Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 191: On the Run, Ryan Anders

Darren and Marilyn took Grant to a private safehouse far away from the major business areas in the city, but still within public regions.

Darren had suspected that if Gillian's men ever came looking for Grant, they would search the quieter parts of the city and state, so it was best to hide in plain sight.

Staying low was the move for now while on the Steele Complex, his women were hard at work.

The room was alive with heat and hum. Screens blinked in rows, reflecting the faint glow across Rachel's glasses as she leaned over the dashboard like a war general.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, sweat beading on her temple— not from fear, but from the sheer momentum of what was unfolding.

She had created these strategies herself, but implementing it wasn't as easy as anyone would expect.

Yet, she knew she had to do it, or else Trendteller would fall, and if it did, customers wouldn't trust them and their other startup portfolios like Delverate would begin second guessing.

There were so many customers to get to and fix the license. Who knew having so many early customers was going to bittersweet.

And after that, she needed to stop the distribution blockage. That was a lot of work.

Rachel had to lock in.

On the central monitor, dozens of red "Blocked" alerts were blinking across Trendteller's interface maps: frozen API nodes, vendor blackouts, and payment returns pulsing like failing organs.

Amelia stood just behind her, headset on, patching communications between vendors, operators, and financial intermediaries. "Vendor B49 in Ontario still says the access key isn't validating," she said sharply.

"Check the secondary stack," Rachel replied, eyes burning with focus. "We're not using the master licenses anymore. They're poisoned. Give them the failover link from Orchid Node 2."

"Copy," Amelia said, already typing. "Sending… now."

A new window popped open.

[Fallback API Key: Trendteller_Backup:orchid.node.422v]

STATUS: ACTIVE

Vendor Clearance: VERIFIED

Digital Authorization: GRANTED

One of the red blinking zones on the map flashed green.

Rachel sat back, rolling her wrist. "That's six down."

From the corner, Sandy gave a breath of relief. "Mid-tier distributors are starting to unlock again. Refunds requests just slowed to a halt in West Europe. This is working."

"You sound surprised," Rachel said dryly.

Amelia cracked a grin. "We shouldn't be, Rach. I mean, you planned this months ago, right."

"Only because Ryan Anders doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut," Rachel replied. "And because you joined the team and gave us the threats that he'd laid out. Building around it was easy. It's my job."

She flicked open a hidden directory and unlocked another section of code.

"Bringing up the Decentralized Vendor Bridges now. Rerouting payout confirmations through shell intermediaries. Time to see if Ryan's 'Clause 4.7' failsafe is as fragile as his ego."

Hours passed.

After she executed the command, new markers on the screen shifted. Dozens of payment errors turned into pending transactions. Contracts were no longer being voided, they were processing.

Resting on the work couch, Sandy sprang up, her voice lifted in disbelief. "That… that just revalidated four major clients."

Amelia put a hand to her mouth. "Rach! You did it! You saved Trendteller. You reversed Ryan's choke."

"No," Rachel said, pushing off the desk and standing tall. "We all did it."

It was quite rare for Rachel to be this mushy, so Sandy and Amelia relished in it, laughing to themselves as they finished the cupcakes.

"Darren is going to be elated."

"I hope so."

"Me too. He's been working so hard."

As joy filled the Steele Complex, sadness and grim was about to be unleashed in the MWMO headquarters.

The building loomed like a silent fortress in downtown Los Alverez. Sleek black walls, frosted glass, and gold logos inside the walls bearing the names of ghosts— firms used to carry out the dirtiest legal manipulations in the corporate world.

But tonight, silence was shattered.

Red and blue lights painted the walls as squad cars swarmed the front entrance. A flood of officers in riot-grade gear poured in, led by Detective Lorence Harrow, a tall, broad man with a face carved by years of corporate cleanup.

His badge flashed as he approached the front desk.

"Los Alverez Corporate Crimes Division," he said flatly. "Step aside."

The receptionist stammered, "You don't have jurisdiction here—"

"I have a federal override signed by Judge Hallenstein," Harrow replied, slapping the warrant onto the desk. "Step. Aside."

The doors opened. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Inside, suited lawyers froze mid-stride. Papers dropped. Someone spilled coffee. The air grew dense with the realization that the wolves had arrived.

"Split up," Harrow barked. "Archives, sublevel, data cores. Find anything connected to Franchise Casinos, MWMO, and the CEO, Ryan Anders."

Boots thundered down hallways.

Files were yanked from drawers. Servers were boxed. Password-encrypted laptops were hauled off, sealed in evidence bags with white gloves and red tags.

In a glass-walled office upstairs, an agent shouted: "Detective! You need to see this."

Harrow climbed quickly, entering Ryan's office.

Inside, on the screen, were internal logs, showing a sudden transfer of legal documents and purged client histories— just hours earlier. All done under one clearance tag:

> R.ANDERS

He narrowed his eyes. "When?"

"Two hours ago. He was here. Must have known we were coming."

"Where is he now?"

A junior analyst typed rapidly, trying to trace digital movement.

Then a warning popped up.

[USER DEACTIVATED – PROFILE PURGED – ACCOUNT SEALED UNDER EXECUTIVE PRIVILEGE]

The analyst turned, pale. "Sir… he wiped his signature and scrubbed his presence. Even the biometric locks are voided."

"Damn it," Harrow growled.

Another officer entered the room. "Security footage gone too. But we did get his last known credential swipe."

He handed Harrow a photo. It was grainy, but clear enough.

That was clearly Ryan Anders. Dressed in a grey windbreaker with sunglasses and carry-on bag hanging on his shoulder.

He has exited through the 7th floor exit, using a private elevator. East Garage.

"Estimated time?"

"Just before we breached the front. He's gone."

"I've always had my eyes on that bastard. Stinking up the city." Harrow clenched his jaw. "So the rat ran before we got here."

He turned to the room full of confiscated data and lawyers too stunned to move.

"Fine. Let's burn the nest while we're here."

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

Elsewhere, or rather in the middle of nowhere, just trees and roads, Ryan Anders sat alone in the driver seat of a black car, speeding down a dark coastal road just outside city limits.

Even with everything that was happening, his expression was calm— too calm.

He checked his phone.

No signal.

He opened a satellite device.

Typed one word:

> "Relocate."

After that, he sent a message to a contact, The Well, who was Cyrus Weller, his cohort, and then continued driving through the shadows, escaping the busy city where he was now a wanted man.

The only thing that rang in his mind was Darren Steele's name, and the promise that next time, he wasn't going to attack his business.

He was going to kill him.