308-310

Chapter 308: Everyone Wants to Have His Baby

“…We’re all in the arms business. Or, I guess you could say, our main gig is selling weapons.”

“Picture this: when we join forces, what do you think that turns into?”

“A military-industrial giant controlling over 70% of the U.S. arms market; a quarter of the nation’s energy sector; a third of its internet; a fifth of its agriculture; five banks ranking in the top thirty nationwide; and two financial firms in the top ten securities companies across the country.”

“And then there’s a media group we didn’t even have before—one that’s on the verge of becoming the biggest in the world.”

“When that happens, what’s left to fear?”

“Chicago? Mellon? Rockefeller? Morgan? Do we still need to worry about them?”

“Not at all!”

In San Francisco, inside the waterfront estate of Hailey, the Bay Area’s star prosecutor, Edward Wilson stood in front of a big group—core members of various California consortium families.

He was fired up, pitching his vision to them like he was giving a speech.

The crowd’s reactions varied: some cheered him on, others smirked, a few looked deep in thought, and some just seemed unsure.

“So what do we lose in all this?”

A key figure from the Heade family couldn’t hold back anymore. “We all know there’s no such thing as a free lunch. If we’re getting all this, we’ve got to give up something.”

“Exactly,” chimed in someone from the Giannini family, nodding in agreement.

If Wilson was California’s uncrowned king, then the Gianninis were the second-biggest players in the state’s consortium, right behind the Wilson family.

Their ancestors founded the Bank of Italy back in the early 20th century, which eventually grew into what’s now Bank of America.

Sure, the Giannini family’s stake in Bank of America has shrunk to less than 30%, but they’re still the largest shareholders.

With that powerhouse bank—one of California’s biggest and a top-five player in U.S. banking—the Gianninis wield serious influence. In fact, the Los Angeles faction of the California consortium tends to listen to them more than anyone else.

“The Texans are tangled up with Rockefeller.”

“The Boston crew can barely crawl out from under the Morgans’ thumb—they’re stuck in New England.”

A Giannini family member spoke up: “What makes them think they can protect us? And if we really team up, who’s calling the shots? Your cousin? That guy who’s obsessed with collecting Hollywood dolls these days?”

It was clear the Gianninis and the Heades weren’t fans of Edward Wilson’s latest pitch—

A California consortium alliance with Boston and Texas.

A real, full-on pan-American military-industrial complex.

Or rather, it’s not that they didn’t like the idea.

They were all for building this terrifying powerhouse.

But they wanted a say in how it worked.

They didn’t want to bow to a weakened Boston or a smaller Texas.

They were the mighty California consortium, after all!

What the Gianninis and Heades didn’t expect was Edward Wilson—who’d hashed this out with Milo plenty of times—shrugging at them and saying:

“The Gianninis and Heades don’t have to join.”

The grandson of California’s “Lion King,” now seen as the Wilson family’s new leader, locked eyes with a dozen or so key players from the L.A. faction.

“I’m laying this out for you here. I’m not begging you—I’m giving you one last shot. You can sit it out, no problem at all.”

“But Wilson, Litton, and Northrop? We’re in.”

“As for what happens after that—whether you stand on your own or get swallowed up by Rockefeller, Morgan, and the rest—that’s got nothing to do with us anymore.”

“I’m not here to convince you.”

“I’m just…” Edward Wilson paused for effect, “I’m just giving you your final heads-up.”

That line hit hard.

The dozen or so people around him went dead silent.

The two who’d spoken up from the Giannini and Heade families? Their faces turned to steel.

…

…

Halfway through the cocktail party, Milo felt the urge to hit the bathroom. He excused himself from the crowd and headed toward the main house of the villa.

Among the guests, a few global security agents—always keeping an eye on him—shifted with him.

Some were disguised as waiters, others blended in as party guests, and a couple were straight-up dressed like bodyguards.

Even at his own event, one he’d put together himself, Milo Blackben never took his safety lightly.

He was the type to sweat the small stuff and go all out on the big stuff.

To him, no matter what you’re doing, staying alive was priority number one.

Inside the main house, on his way to the bathroom, Milo brushed off the flood of greetings and flattery from the guests with a casual wave.

His mind was elsewhere, chewing over bigger things.

Mostly about the California consortium.

The so-called California consortium might just be the youngest of America’s big power blocs.

Even younger than the Texas crew.

The Texas group’s roots go back to the Civil War—those Southerners who got beat were basically their ancestors.

Not California, though.

The California consortium didn’t even exist at the start of this century. The state’s real boom only kicked off then.

It wasn’t until after World War II, around the ‘60s, under Schneider Wilson’s full push, that it really took shape.

At first, it was all about Bank of America and the Wilson Financial Company.

Later, Wilson Financial scooped up Wells Fargo, forming the Bank of America-Wells Fargo system we know today.

That became the consortium’s core, pulling the strings on all sorts of businesses.

On the industrial side, the California consortium’s arms companies—like Lockheed, Litton Industries, and Northrop—hold a huge chunk of the Defense Department’s weapons contracts.

These are top-ten U.S. arms dealers and exporters.

