Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet

"Money," the Church muttered after a brief silence.

"Damn it, you think I haven't thought of that?" Ray Munroe retorted angrily. "How much would I even have to pay William Devonshire to get him involved?"

"Then let's rephrase it—offer him a deal with enough benefits to make him interested. I can't see a money-hungry person like William turning down a good deal. Ray, I know William well, or else you wouldn't have called me here as the soon-to-be former CIA chief. Negotiating with him is far more stable than bombing Devonshire Plaza. Otherwise, you'd better hope we don't get caught."

The Church continued, "William Devonshire isn't just ruthless; he's cold-blooded. He might even direct his revenge at our families. Don't tell me you're unaware of his past actions. He's much colder and more calculating than we realize. Even if he doesn't retaliate immediately because of our positions, there will come a time when we're no longer in power. What do you think will happen then?"

Ray Munroe fell silent, considering the reports he'd seen on William's past actions. After a long pause, he replied, "I honestly can't think of any offer tempting enough for a man who makes billions daily. And I'm just the CIA's deputy director…"

Munroe hesitated, sighing, "Fine. I'll take this up with Deputy Director Trumbull privately and let him decide."

"That's for the best. I suggest you agree to whatever William asks for, no matter the conditions. We can figure out the details after Benjamin's safe. Goodbye, Ray."

"Wait," Ray said before the Church could leave. "Wait outside the conference room. Deputy Director Trumbull may need your insights on William Devonshire."

"Understood, I'll wait outside. But I need to change into military uniform first. From now on, our relationship is one of equals, so call me Colonel Colton."

The call ended, and Sunday added, "Sir, I continued monitoring Munroe afterward. He hasn't abandoned the idea of placing explosives in Devonshire Plaza's four commercial buildings."

Sunday then played another recording of Munroe's conversation with others.

"Send our people quietly to Devonshire Plaza and plant remote-controlled explosives in William Devonshire's four commercial buildings. If necessary, we'll force him into cooperation."

A male voice responded, "Understood. Treat this as classified, and I'll handle the rest."

After a brief pause, Munroe agreed, "Okay."

Alarmed, William immediately asked, "Who was that last speaker?"

"Ward Abbott, CIA's Special Operations Director, Sir."

"Details. Get me everything on this Ward Abbott," William demanded, standing up abruptly, trying to recall where he'd heard the name.

Sunday hesitated for a moment. "Sir, I need to access a restricted server for this. I'll require your authorization."

"Any risk of exposure? If not, find out everything on this old man."

"Understood," Sunday replied. Thirty seconds later, she reported, "Ward Abbott is in charge of Operation Treadstone."

"Damn," William muttered, recognizing the name and recalling Treadstone's goals and methods. Laughing, he added, "Now this is getting interesting. That old bastard Abbott will definitely try to bomb my buildings."

Unexpectedly, the pieces had come together for William's plan to frame the Barkawi family. Now Abbott's involvement would serve as the perfect cover. Smiling mischievously, he mused, "This is ideal. I won't have to bomb my own buildings, and it might even kill two birds with one stone."

He gave his next order with a smirk, "Deploy Black Blade drones and spider-bots to monitor the American consulate near Devonshire Plaza. I want footage of every person leaving that building and evidence of how they plant the bombs in my four commercial towers."

"Understood, Sir. The drone carrier and spider-bot launchers are en route."

Half an hour later, William lounged on his sofa, watching as spider-bots and drones monitored the movements of the American operatives outside the consulate.

Just then, the satellite phone alert rang. "Sir, Deputy Director Trumbull from the U.S. is waiting on the satellite line," Sunday reported.

William hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Put him through."

"Understood. Establishing satellite video link."

He glanced at his attire—a simple set of pajamas. Deciding not to change, he figured his casual appearance might make the Americans think he wasn't too concerned and had everything under control.

The video connected, revealing a long conference table with Deputy Director Trumbull, a composed, older man seated at the center.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Trumbull," William said, waving nonchalantly. "Sorry for the wait. I was just taking a nap."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Devonshire. We apologize for interrupting your rest," Trumbull replied smoothly, his tone unperturbed, as if the delay and William's earlier refusal to engage had never happened. However, several others in the room seemed visibly irritated.

Noticing that the Church, now dressed in military uniform and with a new rank of Colonel Colton, was among them, William smirked. "Hey, Church. Aren't you a CIA man? What's with the military uniform and a seat at such a high-level meeting?"

The Church's expression remained calm, though internally, he tensed, hoping William hadn't overheard his conversation with Munroe. Nonetheless, he dared not reveal any sign of unease and replied smoothly, "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mr. Devonshire. My name is Colonel Colton of the U.S. Army."

"Alright, alright, whoever you say you are." William shrugged, turning his attention back to Trumbull. "So, while it's a pleasure to finally see all of America's top brass in one place, what do you need from me?"

"Help us locate and rescue Mr. Benjamin Arthur," Trumbull said directly, cutting to the chase. "If you can save him, I assure you that, as long as both Benjamin and I remain in office, we'll do everything in our power to support you, within legal and ethical boundaries, of course."

William chuckled, finding Trumbull's offer amusing. It was clear that Trumbull assumed William would take his word at face value. If the Church had briefed Trumbull on William's tendencies, he would know that vague promises held little appeal.

Trumbull's offer felt even less genuine than those of the European leaders William had helped before. So, William forced a polite smile and lied, though he slipped in one statement the Americans would be keen to hear.

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