World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

After the visit at Apex, I returned to Gainesville. The next two days went by fast and on Wednesday afternoon, I had just come back from the university, parking in front of my house, when my security guard walked up to me.

"Sir," he began, glancing over his shoulder. "There's a man by your house. We stopped him before he got to the door. He said he wanted to call on you, but Miss. Rodriguez told us she doesn't know him. We were about to call the police, but he insisted we wait for you, claiming you'd let him in. He's refusing to give his identity, though, so it's pretty suspicious." Continue reading stories on My Virtual Library Empire

I furrowed my brow, glancing past him. A man who looked to be around 30 years old, with short dark hair stood stiffly next to another security guard, his hands in his pockets, he looked calm but guarded.

"How long has he been here?" I asked.

"Not long," the guard replied. "Maybe 15 minutes."

I nodded, taking a moment to consider. Then I strode toward the man. As I approached, he raised his head and locked eyes with me.

"Jack," he said. "I'm from Liberation."

A switch flipped. "Ah! Right!" I said, turning to the security guard. "No problem, he's a technician. I was expecting him."

The guard nodded, relaxing slightly but still keeping a watchful eye. I turned back to the man. "You have the hardware?"

He gestured toward a Chevy Silverado parked a few steps away. "In the truck," he replied simply.

I gave a quick nod, already walking to the vehicle. "Alright," I said, glancing back at him. "Let's get to work then."

The guy scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish. "So, uh, about the firewall… I'm gonna need some help bringing it in. It's heavy.""How heavy?"

He smirked and gestured toward the Chevy Silverado parked nearby. "You'll see. It's in the back."

Walking over, I glanced into the truck bed and immediately understood what he meant. The large firewall unit was a beast—a black, industrial-grade setup secured with heavy-duty straps.

"That's worth more than the truck," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"Let's get the door open first."

I walked back to the house. I unlocked and pushed open the door leading to the office room.

When I returned to the truck, the guy had already unfastened the straps and was ready to lift. "On three," he said, positioning himself at one end.

I nodded, grabbing the other side. "One, two, three."

The unit was heavier than I expected, and we had to move slowly. Step by step, we carried it toward the house. As we reached the door and shuffled our way inside, Charlotte appeared in the hallway, her arms crossed.

"What… is that?" she asked, her eyes widening as we walked past her.

"Firewall," I said simply, straining slightly under the weight.

Her gaze lingered as we maneuvered the massive firewall into the office room. Once inside, we carefully set it down in the corner near the desk, the guy letting out a relieved breath as he stretched his arms.

"Whew," he said, wiping his brow. "That's the hardest part done. Now I just need to bring in a few other things and set everything up."

I returned to the truck with the guy.

He leaned against the tailgate, catching his breath but ready for round two. "Alright," he said, "we got the beast inside, but I've still got a few more things in the back."

He reached into the truck bed and pulled out a small, sleek, black box no bigger than a shoebox. "This," he said, holding it up, "is your physical VPN. It will encrypt your data at the hardware level and route it through a series of relays before it ever touches the broader net. Military-grade stuff."

I nodded, watching as he grabbed another case, popping it open to reveal a tangle of cables, routers, and what looked like a miniature server. "And these," he continued, pointing to the gear, "will connect everything—firewall to VPN, VPN to your router, and the router to your network. By the time I'm done, even the NSA would need a miracle to track you."

He was clearly in his element, talking at a mile a minute as he hauled the equipment inside, one box at a time.

As he carried the next box toward the house, I followed closely behind.

"What's your name, by the way?" I asked, watching as he deftly balanced the case in one hand while propping the door open with his foot.

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. For a moment, I thought he might not answer. Then, with a small smirk, he said, "I don't have a name. It's better that way, okay?"

"Fair enough."

"Names come with baggage. I prefer to travel light," he said, stepping into the hallway and stepping inside the office.

In the office, he spread everything out on the desk, connecting cables with the precision of a surgeon. First, he powered up the firewall, plugged it into his notebook, and ran some scripts and diagnostics on it. The LEDs on the firewall blinked to life.

"Firewall is online," he said to himself.

Next, he plugged the physical VPN into the firewall and then connected it to the router, running ethernet cables with efficiency. "This VPN," he explained, "routes your connection through secure servers in multiple countries, mostly Europe. Your IP address will be randomly rotated every few minutes—making it nearly impossible to trace. It's cutting-edge tech."

Finally, he connected my desktop computer to the setup, configuring it to work with the VPN. He tapped away on the keyboard, pulling up a terminal screen. "Alright, now I'll set up the software side."

He installed a custom management program on the computer. "You'll see real-time stats here, bandwidth usage, threat logs, connection points—everything. It's all encrypted. Also, if anyone is trying to send requests to your IP it will immediately get filtered, and if something suspicious is found your IP will change."

"You're good to go," he said, stepping back and crossing his arms like a craftsman admiring his work.

I leaned against the desk. "So, is there anything else I need to do? Other than just make an account and go? Ava told you what I want to do, right?"

"She gave me the gist. But can you give me the details, so I know what I'm looking at?"

"I want to make an anonymous account on a forum—StockX. I will post things there and do some illegal manipulation. I need to be able to hide my identity."

"Did you visit that website before? From your computer?" he asked after a quick think.

"Yes. I've been on it before. Just checking things out."

His expression shifted instantly. He rubbed his temples. "That's… not ideal. It's a small mistake, but even small mistakes can cost you. If you're planning to step aside from the agents, you've got to assume they'll dig into everything."

"You're saying they'd trace it back to me just because I have visited the website once?" I was surprised.

He nodded. "If they decide to search for potential culprits behind any suspicious activity, they'll start with anyone whose IP has ever interacted with the site. If your IP shows up... isn't that suspicious? You're already under investigation, aren't you? That's red flags right there. It won't take much for them to start putting two and two together."

"So... what do you suggest?"

"You need to find a different forum."

"Alright," I said after a moment, nodding. "I'll look for alternatives."

"Good," he replied, his tone softer now. "I will also help you set up an account that's completely clean."

We sat down at the desk.

The guy cracked his knuckles, taking the keyboard.