Lockheed’s even been number one on the Defense Department’s list for years.

But the control of those weapons companies? It’s been under constant attack from the eastern big shots—Rockefeller, Morgan, Mellon, even Chicago.

California’s crew has lost some ground over time.

Still, after years of growth, the consortium’s reach goes way beyond finance and arms. They’re in all kinds of sectors now.

So they’ve got serious value.

The problem? They’re too split up inside. For years, they’ve struggled to put up a solid front against outside pressure.

It’s gotten to the point where the eastern consortiums have their fingers in almost all the major California companies.

If they’d just play ball—if Edward could talk them into it—

You’d get a triangle on the U.S. map: California, Texas, and New England.

New England’s got the history, the depth, the PR—it’s the original America.

Texas has the land, the energy, the people, and that early pioneer spirit.

California? They’ve got high-tech industry, the strongest cultural machine in the country, plus the internet, healthcare, and the biggest population.

If you could sway those three regions, you’d have a real shot at taking on Mellon, Morgan, and Rockefeller.

And if you could lock them down completely…

Saying someone’s the “King of America” wouldn’t be a stretch at all.

But pulling it off? That’s a whole different beast—pretty damn tough, to be honest.

Take Californians, for example. They’re a divided bunch, sure, but getting them to bow down to an outsider? Fat chance. They all see themselves as hotshots—why would they ever submit? It’s just not likely.

If it were easy, Wilson wouldn’t have spent all those years failing to build a real California powerhouse.

Then there’s the Texans.

People think Texans are all rough and rowdy, but honestly, they’re the sneakiest of the bunch. On the surface, they’re all about that independent vibe, but behind closed doors? They’re tighter with Morgan and Rockefeller than anyone else. Take my uncle’s family, for instance—the Bush crew. They were basically lapdogs for the Rockefellers at one point. Herbert’s grandpa, the guy who kicked off the Bush dynasty? He was just a petroleum manager working under little Rockefeller back in the day.

The only place I’ve got any real sway over is a crumbling Boston.

Getting to that dream of mine—a legit American power triangle? Man, it’s a long road ahead, and it’s only getting tougher.

With a sigh, Milo finished up in the bathroom.

No sharing with the peasants, of course.

This restroom he strolled into? His bodyguards had already cleared it out before he even stepped foot inside. They’d checked every inch to make sure it was safe—no issues—before letting him in. Once he was inside, David stood watch outside, Kenny stayed in with him, and the rest of the security team made damn sure no one else got close. Only after he walked out could anyone else use the place.

Latest novels first on 69 Book Bar!  

But tonight’s party was packed—way too many people. The villa’s bathrooms were stretched thin. And since he’d just gone in, a little line had started forming. Some folks were lingering near the door, waiting their turn, even willing to queue up.

Milo stepped out, shaking the water off his hands, and spotted Lee Fu-jin in the lineup.

This South Korean heiress he’d recently snagged? Oh, he was still in that honeymoon phase with her. The guy couldn’t get enough of watching that icy, aristocratic face of hers—usually so detached and aloof—twist into unbearable pleasure under him, her moans slipping out despite her best efforts to hold them back.

“There’s probably another bathroom in the master bedroom,” he said with a grin, walking up to her. “I just didn’t feel like trekking that far. Plus, I don’t have to wait in line. You could head there—no need to stand around here.”

Lee Fu-jin’s face lit up when she saw him coming. In front of others, she was always cold as ice, maybe even a little harsh, but now she flashed a soft smile. “I’m not in a rush. I’m here with my sister-in-law…”

She nodded toward the woman next to her—about the same age, not quite as stunning as Fu-jin, but still pretty in her own right. A South Korean wife, staring at Milo without blinking.

“Hey, I’m Milo Blackben,” he said, flashing a grin and a playful wink. “Lilith’s… boyfriend.”

That one word made Fu-jin beam.

The other woman jumped in quick. “Mr. Blackben, hi! I’m Annie Lim. So nice to meet you.”

Milo gave a nod, piecing it together.

Oh, right—Annie Lim. Married to Lee Jae-yong, the big shot from the StarStarStar Group. She came from a solid Korean chaebol family herself, one with some real muscle. Didn’t she and Jae-yong have a daughter later on? Pretty girl, if memory serves—people called her “Korea’s Top Princess” or something. But didn’t they divorce eventually? Something about the Lee family screwing over her folks, letting them nearly go bankrupt.

Right now, though, she’s still a newlywed—freshly hitched. Milo couldn’t help but sneak a few extra glances at her. She was good-looking, no doubt, with a killer vibe. Her skin was flawless—pale like a Caucasian’s but without that roughness. Honestly, she might’ve been even fairer than Fu-jin, and it was obvious her complexion was top-tier.

“Hope you ladies have a good time tonight,” Milo said, nodding to her and Fu-jin before heading off.

Once he and his bodyguards were out of sight, Fu-jin and Annie slipped into the bathroom together. As they walked, Annie whispered, “Whew… Fu-jin, I don’t know how you handle it. Being around him… that aura he’s got? I felt like I couldn’t even breathe!”

