Ryan didn’t even look at the black envelope.
Instead, he shoved Julian hard in the chest.
“I said back off, trash.”
Julian stumbled back a step. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t yell. Instead, a slow, razor-sharp smile spread across his face.
The watching billionaires chuckled. The senator shook his head in amusement.
Then, the heavy glass revolving doors shattered the mood.
Marcus Vance—the gray-haired, ruthless organizer of the Blackstone Summit—sprinted outside so fast he nearly tripped over his custom Italian loafers. Sweating through his navy three-piece suit, his face was completely drained of color.
He didn’t look at the senator. He didn’t greet the billionaires.
Vance violently shoved his own massive security guard out of the way and practically threw himself at Julian, grabbing his hand with desperate, trembling fingers.
“Mr. Cross!” Vance gasped, his voice cracking in the night air. “I am so, so sorry! We didn’t know you were arriving on foot!”
The laughter in the VIP crowd died instantly.
Ryan the guard froze, his sneer melting into pale terror. “Sir? He’s not on the list—”
Vance whipped around, eyes bulging with sheer panic. “He *owns* the list! He owns this hotel! He is our primary backer! You are fired immediately. Get off my property!”
A collective gasp rippled through the velvet-roped elite. The men and women who believed they controlled the world suddenly realized they were just guests in this man’s lobby.
Julian calmly adjusted his worn gray jacket. He stepped past the paralyzed, wide-eyed guard and looked directly at the stunned billionaires.
“Gentlemen,” Julian said, his calm voice dropping the temperature in the plaza. “Enjoy tonight’s summit. Because by midnight, I’m hostilely acquiring every single one of your companies.”
He walked inside. The glass doors kept spinning.