I approached my black Porsche, desperate to go home. Instead, I found a roadblock.
Two women. Identical patterned cardigans, heavy gold chains, oversized hoops. Influencers using my front bumper as a photo studio.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The lead girl didn’t move. She looked me up and down—taking in my plain white shirt, my rolled-up sleeves, my complete lack of branding. She saw a nobody.
Crossing her arms, she smirked and dangled a shiny Porsche key fob at me. A cheap, empty plastic prop bought just for the video.
“This is my car,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “You could deliver packages your whole life and never afford it.”
Behind her, her clone smiled brightly, holding a phone to record my humiliation.
I stared at her. I knew exactly who she was. Her face had been on page four of the $400 million acquisition portfolio I had just signed upstairs. She was VibeCast Agency’s top “luxury lifestyle” creator.
She leaned in, her eyes widening in arrogant mockery. “If this is actually your Porsche, I will drop to my knees right here.”
I didn’t flinch. I slowly turned my head, locking eyes with her lens. A calm, deeply satisfied smile spread across my face.
“Then get ready.”
I didn’t reach for a key. I simply tapped a widget on my smartwatch.
The Porsche’s twin-turbo engine erupted into a deafening, violent roar. The headlights flared, and the doors unlocked with a sharp, expensive *click*.
All color instantly drained from her face. The prop key slipped from her manicured fingers, clattering onto the asphalt. Her legs buckled in pure, trembling shock, dropping her straight to her knees—exactly as promised.
I stepped past her, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“By the way,” I whispered through the open window. “TechNova just bought VibeCast. I don’t just own the car. I own your contract. And you’re fired.”