Fu-jin paused, then laughed softly. “Yeah, Milo’s presence is intense. That night he came up to me? I didn’t even think about resisting. His status, his height, that strong frame—it’s this invisible pressure that just… hits you. I almost forgot how to breathe myself.”

“But now?” she added with a smirk. “After all those times? You build up a tolerance. It’s just practice.”

Annie blinked, thrown off. Practice? What do you mean, practice? I’m not his girl—I’m never gonna get used to that!  

With that, they split off to handle their business.

Later, Annie rejoined her husband, Lee Jae-yong. There he was, grinning ear to ear, practically bowing as he schmoozed with a couple of white and Black guys. And not just any smile—full-on ass-kissing mode.

Back in the day, Annie wouldn’t have batted an eye at it. Her dad, her brothers, her father-in-law—even the Korean president and other chaebol heads—they all pulled the same fake grin when big American players rolled through. Even some Japanese tycoons got the treatment. She’d gotten used to it.

But now? After standing next to Fu-jin and feeling that man’s aura—like a damn mountain pressing down on her—watching her husband grovel like this? It hit different. Annie’s eyes drifted, scanning the party for him.

Wasn’t hard to spot.

He was the beating heart of this whole fancy shindig tonight.

You just had to look for the biggest crowd, the spot where all the heavy hitters were clumped together.

The guy smack in the middle, the one everyone was praising and kissing up to? That was him, no question.

Annie Lim spotted him, surrounded by the California governor, the San Francisco mayor, and a bunch of other big shots. Everyone had a smile plastered on their face, beaming at him.

She was too far away to catch what they were saying, though.

Then, out of nowhere, he raised his glass—his voice sharp and clear. “To San Francisco, to California, may God bless America—cheers!”

“To San Francisco, to California, may God bless America—cheers!”

It started with his little circle, everyone mimicking him, hoisting their glasses and shouting along. Then it spread outward, rippling through the room.

It was like a massive whale breaching in the middle of the ocean, sending out waves that rocked everything around it.

Before long, the entire place joined in—everyone raising their glasses, or just throwing their hands up if they didn’t have one.

“To San Francisco, to California, may God bless America—cheers!”

The sound was loud, booming.

No one had rehearsed a damn thing, but somehow, it was perfectly in sync—like it was meant to be.

Annie, along with every other woman there, couldn’t take her eyes off him. They were completely mesmerized.

It was primal, like way back when early humans lived in primitive villages. The first female monkeys, staring at the strongest, most powerful male in the tribe—the one who ruled them all.

Every single one of them wanted to have his babies.

(End of chapter)

Chapter 309: Attacks from Other Consortiums

There’s no such thing as a wall that doesn’t let some wind through.

And Milo’s efforts to buddy up with the Texans and Californians, trying to forge some kind of alliance? It’s not exactly subtle—he’s doing it out in the open.

The other players aren’t just NPCs waiting to follow his script.

They’ve got their own plans.

Their own moves.

When word got out that Milo Blackben was trying to rope in Texas and California to build a “New America,” Washington didn’t even flinch yet, and Morgan and Rockefeller hadn’t made a peep.

The Mellon crew? No clue what they’re thinking.

But Chicago? They were the first to jump in.

“Okay, everybody, let’s hold off on talking about the Wilsons for a sec.”

Chicago.

The third-biggest city in the U.S. and one of the world’s top financial hubs.

A skyline packed with towering skyscrapers—people call it the birthplace of the modern high-rise.

Back when Chicago was making its name globally, New York was still just a little speck propped up by factory owners.

But times change.

These days, Chicago’s slipped from being America’s biggest city down to number three.

The Chicago consortium’s fate mirrors that slide. Once the most powerful group in the country, now they’re more like a sidekick to Rockefeller and Morgan.

Still, they’ve got a decent amount of independence.

Coste Krone stood in front of the group, eyeing everyone.

“Our targets? They’ve pretty much all landed in the Boston crew’s hands. Especially that Milo Blackben—he’s the one who’s eaten the biggest slice.”

“We don’t know why the Wilson family’s playing along with this.”

“But I say we deal with the problem head-on first.”

“My take? We can’t just let it go!”

The room got heavy after that.

The Krone family’s a rising star among Chicago’s core families.

The consortium started with local heavyweights like the McCormick and Wood families pulling things together.

Later, with Morgan and Rockefeller’s backing, the Krones—originally one of their lesser allies—shot up the ranks.

Leaning on Morgan as their biggest lifeline in Chicago, the Krone family’s become a top dog in the consortium.

When Coste talks, it’s basically Morgan or Rockefeller’s stance too.

Everyone in the room knew that.

Kenneth McCormick and Douglas Wood, from the McCormick and Wood families, swapped a quick look.

Kenneth spoke up. “Coste, you saying we should take on the Boston crew?”

Coste Krone didn’t hesitate. “Damn right!”

“The Boston folks snatched our prey like it was nothing. We can’t just let that slide.”

“Think about it: the second they took over, they became our biggest rivals.”

