The Billion Bloodline Group was now officially recognized as a large venture capitalist firm. On paper, at least, it had all the markings of legitimacy. The statement went out across financial news outlets, investment newsletters, and even reached smaller regional papers. This was no minor move in the business world, it was a declaration.
Unlike many other venture capital firms, the Bloodline Group had no specialty carved into its description. It was not strictly targeting technology startups, nor did it market itself as an expert in biotech, logistics, or green energy. It didn’t highlight expertise in medical, industrial, or entertainment sectors either. Instead, the carefully crafted message framed it as a group that wanted to invest directly in local economies, supporting national industries while simultaneously contributing to the growth of the Notting Hill economy, where the company claimed to have been founded.
It was vague, broad, and yet appealing. It left no doors closed.
Officially, the firm would open its doors to clients and potential partners in just a few days. Meetings were already being scheduled. Invitations had been sent out, and many smaller companies, struggling to gain the attention of London’s more established VC networks, were preparing their pitches with renewed hope.
Behind the public relations mask, the purchase of the Fortis Group building and its assets had quietly transformed into the headquarters of the Billion Bloodline Group. The report had been written with precision, and Warma himself had overseen the distribution of every press statement.
Still, mystery clung to the company like a shadow. Rumors spread quickly. Who was really behind it? Who sat on the board? Who was funding the massive investment pools? And most importantly, who was the chairman?
No answers were given. Every time those questions were raised, they were neatly sidestepped. The company was privately owned, and therefore, such information did not need to be disclosed. For now, curiosity only added to the mystique.
Warma leaned back in his chair, almost giddy. His smile stretched wider than it had in years. "I can’t believe it," he said softly.
He was seated opposite a luxurious, oversized desk. The apartment they were in hardly resembled an apartment at all. The ceilings stretched nearly four meters high, the walls were decorated with patterned moldings and polished surfaces, and the furnishings carried the shine of wealth. To Warma, it felt more like the reception lobby of a five-star hotel than a place someone actually lived in.
Max noticed the look on his face and smirked. "Don’t get lost staring at the decorations. Half of this junk was already here. I just kept most of what the last guy left behind. It’s a bit extravagant for my taste."
"Ah, that’s not what I was thinking at all," Warma replied quickly, waving his hands. "The apartment is nice, sure, but that’s not it. I was just... thinking about how far this has all come. It’s been my dream to run something like this.
"You know how it’s been for me. Working with private customers, running analysis, giving advice, that’s all I could do. We could only ever suggest what to invest in. We never had the influence to actually shape a company’s path. But now..." His eyes gleamed. "Now, we do. This is the test. This is my theory being put to work. I get to see if I was right all along."
Max chuckled and leaned back. "Right, right. Just remember, don’t burn it all down trying to prove yourself. I don’t mind you taking risks, but I don’t want to lose everything in one go either."
That was always the danger with venture capital. Huge sums of money were poured into companies up front, often with little immediate return. Sometimes the payoff came years later, if at all. But for Max, that risk was easier to shoulder than for most.
He had something the others didn’t, his underground operations. The gangs, the deals, the side businesses. They brought in steady cash flow, more than enough to prop up the shiny corporate image for as long as necessary.
"Well," Warma said, still smiling, "I can see why you chose to live here. This place has protection. You’re surrounded by all the Fortis members, and no one would ever guess that the chairman himself is staying under the same roof as them."
Max gave a short laugh. "Maybe. But the truth is, there are people I need to keep an eye on. If I can keep my double life hidden, that’s what I’ll do."
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
Warma knew at least part of the truth. He had already mentioned more than once that a detective had visited him, asking questions about Max. The case involving Abby was still technically open, though everyone whispered it was a dead investigation. No leads, no progress, no arrests.
Still, Max knew better than to underestimate the persistence of one individual. Marvin might not have been a high-ranking official, but he had been on the force long enough to know the people who weren’t easily silenced by money.
"In two days we officially open," Max said, shifting the conversation. "Do me a favor, Warma. Keep an eye on Bobo Stern. If she comes asking for investment, I want to know exactly what she’s looking for and what she’s offering."
Warma blinked. "Bobo Stern? At the dinner, wasn’t she the one, ?"
"Yes," Max cut in. "She said she had her eye on the Bloodline Group. That’s why I expect she’ll try something. If she does, I want you to be ready. Even if her company is struggling, don’t hold back. Buy up as much as you can, but do it smart. I don’t want to pay through the nose for it. Figure out a way for us to become majority shareholders without bleeding ourselves dry."
Warma frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He didn’t like the sound of it, but he was already running scenarios in his head.
An initial investment could be generous, enough to give her confidence. If the company continued to struggle afterward, the second round could be smaller, but framed as critical support. By dangling promises of connections and additional resources, they could pressure her into trading larger shares for smaller cash injections. Piece by piece, they could take control.
"The only reason I’ll accept this," Warma finally said, "is because she’s a Stern. Like you. I can see this isn’t just about business for you. There’s something else at play."
Max gave a small nod. "Exactly."
While their plans settled into place, outside the building, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. The engine cut off, and the rear door opened smoothly.
A man stepped out, adjusting the lapels of his crimson suit. The material shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, and he tugged at the cuffs until they sat perfectly straight. He looked at the building in front of him with narrowed eyes.
"Whatever happens today," Anton Stable muttered, "I need to secure that investment."
The name carried weight.
Anton Stable. The same man from the recent Curtis family party. The one who had stood out in Max’s memory. The one he had said he would never forget.
And now, here he was, standing at the doors of the Billion Bloodline Group headquarters.