World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

Chapter 143: First Meeting

What now?

One way to go about it would be to hand this information over to Luna Park. She could probably publish it—expose everything.

But then again, if this research has never reached the light of day, there must be a reason.

Maybe other club members tried to reveal it before, and the club stopped them at the last moment.

Maybe they've got people in publishing, stopping those articles from getting published, or maybe they just silence anyone who tries to leak anything about them.

It was too risky. If they've kept this hidden for decades, I wouldn't be the first to try.

'No', I decided.

The best thing I could do now is build my influence outside the club. Gain more power, and when the time is right… maybe I can take over the club from the inside.

I had no idea how far the club's influence extended.

I needed to be patient.

...

On Wednesday, February 18, 2004, Charlotte and I were soaring through the skies in a helicopter, heading toward the waters off New York Harbor.

The dark waves of the Hudson below us stretching toward the Atlantic.

A cruise ship was waiting for us at the harbor.

Charlotte sat next to me in a thin black dress with spaghetti straps, the hem just brushing mid-thigh, while I was wearing a dark suit.

Charlotte knew everything about the club.

Trying not to unnecessarily provoke the club for the moment being, I informed them first about the fact that I would share the knowledge about the club with her.

The sound of the helicopter wings filled the cabin as the pilot turned slightly in his seat, speaking through the headset. "Sir. Miss. We'll be landing in five minutes."

I glanced over at Charlotte, and I couldn't help but smirk.

She was wearing an adorable panda mask.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You look funny; I still can't get used to it."

I had a tiger mask on...

Operator Lily gave me those masks, saying that those who wished to remain anonymous were to wear them.

But it felt a bit absurd.

I leaned closer to Charlotte, lowering my voice just enough to ensure the pilot couldn't overhear. "Just remember—don't say your name, or mine, to anyone. Also, please stay by my side at all times. We have no idea what these people might be up to."

Charlotte nodded. "Got it. No names, no wandering off. But... I have to admit, I feel kinda important right now," she said, "flying in a helicopter to a party on a massive yacht..."

"Hopefully it'll be just a normal party," I muttered.

As the helicopter droned on toward the yacht, my thoughts shifted to a conversation I had a week ago with Arnold Johnson.

The Johnson family had made big strides in tracking down the people behind the cyberattacks.

Arnold had confirmed that the gang targeting people close to me had connections to the Abramov family—an oligarch family from Russia.

It didn't add up, though. From the intelligence information that he has, the Abramov family was never interested in the cyberworld, IT or anything even close to that.

On the other hand, they have a history of money laundering...

But the biggest piece of news Arnold shared was that the money from the Zero-days sold by "Zero" could be traced back to the Abramov family.

That meant "Zero" might have been paying the Abramovs to target me, not the other way around.

Another piece in the puzzle was that a month ago news came out that the U.S. government was planning to shut down the physical cables and satellite connections that provide internet access to and from other nations.

They claimed it was the only solution left to combat the endless wave of cyberattacks—attacks that weren't just coming from Russia anymore but from everywhere around the world.

And as soon as they publicly announced it, something strange happened—the cyberattacks ceased overnight.

Not a single breach or major hack had been reported since.

There were also ongoing diplomatic talks between the U.S. and Russia.

The U.S. had accused Russia multiple times of harboring or even supporting the hacking organizations responsible, but Russia denied everything.

They insisted they had no involvement and no knowledge of any such groups operating within their borders.

And so not only did I not gain information about "Zero", but I have actually lost the lead that would insinuate they are from Russia.

At this point, they might be from any country...

They could have been paying the Abramov family, as well as using Russian IP's to mislead the investigators.

This also meant that the person who had the future cybersecurity knowledge might not be from Russia.

But the last clue I had that would point at Russia was the Bitcoin Whitepaper released by Russian programmers.

In those five minutes, the skies darkened, and rain began to pour down in heavy sheets. It added a sense of drama to the moment as our helicopter started its descent.

A minute later, I could see the massive yacht on the horizon through the rain-streaked windows.

