Novel Full Chapter 947: The Banker’s Deal 2
Chapter 947: The Banker’s Deal 2
Elise Montclair picked it up carefully, examining it with the curiosity of someone who’d seen the QT-7 holographic watches and knew Quantum Tech in partnership with Liberation Holdings produced miracles—probably the same way people once stared at fire and wondered if the gods were fucking with them.
The moment her fingers made full contact, the glass shimmered. Transformed. Right there in her hands, that transparent piece of nothing became a fully functional tablet—sleek, responsive, with a holographic interface that sprang to life like it had been waiting for her touch its whole life.
Liberation Funds’ Premium Tier contract bloomed in glowing annotations, floating between us like a promise nobody else in the building could even dream of affording.
"Where do you get this technology?" Elise breathed, her professional composure cracking like cheap glass under pressure as she stared at the device like it had just materialized from another dimension and personally insulted her entire career.
I chuckled—low, easy, the sound of someone who knew exactly how ridiculous this shit was and still enjoyed watching people realize it.
"This isn’t the first time you’ve seen our tech."
First the Quantum watches at the auction—the tuned-down consumer version we showed to people who need to feel like the future is approaching gradually
"—and now you’re watching this. The real version. The one we don’t advertise because explaining it would require too many NDAs and too much therapy."
The tablet was already reading the contract aloud in AR.NuN’s smooth, professional voice—the kind we used when we wanted her to sound like something other than an AGI disguised as a normal AI.
Key terms highlighted themselves in holographic gold, floating like expensive jewelry nobody else could touch.
"Apart from the money," I continued, leaning back like we were discussing the weather instead of rewriting the rules of high finance, "most people at that auction were interested in the technology too. You’re not unique in that regard, Elise. But you’re unique in being smart enough—and hungry enough—to actually pursue it instead of just staring and pretending you understood what you were looking at."
She looked up from the tablet, eyes bright with something between greed and genuine admiration—the look of a predator who’d just realized the prey was carrying a bigger gun and didn’t mind sharing. "This is..."
"Incredible? Revolutionary? Years ahead of anything else on the market?" I supplied helpfully, because why make her struggle when I could just hand her the words. "Yeah, we know. And it’s yours. Along with Premium Tier access."
"You said, the minimum is two billion," she said carefully, her banker brain already running the numbers like a high-speed calculator with a cocaine habit. "I do not have that m—"
"For most people, yes. But for you?" I leaned forward slightly, just enough to make the air between us feel personal. "Eight hundred million gets you in. Full Premium Tier benefits."
Elise’s breath caught—barely, but I heard it. The sound of a woman who’d spent her career winning negotiations suddenly realizing she might be the one being negotiated with. "That’s... that’s less than half the standard minimum."
"Your returns scale with your investment, obviously. But you get all the Premium benefits regardless of amount—the custom AI portfolio management that makes traditional algos look like children playing with blocks, the dedicated quantum processing allocation that laughs at Moore’s Law, first-right-of-refusal on our major deals, direct partnership with Liberation Holdings’ strategic acquisitions team."
I gestured at the tablet still displaying contracts in her hands like it had decided to become furniture.
Then tapped the corner twice.
It expanded.
Not the display—the physical device itself. The glass and frame extending outward smoothly, triple in size right there between her fingers like it was stretching its legs after a long nap.
The holographic interface grew with it until it filled the space between us like a window made of light, every Liberation Funds dashboard metric hanging in the air at presentation scale—numbers dancing, graphs pulsing, profits compounding in real time like they were showing off.
Elise pulled her hands back slightly, startled—like the thing had just licked her.
"Collapses back down for travel," I said casually, like I was explaining how a folding chair worked. "Expands to whatever size the room needs."
I tapped it again—it shrank back to the original sleek rectangle, calm and impossible, sitting there like it hadn’t just violated several laws of physics for fun. "And point it at any screen in any room—"
I aimed it at the monitor above and watched its interface bleed onto the display without asking permission, taking over like it owned the place, "—it takes over. You can run a full boardroom presentation from that thing without bringing anything else. No cables. No adapters. No excuses. And it runs with your thoughts, no need to word command, you just think and it does as you wish."
She stared at the monitor. Then back at the tablet. Then at me—like she was trying to decide whether to kiss it, fuck it, or burn it.
"You’ll get your personal QT-7 watch—the real version, not the consumer model they sell to people who think holograms are a party trick. And that tablet you’re holding? It’s yours. Consider it a welcome gift for being our first Premium Tier client. When the money it transferred, you’d also become our partner and get up to a certain number of the watches and tablet. But the most important here your investment returns, do not get fooled so much by the tech, dear our first client."
"First?" she repeated, voice catching on the word like it tasted expensive.
"We have Platinum clients—Quantum Tech, Torres Developments, a few other of the core partners. But you’d be the first Premium outside our core partnerships. That makes you... special."
Elise set the tablet down carefully, like it might explode if handled roughly. Her fingers traced the edge almost reverently, the way people touch things they both fear and crave.
"With this tablet," I explained, "you won’t need a phone, laptop, or any other device. It interfaces directly with Liberation Funds’ systems, provides real-time portfolio updates, and includes security features that make government encryption look like a diary lock. Biometric authentication tied to your DNA, quantum encryption that would take classical computers longer than the heat death of the universe to crack, self-destruct protocols if anyone tries to hack it."
"It does what?"
"Self-destructs. At the molecular level. Leaves nothing but expensive paperweights behind if someone tries unauthorized access. We don’t fuck around with security, Elise. Your money, your data, your privacy—all of it matters to us. Mostly because if someone steals it, they steal from me. And I take that personally.
"Should you be in any trouble it alerts us and the police at once, but most importantly, it warns you before that happens. And your safety is guaranteed with us." I did not tell her if we consider her irreplaceable, our drone would be there.
Why scare her?
She was silent for a long moment, fingers still on that tablet, mind clearly running calculations that had nothing to do with Sterling’s loan anymore—probably calculating exactly how many board members she could quietly ruin with this thing before breakfast tomorrow.
"So," I said quietly, "do we have a deal? You sell me Sterling’s 23-billion-dollar loan—I’ll pay 25 billion for it, give you a nice profit for your bank—and in return, you get Premium Tier access for eight hundred million. Your tech. Your returns. Your partnership with the most revolutionary financial operation currently existing."
Elise looked at me—really looked—and I could see the moment she decided. The moment the banker realized she wasn’t negotiating with another banker. She was negotiating with something else entirely.
"Deal."
She left first.
I stayed in the empty room for a moment. The gallery murmured beyond the walls—champagne flutes clinking, polite laughter, people existing in comfortable ignorance of what had just happened twenty feet away.
Somewhere out there, Edward Sterling was having a normal evening. Probably networking. Probably laughing at someone’s joke. Still thinking his empire was his.
He’d come to our house. Called my mother a slut.
I stood, straightened my jacket, and walked back out.
ARIA.
"Ninety-two days after transfer," she said through bone conduction, smug and unhurried. "Give or take a week, depending on how creatively he panics."
Good.
Three weeks for the paperwork. Three months after that.
Then it would be over.
And Edward Sterling would finally understand what it felt like to lose everything.
Karma’s a bitch.
But I make her look like an amateur.