Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Damian leaned back slightly, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another Tuesday. Then, with a voice as smooth as a black Amex limit, he said, "Total comes to fifteen billion."

The air shifted.

Atalanta, who had been casually observing, nearly choked on oxygen.

"Excuse me, what?" she blurted out, whipping her head toward Parker like he'd just agreed to buy a private island for a pet goldfish.

Even Tessa—who had seen wealth beyond imagination—gave Damian a sideways glance, because fifteen billion wasn't a number, it was a statement. She knew the price that the cars and the motorcycles would range through and that didn't reach even a billion. So what exactly were the other three orders. How insane were they to make fifteen billion?

But Parker?

Parker didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't even bother to acknowledge the number like a mere ten billion was worth reacting to. Instead, he casually pulled out his card.

This wasn't just any card.

The infamous Infinity card—pure black metal, matte finish, no visible numbers—the kind of card that didn't have a limit, because people like Parker didn't need one. It made no sound as he set it against the reader, a stark contrast to the absurd amount of money it was about to move.

Transaction processing…

One second.

Two seconds.

Transaction approved.

No dramatic beeping. No extra verification. The system didn't even hesitate.

Then—

[Ding! Spent $15B, Earned $150B cashback.]

Parker's smirk deepened. Perfect.

Tessa caught that shift. She had no idea what just happened, but she knew that look. That was the look of a man who had just flipped the entire game in his favor while everyone else was still processing the rules. Damian, ever composed, pulled out something from the desk—a deep red, metal-edged card. This wasn't just any card.

This was Wilder Unlimited Access.

"Mr. Black," Damian said, his tone carrying a distinct weight, "this grants you entry to any Wilder family event—galas, auctions, exclusive gatherings. As long as it's not an 'only family' event, you're welcome."

Atalanta stared at the card, then at Parker, then back at the card. "You just get that for spending fifteen billion?" she asked, slightly baffled.

Damian gave her a knowing smile. "You think we hand these out for a few billion? You need more than just money." He flicked his eyes toward Tessa.

Atalanta got the hint. This wasn't just about wealth—this was about power, about connections. You could drop billions and still not breathe in these circles. But Parker?

He wasn't just in. He was welcomed.

Parker took the card, twirling it between his fingers like it was nothing more than a gift card to Starbucks.

Damian continued, slipping another document forward. "Additionally, you'll receive priority treatment at Wilder Automotive. A permanent 2% discount on all purchases and custom orders. Of course today's orders are not included."

Atalanta blinked. "That's it? A mere two percent?"

Tessa chuckled. "At Wilder Automotive? That's like knocking off the price of a Lamborghini on a single order."

Parker? He barely acknowledged it. A slight nod, nothing more. He didn't need these discounts, if possible what he needed was an increase in the price so he could farm more cashbacks from these insanely expensive purchases from Wilder Automotives!

Damian observed that reaction. Most people would've flinched, smiled, reacted in some way. Parker? He had no interest in small wins. He looked disappointed? Wasn't this the kind of person grandpa Wilder liked the most? Oh, the old man was going to enjoy the story.

Too bad that didn't mean a direct Yes into the family for Parker!

Damian folded his hands. "Anything else you'd like to purchase, Mr. Black?"

Parker was about to shake his head when—

Atalanta perked up. She gestured toward the monstrous beast of a car displayed behind reinforced glass.

"What about that one?"

Damian and Tessa both laughed.

Atalanta frowned. "What's so funny?"

Tessa smirked. "That car's not for sale."

Atalanta narrowed her eyes. "Everything has a price."

Damian shook his head, amused. "Not this one. That's a one-of-a-kind prototype."

Atalanta crossed her arms. "So no one can buy it?"

"To be fair," Damian said smoothly, "there's an auction in two weeks."

Tessa leaned in. "And trust me—it's going to be brutal. Some of the biggest families want that car."

Parker tilted his head, amused. Biggest families, huh?

He let the silence linger, then smirked. "Wait for me then."

Damian exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. He didn't know why, but something about the way Parker said that felt… different.

This wasn't a man planning to bid.

This was a man planning to win. And brutally!

Damian gave Parker a polite nod. "That concludes everything, Mr. Black."

Parker ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he'd just finished a mildly exhausting chore. "Alright. Let's get the hell outta here."

Tessa, still lounging like a queen, gave him a lazy smile. "Already bored of being a billionaire?"

"Bored of sitting in one spot for too long," Parker shot back. "Let's move before they try selling me a Wilder-branded spaceship or some shit."

Damian chuckled but said nothing, stepping aside as Parker led the way.

The exit wasn't some basic double-door situation. Nope. This was a Wilder family facility, so even walking out had to feel exclusive. As they approached, the sleek, matte-black doors slid open, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with security personnel. No one spoke. No one moved unnecessarily.

It wasn't an escort. It was a silent acknowledgment.

You were someone here. This wasn't here when they got in.

Tessa strolled beside Parker, arms loosely crossed, her presence carrying that same undeniable, Wilder-level aura. Atalanta, meanwhile, walked like she was ready to fight the next person who blinked at her wrong.

****

The three of them stepped into the underground exit, and damn—the setup was downright disrespectful.

This wasn't some boring parking garage. No, this was a runway. A long, dimly lit private racing strip leading straight into the night, sleek neon guiding the way like they were about to launch into orbit.

And waiting for them? Beasts.

Lined up, engines purring like caged monsters, were three hypercars—each one more insane than the last. The Bugatti Chiron Super Sport 300+, all sleek menace, looked like it could obliterate every speed limit known to mankind. Next to it, the Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut stood proud, its aggressive angles daring anyone to step up. And last, but definitely not least, the 2025 Porsche Taycan Turbo GT—futuristic as hell, its electric hum vibrating through the damn floor.

Parker smirked, running a hand along the Koenigsegg's matte-black body. "I gotta say, I was ready to leave, but this? This might make me stay a little longer."

Tessa, standing next to her Bugatti, arched a brow. "You mean long enough for me to smoke you on the track?"

Atalanta, already eyeing her Porsche like a damn predator about to feast, cracked her neck. "Oh, we're doing this finally? Good. I was about to fall asleep from all the rich-people talk."

Tessa grinned. "Tired? Don't worry, I'll wake you up when you're in my rearview."

A staff member—who looked way too entertained by the whole thing—handed over their keys. "Enjoy your evening, sir. Misses."

Parker caught his without even looking. "If I don't, I'll be back to complain."

Tessa shook her head, sliding into her car. "You'd actually file a whole customer dissatisfaction report over losing a race?"

"Damn right," Parker muttered, slipping into the Revuelto and gripping the wheel. "Money moves things. Might as well move my fucking happiness, too."

Atalanta snorted, strapping in. "You are such a spoiled—"

Parker slammed the gas.

And just like that—all hell broke loose.

The underground exit erupted with the sound of four hypercars launching forward, their engines roaring like war cries. Tires screeched, the neon lights above stretched into streaks, and the entire strip shook under the sheer force of a billionaire's bad ideas.

For a second, it was just them—three monsters breaking free, tearing into the night at speeds that would make the devil himself buckle his seatbelt.

And the race?

The race was fucking on.