It was enormous, with a sprawling pool on the deck. On it's side, painted in bold blue letters was the name Freewinds.

As we approached the landing zone, I noticed another helicopter taking off, disappearing into the gray skies just as we arrived.

The moment we touched down, two people in light blue uniforms came sprinting to the heli, umbrellas in hand.

They were well-trained for this kind of weather; their sole purpose seemed to be to cater to us.

They reached the helicopter and immediately opened the umbrellas and offered them to us with respect.

The look on their faces was calm and professional.

"Welcome aboard, sir, ma'am," one of them said, gesturing towards the entrance of the yacht.

I took the umbrella, stepping out into the rain.

They helped Charlotte down next, treating her with the same care and respect, one of the attendants making sure she didn't slip on the wet surface.

After getting off the heli, a faint smirk played on Charlotte's lips as she adjusted the hem of her black dress.

As soon as the helicopter soared back into the rain-soaked skies, we were escorted to the door leading inside.

The attendants were treating us like royalty.

Once we entered, I felt like I had gone back in time yet again.

The interior wasn't modern or simple like in most yachts—it felt as if I had walked straight into a Renaissance ballroom. The walls were made out of stone slabs with patterns carved into them and the room was bathed in a warm golden light.

Everything had this medieval, old-money feel, and it screamed rich.

The ballroom was massive—two floors with an open, spacious layout.

Right in front of us, the ground floor featured a large dance hall where a dozen people were dancing.

Only two of them wore masks like us, and already, I recognized some faces.

To the right, there were doors after doors, probably leading to private rooms.

I saw one man rush off of the dance floor, entering one of the rooms, holding the hand of a beautiful brunette.

To the left was the staircase, spiraling up to the second floor, where a balcony wrapped around the entire area.

Up there, many tables were set up, and I could see many more guests dining or watching the scene below.

Charlotte's eyes scanned the room, and she leaned closer to me, whispering, "Jack, all the women here are wearing insanely expensive-looking designer dresses... And they're all drop-dead gorgeous."

I scanned the room, taking in all the women twirling around with older dudes. The dresses were fancy, glittering under the soft lights, but it didn't take much to know what was up.

I glanced around at the chicks dancing with the older men, most of them wearing fancy gowns that shimmered under the chandelier lights.

They were graceful, almost too perfect, but it didn't take much to know what was up.

"Most of them aren't guests," I told her, my voice low. "They're hired models."

In fact, most of the women were in their mid-twenties, dancing with men decades older than them. There was only one older couple swaying among them—probably married.

"Even so, you're more beautiful than all of them." I added.

Charlotte turned to look at me. "Stop lying. I'm wearing a freakin' panda mask!"

"Makes you look even cuter."

"Alright, Mr. Smooth Talker. what do we do now?"

I gestured to the staircase. "Let's head upstairs."

As we made our way up, I started noticing the subtleties of how this place worked.

Most of the models worked as waiters, but if one of the members so desired, they could just ask, and the models would walk down the stairs with them, hand in hand and dance with them.

I spotted a few male models walking around as well. After all, there were female members of the club too.

As we finally reached the top and found an empty table, I glanced around the room. There were about eighty people upstairs.

At one of the tables, I saw Arnold Johnson. He had a big smile on his face; he wasn't putting the same airs on as he did when he was speaking with me.

Across from him was a man with gray hair, but I couldn't see his face from this angle.

When it comes to familiar faces, the man that entered one of the private rooms with one of the models was Tom King, the President of the Florida Senate. Which confirmed to me that Arnold Johnson dark lobbied him during those meetings.

I recognized a few other politicians too, but I couldn't remember their names.

My eyes landed on Max Griffin, the CEO of Citydel, sitting at a nearby table. He was one of the 20 richest men in the U.S., worth over $5 billion.

But then I saw someone unexpected walk up the stairs.

She was wearing a puffy red dress with shiny stones. Her dark brown hair flowed down in waves.

Gabriel's wife, Emily Heart.

After getting to the second floor, she walked straight to Arnold's table.