Golden Eye Tycoon: Rise of the Billionaire Trader-Chapter 78: Dying Legacy

Jake looked from Darius’s sunken eyes to his father, who was still standing in the living room with a confused frown. The tension was thick enough to choke the Sunday afternoon air, turning a quiet family weekend into the opening act of a corporate funeral.

"Dad, Uncle Darius is here. Come with us," Jake said, his voice steady, acting as the anchor in the sudden storm. "He wants to talk somewhere private."

Ryan wiped his hands on a dish towel, his expression wary, his eyes darting between his son’s expensive watch and his brother’s disheveled state. "Where are we going?"

"There’s that lounge down the road, The Sapphire Cask," Jake suggested.

The Sapphire Cask was a place most people in the neighborhood avoided. Tucked behind a row of manicured hedges and iron gates, it was known for its exorbitant prices and the kind of clientele that didn’t live in this part of town. It was a place for men who traded in secrets, the only spot nearby where they could be sure no neighbors would be eavesdropping over a cheap beer.

The three men walked in silence, the rhythm of their footsteps heavy on the pavement. As they approached the driveway, the black-on-black Audi RS 6 sat under the afternoon sun, looking like a predator waiting in the tall grass. Darius slowed his pace, his eyes tracing the aggressive lines of the wagon, the carbon fiber accents, and the massive ceramic brakes that hinted at the power beneath the hood.

"Is that yours, Jake?" Darius asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if he were afraid the answer would shatter the last of his composure.

Jake nodded simply. "It is."

Darius let out a dry, ragged cough that might have been a laugh. "You must be doing incredibly well for yourself. To afford a beast like this brand new... I didn’t think the first installment would cover something of this caliber so quickly."

Ryan paused mid-step, his head whipping around to look at Darius. His face was a mask of confusion and growing suspicion. "Wait. Darius, aren’t you the one behind all of this? The money, the cars, the sudden change in his lifestyle? I thought you’d finally broken the trust."

Jake looked at his father, his brow furrowing. "Behind what? What are you talking about?"

Darius realized the crossed wires instantly. He held up a trembling hand, looking like a man who had seen too many ghosts. "Not here. Let’s get inside. Everything will be explained when we’re behind closed doors."

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The Sapphire Cask was nearly empty, the air smelling of polished mahogany, expensive peat, and the heavy weight of old money. They took a booth in the far corner, the high velvet backs swallowing them whole. A waiter in a crisp white shirt approached with a tray; they ordered three light drinks, though none of them were in the mood for a toast.

Once the waiter disappeared, Darius leaned forward, his hands clasped so tightly on the table that his knuckles turned white. He looked at Ryan, his eyes brimming with a mixture of guilt and absolute exhaustion.

"Ryan, I’m going to be blunt," Darius started, his voice a low rasp. "My son has caused a catastrophe. A problem so large it’s currently swallowing the entire company. I’m here because I want to give everyone their shares now—exactly like our father intended in his will. If I don’t do it today, there might not be a company left to divide."

Ryan leaned back, the color draining from his face. "Darius, what are you talking about? How is that even possible? The Meridian Group has been the bedrock of this city for decades."

"I wanted to pass the mantle," Darius admitted, his voice cracking with the shame of a failed father. "I wanted Paul to prove he could lead. But the boy was too eager, too desperate to show he was a visionary. He trusted the wrong people—shady ’logistics consultants’ who promised him a shipment of rare, high-value auction materials for the Gallery. He thought it would be the record-breaking event of the century. But when the shipment reached the coast and the authorities opened the crates... it wasn’t art. It was a shipment of illegal narcotics. Over five billion VM worth."

The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the distant clink of a glass at the bar. Jake felt a cold shiver run down his spine. **Five billion.** That explained the massive, unnatural dip in the Meridian stocks he had been tracking on his monitors. It wasn’t a market correction; it was a heart attack.

"The authorities seized everything," Darius continued, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the nightmare. "Because Paul signed every document in the company’s name, the Group is legally tied to the haul. We’re being investigated for international trafficking."

"Why isn’t PR handling this?" Ryan asked, his voice rising in panic. "Surely a company of our size can manage the narrative?"

"The investors are fanning the flames," Darius spat, a flash of bitterness returning to his eyes. "They’re the ones feeding the press. They’ve given us an ultimatum: sell our majority shares to them for pennies on the mark, or watch the company be delisted and dismantled. The stock has fallen so low it’s a joke. We’re on the verge of total collapse."

Ryan stared at his brother, his hands shaking. "So what are you planning?"

Darius looked at Jake, then back at Ryan. "As per our father’s wishes, Ryan, you and your children are entitled to your specific branches. The Meridian Hotel, the Meridian Crown restaurant, Meridian Faceup, Meridian Brewers, and the Meridian Gallery auction house. You also have shares in the secondary holdings."

Jake felt his heart skip a beat. "Wait... the Meridian Group? That’s us? Our family?" He looked at his father, his mind racing through the years of penny-pinching. "Dad, why were we struggling to pay house loans? Why were we barely getting by every month if we own five-star hotels and auction houses?"

Darius looked at Ryan, then down at his drink. Ryan took a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the table, looking back at a life of intentional struggle. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"Your grandfather wanted the wealth to go to his grandchildren," Ryan explained softly, his voice thick with a mix of regret and conviction. "But he was a firm believer that money without character is a curse. You were all too young when he passed. He put Darius in charge of the operations, but he gave me a choice. I chose to raise you outside of that bubble. I wanted you to see both sides of the world, Jake. I wanted you to know the value of a single mark, to know what it’s like to work for a future rather than just inheriting one. The plan was for each of you to receive your inheritance only after you finished college."

He looked at Darius with a pained expression. "But now... thanks to Paul, the value of that inheritance has dropped into the dirt."

"The value of the stock is down," Darius corrected, "but the dividends from all the years of growth are still sitting in a protected trust. There is a cushion. Enough to try and rise again, but we have to act now before the investors freeze the assets."

Ryan looked at Darius, then back at Jake. "I thought... I truly thought you had already started helping him out, Darius. A few months ago, Jake started coming home with money. I assumed you had broken the agreement early and given him a head start because of his potential."

Darius shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on Jake with a newfound intensity. "I kept my promise, Ryan. This is the first time I’ve spoken to Jake about the inheritance in years."

Both men turned their gaze toward Jake. The weight of their expectations felt like a physical pressure, a crown being offered in the middle of a battlefield. Jake leaned back, scratching the back of his head, a faint, ironic smile playing on his lips.

"I didn’t get a head start from anyone," Jake said, his voice calm, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "I made my money through high-frequency trading. I’ve been playing the market for months. It’s been going... very well. Well enough that I’ve already registered my own investment firm."

Darius let out a short, surprised laugh, a look of genuine admiration crossing his tired face. "Trading? On your own? While my son was busy burning the empire down, you were building one in the shadows? You were fighting the very wolves trying to eat us?"

Ryan, however, looked like he was finding it hard to breathe. He stared at his son as if he were seeing a stranger—a man who had bypassed the "lesson" of poverty through sheer intellect. The boy who had been worrying about library fees was sitting across from him, casually talking about registered companies and luxury cars, while the family legacy Ryan had tried to protect him from was crumbling around them.

"You did this by yourself?" Ryan whispered, his voice trembling.

"I did," Jake said, his gaze turning sharp, his mind already calculating the short-sell positions he could take against the very investors trying to squeeze his family. "And honestly, Dad? It’s a good thing I did. Because while you were teaching me the value of a mark, the world was busy changing the currency. You’ve been trying to protect a dying legacy. I’ve been learning how to build a new one."

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