“They’ve got full control of Litton Industries and Northrop—arms companies we don’t have and have been dying to get our hands on.”

“Especially Litton. They’ve been bumping up against our International Harvester and Caterpillar businesses forever.”

“If we don’t push back, they’ll keep pressing, chipping away at our say and our market.”

“Why not hit them while they’re still finding their footing? Show Boston what we’re made of.”

“Even if we can’t buy those companies outright, at least they’ll think twice before messing with us again.”

Ron Sears jumped in without missing a beat. “I’m with Coste. We can’t let this go. We’ve got to make a stand.”

Ron’s the heir to the Sears family, founders of the Sears company.

They used to be a powerhouse in the Chicago consortium too.

But they fell hard, losing most of their shares over time.

Slowly, they ended up as the Krone family’s shadow.

Coste didn’t even need to nudge him—Ron was already charging in after Coste laid it out.

“You know, when the California consortium started crumbling, we were the first to step up. And what’ve we got to show for it? Nothing!”

“We’ve got to do something.”

“Otherwise, the Chicago consortium’s going to be a laughingstock.”

“The Boston crew used to be our punching bag. Now they’re coming in hot. If we don’t act, they’ll be walking all over us!”

If the Boston consortium was the first real, organized family-led power bloc in America, Chicago was number two.

Back before Morgan, Rockefeller, and Mellon showed up, it was Boston and Chicago slugging it out the hardest.

Both have faded some now. Chicago’s basically a vassal to others.

Boston? If it weren’t for Milo Blackben popping up out of nowhere, they’d probably be in the same boat as Chicago.

They were supposed to be buddies in the gutter together. Now it’s like, “What the hell, man? You’re climbing out while I’m still down here?”

If anyone’s pissed about Boston’s comeback—jealous, bitter, whatever—it’s gotta be their old pal Chicago.

Kenneth and Douglas shared another glance, then nodded in agreement.

Besides the fact that Chicago pulling this off would likely get a boost from Morgan and Rockefeller, they were genuinely ticked about Boston’s big score this time.

“So what’s the plan?” Kenneth McCormick asked Coste directly. “Boston’s got some Texans and Californians backing them up now, at least partly.”

Coste shrugged, hands out. “If the Californians could actually get their act together, none of us—Boston or us—would even be in the picture.”

“And the Texans? Trust me, they only fight when the wind’s at their back. They’re still on the fence!”

Douglas and Kenneth nodded again.

Milo Blackben’s whole “New America” triangle thing?

Pretty much nobody’s buying it.

Getting all those families and companies to align their interests? Even Morgan and Rockefeller couldn’t pull that off!

A weakened Boston crew, even with a hotshot like Milo, fixing it all?

Forget California’s mess. The Texans might look independent, but Rockefeller’s got way too many hooks in them.

This isn’t happening easy.

Coste pitched his idea to the group. “How about we start by making Blackwell Financial—Blackben’s bank—cough up what they swallowed?”

Eyes lit up, everyone leaning in.

Coste went on, slow and steady. “We don’t know exactly how much Blackben Bank shelled out, but we can ballpark it.”

“Litton Industries and Northrop? We figured they’re worth over $12 billion each.”

“Chevron Oil? More than $25 billion.”

“California Electric? Close to $6 billion.”

“Even if the Wilsons didn’t jack up the price, to take over all their shares, Blackben Bank would’ve had to drop at least $30 billion.”

“Then there’s the pile of assets they grabbed from the Wilsons too. Conservative guess? Another $10 billion plus.”

“So, rough math, Blackben Bank’s out at least $40 billion!”

“That’s a third of their total bank assets!”

“A third of their cash flow? That’s insane—way too high. No normal consortium bank keeps that much liquid.”

“So, what if Blackben Bank’s stretched thin right now?”

By the end, a nasty grin crept across Coste’s face.

The others snapped to attention.

Think about it—it actually made sense!

“But here’s my question,” Douglas Wood said quietly. “Boston First National Bank and the rest of the Boston crew—they’ve got to be pitching in cash. This isn’t just Milo—it’s all of Boston moving together.”

“You’re right, Douglas,” Coste said with a smile. “But what if I told you that when we go after Blackben Bank, someone’s going to be hitting Boston’s banks and insurance companies too?”

“It’s not just us who’ve got a beef with Boston!”

Coste scanned the room. “Nobody wants to see Boston pull this off.”

Kenneth and Douglas got it right away.

Chances are, Morgan, Rockefeller, and maybe Mellon would be yanking Boston and Texas around from behind the scenes while Chicago took the lead.

Heck, it might even be Morgan’s crew pushing Chicago to charge in first.

Like that time with Canada.

“If that’s the case, we could make life hell for Blackben Bank. Maybe even force them to spit out what they’ve swallowed.”

“Hell, we might even get our hands inside Blackben Bank itself!”

Kenneth McCormick rubbed his beard, grinning wider the more he thought it over.

Chicago’s not just Chicago.

They’ve got Morgan, Rockefeller, maybe even Mellon in their corner.

Now that’s got McCormick real interested.

“If Blackben Bank stumbles, the Boston consortium’s going to freak.”

