Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 183: Grant’s Disappearance

That evening, in the solitude of his private office, Darren sat on his chair, the compiled legal files spread before him like a battlefield map.

His eyes moved methodically across the pages, parsing the dense legalese with a quiet, unrelenting focus. On one page, he paused, his breath catching as he spotted a shadow of a clause buried deep within the terms of Grant's frozen assets.

Darren had been using the system all day to search for loopholes. It led him down this path, and now he saw why.

A contingency trigger.

Subtle and insidious, one he hadn't noticed before.

For a flash of a moment, it all made sense, although he didn't know exactly what. So he went through it with the system again.

Ding!

┏Hidden Trigger →Likely authorized by Gillian Henderson. This clause was placed to redirect casino management if Grant fails to respond within 96 hours.┛

Darren's breath froze for a second. 96 hours.

It had been a while and they were yet to get a hold of Grant.

Slowly, the weight of the discovery settled over him like a shroud. "He's using the frozen assets as a fuse," he murmured to himself.

With urgency, he burst out of his office to Rachel's. "Have you gotten word from Grant?!"

She shot her head up. "Still no response, sir." she reported. "But there's something else. A legal insider flagged it, it was off the record. It appears someone's been moving fast behind closed doors. Reassignments, payouts, staff disappearances."

"Disappearing staff?" Darren asked, his voice deceptively quiet, though his eyes burned with scary intensity.

Rachel nodded. "People loyal to Grant are being restructured. Silently. It's like they're erasing his footprint."

Darren darted his gaze around, a rush of realization hitting him. "Gillian Henderson," he whispered with self-reproach. "I've underestimated him all this time. He's been the mastermind of this, acting like a shadow operating under Donald's banner."

He turned to Rachel, eyes burning with fear. "And we have no idea where Grant Hayes is!"

-------------

Indeed, after so long since this war started, Darren Steele was finally right. About both things.

Gillian Henderson was the mastermind, and no one knew where Grant Hayes was.

Well, no one except Gillian Henderson himself.

Two days earlier, the conference room on the 28th floor of Golden Hay Headquarters offered shelter for Grant Hayes and his thoughts.

He sat alone at the long, obsidian table, his gaze fixed on the empty chair across from him. His assistant, Owen, had been summoned to the legal department hours ago and had yet to return. Grant glanced at his watch, the seconds ticking past with agonizing slowness, each moment deepening the unease that coiled in his chest.

Three hours had passed since Owen's departure, and the absence felt less like a delay and more like a deliberate excision.

So, he suspected that something was wrong.

Tired of waiting, Grant attempted to rise, but was halted by the advance of the security detail stationed at the door.

Their presence, unobtrusive yet unyielding, was a stark departure from the deference he was accustomed to as chairman. "Mr. Hayes," one of the guards said. "We've been instructed to ask you to remain here until further notice. Legal is reviewing the motion you submitted."

Grant narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about! I'm the only one who gives instructions and that motion was submitted yesterday," he said, getting worried.

The guard's expression remained impassive. "The board has overridden your authority sir. You are to wait for confirmation."

The words landed like a physical blow, and in the beat of silence that followed, Grant felt the ground shift beneath him. Slowly, he sank back into the chair, his mind racing.

Something was definitely wrong here and he couldn't just help it. It clawed at his skin.

And so... just in case something happened to him, Grant made a very smart move.

---------

In the present day, the boardroom of the Steele Complex was awash in the cold, clinical light of its display wall, where a dozen reports flickered like ghosts, each one a fragment of a puzzle that refused to resolve.

Darren Steele stood at the head of the room, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the data before him.

The reports painted a chilling picture: no communications, no public records, no updates— Grant Hayes had vanished, not just from the corporate landscape but from the very systems that defined his existence.

Rachel leaned forward in her chair, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as she spoke. "His calendar's been cleared, his staff access revoked. It's as if someone reached into the system and wiped him clean, like he was never there."

Amelia's expression was grim as she added her findings. "I've called every close family member, and they all say the same thing. They haven't heard from him in three days, and haven't received a single call or message. That's not like Grant— he's meticulous about staying in touch, no matter the pressure."

Daisy, standing near the display wall, held up a legal notification. "Golden Hay issued a public statement this morning: 'Grant Hayes has voluntarily stepped back to handle personal matters.' This is getting worse, people. It's a neat little narrative, and if they're lying like this then it's the clear opening move to erase him from his own legacy."

They all shared worried glances, but even more worried gazes at Darren, who just stood, mind elsewhere, saying nothing.

---

Within the confines of Golden Hay Headquarters, Grant had been relocated to a smaller, windowless office, a forgotten corner of the building once used to store archival paper files.

The room was a study in austerity: no computer, no keycard access, only a solitary landline, a water dispenser, and a plain table that seemed to mock the grandeur of his former domain.

Eighteen year old Grant sat at the table, rubbing his temples as he fought to steady his breathing.

He'd been in this room for nearly two days, deprived from everything that could bring help his way or help him escape.

What was it about his father's assets that they wanted so much?! How could they do all of this to him just because of money!

A sharp knock on the door broke the silence, and Grant looked up as one of Gillian Henderson's aides entered, a tight, perfunctory smile plastered across his face.

"Mr. Henderson wanted me to inform you that your board privileges are now under audit," the aide said, his tone edged with a veiled threat.

Grant rose to his feet. "You work for Gillian!"

The aide's smile didn't waver. "Yes. You should know the best thing to do now is stay silent. Don't force the hand that's already won."

With that, he turned and left, the door closing with a soft click that echoed like a gavel in the small room. Grant stood motionless, the walls seeming to close in tighter.

How could Gillian have done this to him?

Gillian was a... friend.

He fell to his knees, resting by the wall as memories flickered through his mind. 'Had Gillian always been this way?'

'Was I blind?'