The information didn't arrive as a scandal.It came as a fact, almost unnoticed.
A name in a discreet report: Patricio Osbort.
Ye Chen didn't react immediately. He just asked for more details.
The marriage had ended three months earlier. His wife, now working at a Valmont Holdings subsidiary, had left him shortly after. Patricio, a homebody and dedicated man, had been abandoned without ceremony.
Ye Chen scanned the details and smiled. Maybe this would prove useful.
Sometimes, he thought, sacrifices were necessary.
He went to find him at a shelter in the old district.
The neighborhood smelled of rusted metal and fried food.
Ye Chen stepped out of the vehicle and spotted Patricio sitting on the edge of a dry fountain, wrapped in an oversized jacket. The unkempt beard barely concealed a man who had once been meticulous.
He wasn't asking for money. He was just staring at the nonexistent water.
—Mr. Osbort.
Patricio lifted his gaze.
No aggression. No submission. Just fatigue.
—If you came to offer me spiritual guidance or charity, spare me, —he said, voice rough.
Ye Chen sat beside him without asking.
—I just want to ask you one question.
Silence.
—Was the divorce your decision?
Patricio let out a short, dry laugh. Tears ran down his cheeks as the laughter grew, bitter and sharp.
After a while, Ye Chen stood and walked away. Don't disappoint me, he thought.
He walked to the vehicle without looking back.
Patricio remained seated, holding a card between his fingers.
The Valmont name was still intact in the financial headlines.
—Valmont! —Patricio shouted, his voice echoing through the neighborhood air.
In the city of Ehrenfeld, Adrián was holding on.
Holding on.
He repeated it to himself like a silent mantra.
Sweat ran down his forehead, slow and inevitable. This was not a meeting, not a business negotiation. It was a test.
Selene Virelli watched him from below, her fingers pressing his back with an intensity that couldn't be faked. At first, Adrián thought it was a tactic, a clever distraction to measure his resolve, to make him yield before her.
But it wasn't.
There was no calculation in her ragged breathing. No strategy in the way her voice cracked.
Selene was not playing.
She was losing.
Her mind had disconnected long ago. Negotiations, percentages, clauses… all dissolved. Only sensation remained. Pure instinct.
Adrián realized it was no longer a battle of wills.
It was a test of endurance.
Selene tried to hold his gaze, maintain composure, cling to control. But her body betrayed her. Her breath faltered; her hands gripped him with an almost painful urgency.
In that moment, Adrián knew he had won.
Not by contract.
By control.
When he finally released the tension, Selene let out a low, defeated moan, as if crossing an invisible threshold. The energy that had held the air between them snapped.
What began as a strategic meeting ended as an intimate struggle, without rules, without witnesses.
Silence.
The room still held the heat of battle.
Selene was the first to rise. She said nothing. She stood with almost untouched elegance, as if her defeat existed only within these four walls. She took her blouse from the chair and began to dress, each movement slow and measured.
Adrián mirrored her: as he buttoned his shirt, he reclaimed the heir's posture. Breath controlled, pulse steady.
Then his phone vibrated on the table.
The screen lit up: Yue Zhang.
Adrián furrowed his brow slightly. He answered immediately.
—Yes. Speak. What's the problem now?
Silence on the other end. Not technical, deliberate.
Selene watched him from the corner of her eye as she adjusted her skirt.
Finally, Yue's voice came through: firm, cautious.
—It's not a problem, —she said.
Adrián moved toward the window.
—Then speak.
—Wednesday is the high-speed train unveiling on the northern corridor. International press will attend. Investors have confirmed.
Another pause.
—I wanted to know if you'll be present.
Adrián's reflection in the glass looked harder than he felt inside.
The train was more than infrastructure. It was symbol, confidence, a narrative of stability.
And right now, stability was scarce.
—Of course I'll be there, —he replied, without hesitation.
Selene lifted her gaze.
—Coverage will be extensive, —Yue added—. After the academic rumors, any absence will attract attention.
There it was: not a problem, a warning.
Adrián clenched his jaw.
—Prepare the speech. I want updated figures and regional impact simulations. Nothing improvised.
—Understood.
—And Yue…
Silence.
—Don't ask again if I'll be there. I don't disappear under pressure.
She hung up.
The city of Ehrenfeld glimmered under the sunset.
Selene approached, flawless once more, helping Adrián button his shirt, her fingers gliding over the fabric with calm precision. They said nothing; the gesture was simple, almost intimate, and for a moment, the world's bustle seemed to fall away, reduced to the light touch of their hands and shared stillness.
—Anything serious?
Adrián pocketed the phone.
—Nothing I can't handle.
But as he said it, he pulled her back to him and kissed her with hunger, no restraint. Selene responded with equal intensity—she had never liked to fall behind.
—I won, —Adrián whispered, triumphant.
—Not true, —she countered, defiant.
Adrián pointed to the desk, where the evidence of her presence was undeniable. Selene bit her lip, part embarrassed, part amused, accepting defeat for a moment.
Far from that office, elsewhere in the city, Maximilian Krane—the "Capital Hero"—lifted his head, not knowing exactly why.
A subtle discomfort in his chest.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Just a strange feeling, as if a key piece had moved on an invisible board.
In his room, everything looked the same. Graphs still open on the screen, investment projections unchanged.
But something… had.
A faint DING echoed in his mind.
No lights. No drama.
Just text:
Variation detected.Villain influence over key target: consolidating.Probability of structural conflict: rising.
Max frowned.
—What did you do now…? —he muttered, unsure to whom he spoke.
Then his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
—Yes?
A brief silence.
Then a neutral, perfectly modulated voice, impossible to place:
—It's time. Begin.
The call ended.
Max stared at the dark screen.
The system didn't notify him.