“We don’t know how the other groups will react, but Morgan and Rockefeller? They’re not passing up a chance to smack Boston down.”

“Boston’s comeback’s been eating into their profits big time!”

Truth is, Blackben Bank doesn’t normally sit on $40 billion in cash.

Before, when they went long on yen and pounds or shorted global oil, they mostly used principal funds.

The goal was just to keep the money’s value steady.

But this time, to scoop up the Wilson family’s assets, they pulled cash back fast, teaming up with other financial firms using leveraged financing.

Those deals are hush-hush, though—the partners aren’t blabbing, or they’d tank their own reps and scare off future deals.

Coste Krone and the crew? They’ve got no idea.

And with Blackben Bank swallowing up so many banks over the years…

All the assets from those acquired banks? They’d been scooped up by Blackben Bank and shuffled over to its asset management department.

Milo had sat down with his advisory team a while back, laying out the game plan for Blackben Bank, and they’d been following it to the letter ever since. Over the years, they’d offloaded bad loans at bargain prices to cut losses fast, and when some lending partnerships with no strategic value hit their expiration dates, they pulled the funds back and didn’t renew.

Instead, Blackben Bank’s cash was funneled into consumer loans and small-scale lending for individuals, plus providing financial muscle for companies under the Boston Consortium’s umbrella.

Before anyone knew it—bam—two and a half years later, Blackben Bank had teamed up with First National Bank of Boston to become the twin financial engines of the Boston Consortium.

That’s the main reason everyone started seeing Milo Blackben as Boston’s new top dog. Sure, he’d led the charge into fresh goldmines like media and the internet, and even cracked open the energy sector—something the Boston Consortium had never touched before. But the real kicker? Blackben Bank itself.

It was like a second heart for the fading Boston Consortium, pumping new life alongside First National Bank of Boston. And this new heart wasn’t just stuck in New England—it wasn’t stepping on First National’s toes either.

Think of it like this: the Boston Consortium used to be a 1.6-liter naturally aspirated engine. Then Milo came along and slapped on a hybrid motor with a fat battery. Suddenly, this old gas-guzzler turned into a fuel-efficient, long-range, freakishly fast hybrid.

Plenty of folks had their eyes on Blackben Bank for a while now. If you could get your hands on it—or even just sway it a little—you’d not only have Milo Blackben by the throat, but you’d also get a sneaky grip on the whole Boston Consortium. Two birds, one stone.

Problem was, the companies Blackben Bank invested in were mostly hand-picked by Milo—high-potential outfits that could kick into a self-sustaining groove with just a little startup cash. No need for mergers or takeovers. That made it tough for outsiders to meddle.

To keep the money moving, Blackben Bank poured a ton of its funds into the asset management department for investments—futures, stocks, bonds, you name it.

This time, when they were gearing up to take on the Wilson family and California Consortium’s assets, Blackben Bank cashed out a bunch of investments early, pulling in a hefty pile of cash.

No need to blab about those moves to the public, of course.

That’s why guys like Koster Kron misread the situation, thinking Blackben Bank’s cash flow was stretched thin.

The Chicago crowd? Their playbook was crude, sloppy, but damn effective: get the media to stir up doubts about Blackben Bank’s finances and blow it up big.

Panic the depositors, shove Blackben Bank into the spotlight.

After all, banks had been dropping like flies since Penn Square Bank bit the dust in 1982. The collapse of Continental Illinois—once a top-ten U.S. bank—twelve years ago? That kicked the whole mess into overdrive, setting off a chain reaction of nasty fallout.

The Chicago Consortium took a hit back then too—some of its core families lost their iron grip on the group.

Just this year, in May, Ohio’s savings and loan fiasco cost the state’s deposit insurance fund and taxpayers $185 million. A month later, a bunch of Maryland banks went belly-up, tanking the state’s deposit insurance fund.

The banking scene in other states wasn’t looking much prettier either.

The Federal Savings and Loan Insurance Corporation? Its fund used to sit at over $20 billion—now it’s down to a measly $4.6 billion. Their chairman, George, is scrambling in Congress to beg for a cash injection.

Depositors have been on edge for years now. Banks that “couldn’t possibly fail” have been crashing left and right. At its peak, the U.S. had over 15,000 banks—now it’s down to about 8,000.

F* the shit, when they collapse, you can’t even get your money out. Who wouldn’t be freaking out?

On the morning of August 15, The Chicago News, the biggest paper in the region, dropped a bombshell article claiming Blackben Bank was teetering on the edge of disaster.

It wasn’t just hot air either—they made it sound legit, listing off Blackben’s recent acquisitions, pointing to a cash burn of $40–50 billion, and calling its investments a chaotic mess. They even threw in that Blackben Bank, the seventh-largest bank in the U.S., still hadn’t gone public, hinting something shady was up with its operations.

The whole piece was written in this worried, “we’re just looking out for you” tone—super manipulative and catchy as hell.

By mid-morning, plenty of Chicago readers had eaten it up. Cautious depositors and companies started pulling their funds. Reporters from the paper even swung by a Blackben Bank branch in Chicago and snapped a photo of the crowd piling in.

