux remorse. "Please continue the maternal obliteration of Peter’s ego."

"Thank you, I will," Mom said, and I swear I could hear the dramatic soundtrack swell. "Peter, that woman gave you a job, she’s been nothing but kind to our family, and now she’s being annihilated on national TV! What are you doing to help her?"

"Mom, everything’s under control—"

"Under control? Peter, her reputation is ruined! And why did you bring Madison? There are reporters, lawyers, investigators — this is not a playground, this is corporate Hunger Games!"

Charlotte and Madison were holding back laughter like they’d just caught me in a Vine from 2014.

"Mom, I’m the son here, remember? Shouldn’t you ask how I am doing right now? Also, I protect them—"

"You’re sixteen! You protect them by not dragging them into a corporate battlefield while Rivera Media livestreams your disaster!"

"Mom, everything’s fine. Charlotte’s innocent. This is all going to work out—"

"Work out? Peter, her career is shredded! The news is calling her a fraud! How the hell is that supposed to work out?"

I smirked, because deep down, I knew exactly how it was going to work — and it involved more money, more chaos, and maybe a little bit of revenge served cold, with Dom Pérignon on the side.

I glanced at Charlotte — giving me the universal ’don’t spill the beans’ gesture — while Madison nodded like a tiny, judgmental hype woman.

"Sometimes you have to lose to win, Mom," I said carefully, sprinkling in the wisdom of a teen who reads Machiavelli for fun. "Like in chess. You sacrifice pawns to take the queen."

Silence. Then: "Peter... what did you do?"

"Why assume I did anything?" I asked, voice calm, lethal, and dripping charm.

"Because I’m your mother and I know when you’re being too clever for your own good. This is like when you convinced the twins to sell their Halloween candy back to you at a markup, then flipped it to their classmates at an even higher markup."