Chapter 283: Natasha

The elevator’s dark wood and gold fixtures seemed to absorb the light around us, creating an atmosphere of hushed, opulent secrecy. Through my glasses, ARIA was tracking movement throughout the club, her digital voice a soft, urgent whisper in my ear. "Webb just entered through the VIP entrance, Master.

He’s heading for meeting room 4B. Someone’s already waiting for him there – someone who’s probably not there to discuss the weather."

The doors slid open onto a hallway that screamed old money paranoia – thick walls, no windows, doors that could probably stop a bullet. The air was heavy with the scent of leather and cigar smoke, a noxious perfume that clung to everything it touched. Veronica led me to a conference room where three people sat behind a mahogany table that belonged in a museum.

The membership committee.

The man in the center was a silver-haired patriarch, his eyes calculating and cold, a face that had never smiled at anything that wasn’t profitable. To his left, a woman who could have been anywhere from forty to sixty, preserved by money and probably other, more sinister means like Virgin Blood.

To his right, a younger man, maybe thirty-five, with the dead eyes of someone who’d made his fortune in ways that would horrify normal people.

"Please, sit," the chairman said, gesturing to a chair across from them, his voice a low, smooth purr. "I understand you’re interested in membership, Mr. Carson."

I took my seat, my eyes locked on theirs, a subtle challenge. "I am," I said, my voice a low, deliberate growl.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, her gaze a cold, calculating assessment. "MIT graduate, sold Inference AI to Google, founded Nexum Technologies...impressive track record for someone so young, Mr. Carson." ARIA’s fabricated identity was holding up perfectly, a seamless facade that fooled even the most discerning eyes.

"Technology investments. Artificial intelligence, specifically. I’ve been fortunate with several ventures."

"Fortunate enough for our membership fees?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge.

"I imagine so. What are we discussing?"

"Four hundred thousand initially," the younger man said. "Annual dues of one hundred thousand. Plus participation in club investments as opportunities arise."

The younger man’s eyes flicked to the card I produced, a black card that shouldn’t exist – the System’s Limitless Card, connected to nothing and everything simultaneously.

"I assume you take card?" I asked, my voice a low, arrogant drawl.

The chairman’s eyes fixed on the card, his expression a mixture of fascination and fear. "That’s...unusual, Mr. Carson." The machine hummed, and then something interesting happened.

"Master, their trace programs just crashed. Hard," ARIA whispered urgently. "The Limitless Card doesn’t just refuse tracing – it actively attacks anything trying to analyze it. They’re impressed and terrified."

Numbers appeared, the transaction processed. "Transaction approved," the terminal announced, its voice a cold, mechanical tone.

The committee stared at the confirmation, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. The money was real, but completely untraceable – a true marvel of modern finance.

"New financial technology," I explained. "Quantum encryption, blockchain-backed, completely untraceable. The future of wealth management."

"Congratulations, Mr. Carson," the chairman said slowly, his voice a low, measured tone. "Welcome to the Meridian Club. Veronica will provide your membership materials and access credentials."

As Veronica led me back to the elevator, her smile was a subtle, calculated gesture, a hint of the seductress she was trained to be. "You know, I don’t have to leave immediately, Mr. Carson," she said, her voice a low, husky whisper. "I could show you around properly. Give you the...full tour."

The way she said ’full’ left no doubt about what she was offering – a subtle, seductive smile that promised much more than just a tour.

ARIA’s voice was practically cackling in my ear, her digital tone laced with amusement. "She’s definitely trying to hook you, Master. Former escort habits die hard. Also, Webb is now in meeting room 4B with someone interesting – facial recognition suggests it’s Helena Voss herself."

Helena Voss, the former CIA operations director, meeting with Webb in a private room – a development that was both intriguing and potentially explosive.

"I’d appreciate that, Veronica," I said, letting her loop her arm through mine, my voice a low, smooth purr. "I like to understand all aspects of my investments – personally and professionally."

Veronica’s smile was a subtle, seductive gesture, a hint of the pleasures that lay ahead. "All aspects, Mr. Carson," she repeated, pressing closer. "I can definitely help with that."

As we stood near the stairwell to the meeting rooms, Veronica’s smile was a subtle, calculated gesture, a hint of the seductress she was trained to be. "The fourth floor is restricted to senior members initially," she explained, her voice a low, husky whisper. "But I have access. If you wanted to see...the inner sanctum."