That night, The Chicago Evening Post slapped that pic on the front page and went to town hyping it up.

Meanwhile, papers outside Illinois—nudged along by some behind-the-scenes puppet masters—picked up the story too. To dodge any blowback, they played it smart and just reprinted The Chicago News article word-for-word.

This little maneuver snowballed fast.

The second The Chicago News piece hit, branch managers in Chicago reported it up the chain. By 9 a.m. on the 15th, Blackben Bank’s president, Hector Cabrera, got the heads-up.

Yeah, Hector had taken the reins as president last year. When the Boston Consortium opened the door to Milo, he didn’t come empty-handed. Sure, there was cross-shareholding on paper, but there were also private family alliances and talent swaps—stuff that keeps a consortium ticking.

Blackben Bank was too crucial for Milo to trust just anyone from Boston with it. So, after some polite arm-twisting, he put his old buddy Hector in charge. The guy had been in banking forever—used to be a bigwig at First National Bank of Boston.

With Hector at the helm, Blackben Bank and First National synced up smoother than ever. Hell, Blackben Bank’s crazy growth came from poaching a ton of First National’s top talent.

When this mess popped off, Hector called a quick huddle with his team. They decided to shift funds from other Illinois branches to Chicago’s, keeping the damage local for now. Headquarters wouldn’t bother denying the rumors—why fan the flames and draw more eyes nationwide?

Milo’s a media guy—Hector knew how the press worked. They’d blow anything up for sales and not give a damn about the fallout.

But he didn’t just sit on his hands either. Hector kept one eye on the situation while sending word to the asset management team to ramp up sales that day, pulling in another $5 billion-plus in cash.

Liquidity’s king—end of story.

When Chicago’s branches shut down for the day, the tally came in: across the city and surrounding areas, 17 branches had coughed up over $54 million in withdrawals.

Hector’s face was grim as hell when he saw the numbers.

By evening, when out-of-state papers started reprinting the story, Hector knew it was spiraling out of control.

He got the bank’s top brass brainstorming fixes on one end while he hopped a plane straight to San Francisco to find Milo—Boston Consortium’s new kingpin—at home.

This wasn’t just some bank hiccup anymore. It was a full-on attack on the consortium, and the response had to come from the top.

Problem was, Blackben Bank’s HQ is in New York, and Milo wasn’t there.

So Hector took off for San Francisco to track him down in person.

(End of chapter)

Chapter 310: A Few Things in the Backyard

There’s nearly a three-hour time difference between New York and San Francisco.

So when Hector Cabrera hopped on a midnight flight from New York, by the time he landed in San Francisco, it was almost noon back east—but just around 8 a.m. here.

Same airport: San Francisco International.

The tenth busiest in the U.S., twentieth in the world.

Hector stepped off his private plane, and it wasn’t long before he was grinning, heading toward the tarmac where Blackwell Bank’s local staff were waiting for him.

But then something caught his eye. He glanced up and saw a gorgeous Boeing 747—painted in blue, white, and red—slowly descending toward the runway.

Hector’s eyes narrowed. He’d recognized it instantly.

That massive plane overhead? It was Milo’s “Boston” jet.

The blue-white-red color scheme screamed Boston pride—New England’s favorite combo. Most of the flags and family crests up there rock those colors.

“Mr. Blackwell’s in San Francisco, right?” Hector asked, pointing at the plane touching down on the runway.

He was talking to none other than Milo’s chubby butler, Wendy, who doubled as a Blackwell Bank staffer.

“That’s his plane, isn’t it?” Hector nodded toward it.

Wendy peeked over and nodded. “Yep, that’s the Boston alright. Far as I know, it took a trip to Asia. Mr. Blackwell sent it to pick up some folks.”

Hector almost asked who, but figured that might be prying.

So he just grinned and walked with Wendy toward the terminal.

Wendy, picking up on Hector’s curiosity—after all, he was Milo’s best bud and knew Wendy pretty well—leaned in and whispered, “It’s a few Asian women. All pregnant, about a month or two from popping.”

Hector’s jaw dropped. He wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

He didn’t need Wendy to spell it out.

He knew exactly whose kids were in those bellies!

Thinking about his buddy’s weird kink, Hector couldn’t help but shake his head internally.

Seriously, people in their circle always said Milo had a bit of a primal streak.

That relentless drive to get all kinds of women pregnant? Dude was like some alpha animal straight out of the wild!

But his career? Man, his success was blinding.

So this little quirk of his? Nobody dared call it out—or, frankly, had the standing to.

They were all the same anyway.

Heck, on the basic scale of human morals, Milo’s thing was practically saintly compared to some in their world.

Dropping the topic, Hector followed Wendy out of the airport.

Behind them, back on the tarmac at San Francisco International, Lee Fu-jung, the eldest princess of the StarStarStar Group’s Lee family, stood expressionless as the huge private jet came to a stop in front of her.

Wendy was there to greet Hector on Milo’s behalf.

Lee Fu-jung? She was also there for Milo, picking up a few women flying in from Hong Kong.