And that unsettled him most.
Because the system always spoke.
This time… nothing.
Max slowly closed the laptop.
If this was a game, someone else had moved first.
And he hated going second.
Wednesday.
The sky over Valenheim was clear, almost offensively perfect.
The silver train rested on the rails like a futuristic promise. Aerodynamic. Impeccable. Silent.
Flags.LED screens.Central podium with the Valmont Consortium emblem.
Press lined up.Investors smiling.Politicians with memorized speeches.
Adrián Valmont stepped onto the stage with confident stride.
Yue Zhang stood to the side, tablet in hand, face unreadable.
Selene, further back, watched.
The cameras began broadcasting live.
—Today, —Adrián began— we are not presenting just a train. We are presenting a new era for Ehrenfeld. Connectivity. Progress. Future.
Measured applause.
Projected figures.Economic impact graphs.Time and emissions reduction simulations.
All calculated.
All under control.
Until it wasn't.
A scream.
First distant.Then impossible to ignore.
—LIAR!
The murmur shattered.
A man charged through security, erratic. Worn clothes. Unkempt beard. Bloodshot eyes.
—ADRIÁN VALMONT STOLE MY WIFE, YUE ZHANG!
Security reacted late.
The cameras didn't.
—HE LEFT ME ON THE STREET! HE RUINED ME!
Patricio Osbort.
His name began replicating across journalists' devices in real time.
Adrián didn't move.
Didn't react.
But something in his gaze shifted.
—ASK HIM ABOUT THE DIVORCE! ASK HOW MUCH HE PAID TO SILENCE IT!
Investors exchanged glances.
A politician subtly stepped back from the podium.
Security finally restrained him.
But it was too late.
A reporter raised her voice:
—Mr. Valmont, is it true there was a confidential agreement linked to a personal conflict with economic consequences for third parties?
Another:
—Was corporate influence used to affect legal proceedings?
And then, as if chaos demanded structure…
Yue received a notification.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression tightened just slightly.
She approached Adrián.
—We have a technical problem.
Adrián kept his eyes forward.
—What kind?
—Minor irregularity in the rear axle synchronization system. Not critical… but protocol requires suspending the public test.
Silence.
The worst kind of silence.
The train couldn't move.
Not today.
Not in front of all those cameras.
A minor irregularity.
But enough.
Leaks began circulating online simultaneously: internal documents questioning an accelerated contract with a secondary supplier.
Nothing illegal.
Nothing criminal.
But ethically gray.
Too gray for a live-streamed event.
Humiliation.
No blood.
No explosions.
No tragedy.
Just doubt.
And doubt is corrosive.
Adrián took the microphone.
—For technical safety and institutional transparency, the dynamic test will be rescheduled. Our commitment to excellence admits no shortcuts.
Absolute control in his voice.
But the applause did not return.
The cameras no longer framed him as a visionary.
They framed him as a suspect.
Patricio kept shouting as they dragged him away.
—I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE! ASK ABOUT THE AGREEMENT!
And then the truly serious moment occurred.
Not the scream.
Not the suspension.
But the lingering murmur after the event ended.
Trust doesn't die with noise.
It dies in whispers.
After Patricio was taken away, there was laughter.
Not open laughter. Nervous, awkward laughter. The kind people use to deny that something has broken.
Adrián maintained composure.
—Proceed.
His voice was firm, unchallengeable.
Protocol resumed.
The train would not travel miles, just a symbolic hundred meters. A hundred meters perfectly calculated. A hundred meters to restore the narrative.
Yue confirmed over the earpiece:
—System stabilized. Axle synchronized. Green light.
The train began to move. Silent. Elegant. Controlled.
The cameras refocused. Some hesitant applause returned.
Fifty meters.
Seventy.
Ninety.
Then—
A sudden movement at the perimeter.
A man breached the security line.
Too fast. Too determined.
—VALMONT!
Adrián barely turned his face.
No time to give orders. No time to react.
Patricio Osbort leapt onto the track.
The driver engaged the emergency brake. But even in a symbolic hundred meters, inertia is real.
The impact was sharp. No spectacle. No cinematic drama. Just brutality.
The train stopped a few meters further.
Absolute silence.
The cameras never stopped recording.
A solitary scream. Then another. And quickly, the murmur became collective horror.
Yue froze for a second.
Selene brought a hand to her mouth.
Investors instinctively stepped back.
Adrián did not move. He just watched. No expression, no gesture.
But for the first time all day, he lost control of the stage.
Sirens approached. Press entered a frenzy.
—Was it a security failure? —Suicide attempt? —Were there prior threats? —Why wasn't the test stopped after the incident?
That last question.
The dangerous one.
Because the worst thing an entrepreneur can do isn't fail.
It's stop being meticulous when everything around is already unstable.
The test shouldn't have continued.
But it did.
And now there was a death.
No proven crime. No technical sabotage. Just reckless decision-making in a volatile context.
And that… destroys more than a financial scandal.
It destroys legitimacy.
Adrián finally spoke to Yue quietly:
—Cancel everything.
This time, "everything" no longer meant the event.
It meant containment.
But it was too late.
The broadcasts had already gone viral.
The headline would not be "Technical Irregularity."
It would be:
"Man Dies During Valmont Train Inaugural After Accusing Heir of Personal Conflict."
The narrative was set.
And for the first time, Adrián had no control.
Among the audience, Lin Yue didn't look at the screens.
She looked at Adrián.
Searching his face for microexpressions, a hint of guilt, a flash of arrogance.
Ye Chen murmured just enough for her to hear:
—Curious… every time Mr. Valmont invests, someone ends up losing more than money.
Not enough to destroy him.
But enough to erode.
And Adrián could do nothing. Because reacting, at that moment, would admit too much.