I smiled, a cold, calculated gesture, and replied, "Maybe later. I’m curious about the bar first. I noticed some interesting people there – people who might be worth getting to know."

She pouted slightly, but recovered quickly, her face a mask of practiced seduction. "Of course. The bar is where most of the real business happens anyway – where the players come to play, and the stakes are always high."

As she led me back down, still pressed against my side like she was trying to merge with my suit, ARIA fed me updates through my neural glasses. "Webb and Helena are discussing the Quantum Tech acquisition, Master. She’s not happy about the professor footage being released – thinks it was premature, that someone forced their hand. The plot thickens, and the players are getting restless."

Through the glasses, I could see heat signatures from the room above, two figures seated across from each other, their body language a subtle dance of power and manipulation.

At the bar, Veronica ordered us drinks – whiskey, a liquor so rare it was almost...illicit. The brunette from earlier was still there, still watching me with interest, her eyes a piercing gaze that seemed to bore into my very soul.

"That’s Natasha Volkov," Veronica whispered, noticing my glance, her voice a low, husky tone. "Dmitri’s daughter. Be careful with that one – she collects men like trophies, and discards them when they’re no longer useful."

Dmitri Volkov’s daughter, one of the three vultures, had family here, a connection that could be...interesting. "Is family membership common?" I asked, my voice a low, deliberate drawl.

"Oh yes," Veronica said, her hand finding my thigh under the bar, a subtle, seductive gesture. "The Meridian is very much about legacies – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. Though some relationships here are more...complicated – let’s just say that not every young woman here is actually someone’s daughter, if you understand my meaning."

Mistresses posing as relatives, a classic move in the world of high-stakes power games. I smiled, a cold, calculated gesture, and replied, "I think I do."

"Master, Helena just said something interesting," ARIA interrupted, her digital voice a soft, urgent whisper. "She mentioned that Vincent’s ’special resources’ might need to be activated if the situation deteriorates further – a veiled threat, or a promise of things to come?"

Special resources, a phrase that sounded ominous, a hint of the darker forces at play.

"You seem distracted," Veronica observed, her hand climbing higher on my thigh, a subtle, seductive gesture.

"Just taking it all in," I said, catching her wrist gently, my voice a low, smooth purr. "It’s a lot to process – the players, the games, the stakes."

"I could help you process it," she offered, shameless as ever, her voice a low, husky whisper. "Privately – in a way that would be...most enjoyable for you."

Before I could respond, movement on the stairs caught my attention. Marcus Webb was descending, alone, his face a mask of stress and anxiety. Helena must have left through another exit, a subtle, calculated move to avoid detection.

He looked older than his forty-something years, carrying the weight of dirty money and dirtier deeds, a man consumed by the very power he wielded. He moved through the crowd toward the bar, ordering a drink with hands that shook slightly, a subtle sign of his growing unease.

"Who’s that?" I asked Veronica, playing ignorant, my voice a low, deliberate drawl.

"Marcus Webb," she said, her voice dropping, a hint of warning. "He handles...special projects for some of our more prominent members – not someone you want to cross, unless you’re looking for a world of trouble."

"Or someone very valuable to know," I countered, my eyes locked on Webb, a subtle, calculated assessment.

She studied me with new interest, her gaze a cold, calculating evaluation. "You’re not just here for the networking, are you?" she asked, her voice a low, husky tone.

"I’m here for opportunities," I said simply, my voice a low, smooth purr. "All kinds – the kind that can change the game, and the players."

Webb was three seats down, nursing his whiskey like medicine, a man consumed by his own demons. Through my glasses, ARIA was already pulling up everything about him – his routes, his habits, his vulnerabilities, a digital dossier that would prove...useful.

But more importantly, she’d identified Helena Voss as his handler, one level up from Webb, probably reporting directly to Vincent, Dmitri, and Antonio, a subtle, calculated move to maintain control.

The chain of command was becoming clear, a hierarchy of power and manipulation that was both fascinating and terrifying.

"Another drink?" Veronica asked, her persistence admirable, her voice a low, husky whisper.

"Why not," I said, keeping Webb in my peripheral vision, a low, smooth purr. "The night’s just getting interesting – and the players are just getting started."