She had their files.

Five Hong Kong entertainment stars: Michelle Lee (Li Jiaxin), Cecilia Qiu (Qiu Shuzhen), Mandy Wan (Wan Qiwen), Liz Lai (Li Zi), and Cherry Zhu (Zhu Ying).

What blew Lee Fu-jung’s mind? Every single one of them was pregnant!

All five—knocked up!

And their due dates? Almost identical—around 33 weeks.

The fast ones might pop in two or three weeks; the slower ones, four or five. Either way, it was go-time soon.

Like Hector, she didn’t need anyone to tell her whose babies they were carrying!

“Phew…”

Watching the plane’s engines shut down, Lee Fu-jung let out a breath.

“!”

She couldn’t help muttering a curse in her native tongue under her breath!

But then she felt like she’d just cursed herself too.

If he’s a stallion, what does that make her?

Some shameless cow chasing after him, begging to get pregnant?

Lost in that thought, the plane’s stairs connected.

The door swung open, and two black-clad bodyguards stepped out, scanning the scene below.

They ducked back in, then re-emerged, leading the way.

Next came a middle-aged woman in a maid outfit, carefully helping a very pregnant lady down the steps.

Then a second, a third, a fourth… five in total!

Every one of them sporting a massive belly!

The first one especially—her stomach was so big Lee Fu-jung half-worried it might burst!

“Phew…”

Taking another deep breath, Lee Fu-jung put on a faint smile and walked up.

She spoke in English: “Hi there. I’m Lee Fu-jung from StarStarStar Group. My father’s Lee Jian-xi, South Korea’s richest man. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Blackwell to welcome you.”

Michelle Lee, fresh off the plane, was about to throw some attitude—assuming Lee Fu-jung was just another maid like that Liu Xiaoli chick Milo kept around.

But then Lee Fu-jung dropped her intro.

StarStarStar Group might not have peaked yet, but its name was already huge—big across Asia.

And her dad being South Korea’s richest guy? That shut Michelle’s preggo-pride right down.

“Hi…” Michelle scrambled to respond. “I’m Michelle Lee. You can call me Michelle.”

“Nice to meet you, Michelle.” Lee Fu-jung smiled, glancing at the others behind her.

Cecilia Qiu and the rest hurried forward to say hi.

Hong Kong folks usually spoke decent English—no communication issues here.

After quick intros, Lee Fu-jung waved over some staff to usher them into a convoy that’d rolled right onto the tarmac.

Five people weren’t cramming into one car.

They split into two. Michelle ended up with Lee Fu-jung.

The cars started up, peeling off the tarmac.

Not long after, Michelle couldn’t hold back. “Lilith, do you know what Milo—uh, Mr. Blackwell—has planned for us?”

Last year, late fall, the five of them had hooked up with Milo.

First in Hong Kong, then tagging along to the Middle East. Next thing they knew, they were all pregnant and shipped back to Asia.

At first, they were chilling in Hong Kong, keeping the pregnancies under wraps.

They were celebs, sure—not A-listers like Cecilia at her peak—but still at risk of getting spotted in Hong Kong or the islands.

Once their bellies started showing, they got moved.

Singapore, Malaysia, the Philippines—bouncing around.

Now, with delivery looming, they’d finally been flown to the U.S.

Sure, they’d been shuffled around a lot.

But aside from not seeing Milo, they couldn’t complain.

Whether in Hong Kong or Southeast Asia, they’d been treated like queens—way beyond anything they’d known before.

Aside from keeping a low profile and some movement restrictions, everything—medical care, comforts, you name it—was top-tier.

They even had a former Windsor royal housekeeper with them the whole time.

Now in the U.S., with birth just weeks away, Michelle was dying to know what Milo had in store.

“Mr. Blackwell’s already set everything up for you in Santa Clara County,” Lee Fu-jung replied politely.

“Santa Clara County?”

“You know, Silicon Valley.”

“Oh, right! Everyone’s always saying Milo’s the Godfather of Silicon Valley, the emperor of the internet!”

Michelle beamed.

She figured, the Silicon Valley king setting them up there? They’d be living it up however they wanted!

It’s his turf, after all.

Lee Fu-jung didn’t bite on that, so Michelle glanced at Cecilia—quiet and poised beside her—and kept chatting to fill the silence.

“Lilith, you working for Milo?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Uh, so why would Milo send you to pick us up?”

Lee Fu-jin, sitting in the passenger seat, heard Lee Jia-xin’s question. She couldn’t help but turn around to glance at Jia-xin, whose belly was so huge it was almost comical.

Pregnancy had packed a ton of weight onto Jia-xin, but that round face of hers? Still impossible to dislike. She was just too gorgeous—even with all the extra pounds, she was drop-dead stunning.

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Plus, compared to her usual self, there was this glow about her now—a kind of maternal radiance.

Fu-jin got it. She could see why he wanted Jia-xin pregnant.

A beauty like that? If Fu-jin were a guy, she’d probably want her knocked up and carrying her kid too.

“I’m just like you guys,” Fu-jin said out of nowhere. “One of his women.”

“One of…” Jia-xin froze, not quite catching on at first.

Then it clicked, and her eyes widened. “Wait—you—you’re one of Milo’s women too?”

Fu-jin turned back to face the highway ahead. “Yup. Same as you all—my role’s being his woman.”

Jia-xin: …

Well, damn. Turns out they were all in the same boat.

Here she was, feeling all high and mighty like some head housewife ready to flex her status, only to find out they were all just mistresses.

And Fu-jin? Her rank was clearly higher—daughter of South Korea’s richest man. Way out of their league compared to a bunch of Hong Kong starlets.

Jia-xin went quiet, and with the long drive stretching out, things got a little boring.

About ten minutes later, Fu-jin broke the silence, striking up a chat.

“Michelle, your belly looks way bigger than the others’. What’s up with that?”

That snapped Jia-xin out of her funk—she perked right up.

“Because I’m carrying twins!” she said, grinning ear to ear. “Already checked—two boys! Twin boys!”

That’s why she strutted around as the unofficial “big sister” among the five Hong Kong girls.

Milo’s genes must’ve had some twin magic in them. Sophie had twins, Jia-xin had twins, and even Hayley—her sister-in-law who got pregnant around the same time—was expecting twins with her second kid!

Three sets of twins so far.

Twins, huh.

Fu-jin felt a twinge of envy.

It wasn’t that she loved Milo or was dying to have his kids. No, she had bigger plans—like becoming South Korea’s own Michiko.

To carve out her own turf in Korea, maybe even snatch her brother’s inheritance? Being just Milo’s sidepiece wasn’t gonna cut it.

That guy was obsessed with heirs. If she didn’t pop out a kid for him, his support would stay lukewarm at best.

But if she could waltz back to Korea with a big belly like these Hong Kong girls, carrying his kid? She’d probably be queen material. At the very least, those prosecutors who gave even her family pause would be tripping over themselves to kiss her feet.

Thinking about twins, Fu-jin glanced down at her flat stomach.

Either she wasn’t pregnant yet, or it was still too early to tell.

Meanwhile, Jia-xin’s confidence roared back to life. She started chatting up Fu-jin again.

“Lilith, you have no idea how rough it is carrying twins,” she complained. “This belly’s so huge, I can’t do anything without feeling awkward. My face is all puffy—I’ve totally ballooned. I just…”

“I can’t wait to pop these kids out. I’m dying to lose the weight and get back to—”

She rambled on, with Fu-jin tossing in a reply here and there, and Chiu Suk-jan occasionally chiming in with a word or two.

Before long, the convoy rolled into Santa Clara County, pulling up to a mansion tucked in a ritzy valley neighborhood.

If Sophie Marceau were here, she’d recognize it in a heartbeat—it’s where she’d stayed to rest and prep for her own pregnancy.

Fu-jin hopped out and led them inside.

As they walked, she said, “Mr. Blackben wants you guys to settle in here for now. Once you’ve adjusted to the time zone and gotten over any jet lag or climate stuff, you can let him know if you’d rather move somewhere else.”

“He’ll swing by himself later to check on you. Oh, and I’ll leave you my number. If anything comes up while you’re here, just call me.”

“After all, compared to the others, we’re all Asian. In a way, we’re kinda on the same team!”

Fu-jin had ambition.

She could feel Hayley trying to pull her in, while Milo’s Hollywood mistresses seemed to form their own little clique.

Milo had women everywhere—most of them pregnant by now. It wasn’t a big deal yet, but once the kids grew up? Oh, it’d be a full-on battle royale.

Instinctively, Fu-jin wanted to team up with these Hong Kong girls. Same skin tone, similar culture—down the road, they could back each other up.

Since Milo had her pick up Jia-xin and the crew, Fu-jin jumped at the chance to play their guide here in the States.

For Chiu Suk-jan and the others, fresh off the boat and all about to pop, nerves were inevitable—no matter how confident Jia-xin acted.

But with Fu-jin going out of her way to be friendly, plus her status as the daughter of Korea’s richest guy? They were more than happy to roll with it.

Once they’d settled in and chatted a bit, Milo’s medical team showed up to check on their health. Fu-jin took that as her cue to dip.

She didn’t get far from the mansion before pausing, pulling out her phone, and making a call.

“Ma’am.”

Her voice turned sweet as the line connected. “I’ve got them all settled in. They’re at 35 Cayote Avenue, San Jose, Santa Clara right now.”

Sure, she wanted her own faction.

But Fu-jin knew she didn’t have the clout for that yet.

So for now, she’d pledge herself to Hayley’s camp—the only one in Milo’s harem who could maybe rival the Rockefeller main wife.

Fresh off dropping off Jia-xin and the girls, Fu-jin wasted no time reporting back to Hayley.

“I get it, yes. I’ll let you know the second anything happens here!”

“Got it, no problem.”

“Bye, ma’am.”

Once the call ended, Fu-jin tucked her phone away and glanced back at the mansion.

“Whew…”

She let out a breath, feeling the pressure piling up.

She thought to herself: Gotta get pregnant—or up my game somehow.  

(End of chapter)