The train rattled beneath my boots as I approached the looming glass monolith of the East Exchange. Dawn's first light glinted off steel girders and reflective panels, turning the tower into a sliver of sunrise itself. My heart pounded in my ears—part excitement, part terror—as I threaded through the revolving doors into a lobby of marble floors and chrome accents. A hostess in a crisp uniform offered me a curt nod; I swallowed and forced a polite smile.
Mercer stood beside a reception desk, phone pressed to his ear. He waved me forward without looking up. "They've cleared the conference room," he said into the handset. Closing it, he tucked it away and turned to me. "Ready?"
I nodded, throat tight. In my hand, the prototype felt alive, buzzing with code and ambition. Mercer led me to polished elevators that whisked us upward in near silence. On the twentieth floor, we stepped off into a hallway lined with doors labeled for corporate titans and venture capitalists. He tapped a keycard at the door marked "Cedar Gate Ventures" and ushered me inside.
The conference room was cavernous, glass walls revealing a panorama of the awakening city. A long table of dark wood gleamed under recessed lights, and at its head sat three men in expertly tailored suits—lean, confident, and utterly unreadable. Behind them, a projection screen flickered with Cedar Gate's logo. Mercer closed the door and gave me a small nod.
"Gentlemen," he said, voice smooth as bourbon. "This is the young talent I told you about. I believe his system will change the game."
One of the investors—tall, silver-haired, with hawkish eyes—gestured for me to step forward. My heart thundered as I placed the prototype on the table and hit the power switch. Wires hummed, and the central screen lit up with the app's interface: a sleek display showing live bids and asks across my mesh network.
I cleared my throat. "Good morning. My name is Daren," I began, voice steadier than I felt. "This is the Gray Trade Protocol. It's a decentralized arbitrage platform that connects local traders directly—cutting out traditional brokerage fees and routing microtransactions through an encrypted mesh network designed for underserved districts."
I launched a live demo: a candlestick chart flickered across the screen, then split into two windows showing a grain seller in Sector 12B and a rice buyer in Sector 14A. Within seconds, the system matched them at a midpoint price, notified both parties, and displayed their exchange coordinates. The investors leaned in, eyes narrowing at the real-time ledger entries scrolling beside the graph.
"My network integrates with existing infrastructure—grain terminals, water controllers, even municipal data feeds—so it can scale from slums to suburbs," I said, adrenaline sharpening my words. "In beta tests, we processed over two hundred successful trades in under an hour, yielded a 15% cost savings for participants, and funneled relief credits back into the community."
The second investor—leaner, darker-haired—tapped his pen on the table. "Impressive numbers for a beta," he said. "But what safeguards prevent fraudulent activity? How do you verify identities without compromising privacy?"
I nodded, expecting the question. "We deploy zero-knowledge proofs and periodic cross-references with trusted nodes—local cooperatives or key community figures—to authenticate participants. And all transactions are time-stamped and logged in immutable blocks, so disputes can be resolved transparently without exposing sensitive data."
A third investor, younger and more casual in a blazer and jeans, swiped a finger across a tablet. "Your mesh network is clever—but city IT could simply trace the rerouted packets back to your rooftop. They'd dismantle it and shut you down before you scale."
I squared my shoulders. "That's why we ghost-route through offshore proxies and use dynamic port-hopping. Nodes mimic routine network chatter, making it statistically indistinguishable from background noise. Even municipal scans only see random traffic spikes, not a coordinated grid."
They exchanged glances. The silver-haired man leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Let's talk numbers. You said your pilot directed two million credits into relief. What are you asking from us?"
My mouth went dry. Mercer had told me I'd request five thousand credits to expand server capacity, build more routers, and fund marketing. A modest sum—laughable to Cedar Gate, life-changing to me.
"I'm seeking a five-thousand-credit seed investment for hardware expansion, legal compliance, and initial marketing to underserved districts," I said, forcing each word out. "In return, I can offer equity in the protocol and a percentage of transaction fees—scaled to performance metrics we agree on."
Silence stretched. I felt sweat bead at my hairline. The young investor drummed his pen. The lean man tapped his tablet. The silver-haired elder studied my prototype, eyes calculating.
Finally, Mercer cleared his throat. "They'll want to do due diligence," he said, voice low. "Expect follow-up requests, but I think they'll bite."
The silver-haired man nodded. "We like the concept and your execution under pressure. We'll review documentation and see you for a legal session next week. If all checks out, we'll fund your five thousand credits in tranche payments tied to milestone delivery."
Relief and triumph crashed through me in equal waves. I blinked, trying to process the promise. The lean man slid forward a contract draft. "Sign here," he said, pushing it across the table.
Mercer produced a pen and nudged it toward me. My hand trembled as I picked it up and signed. The paper felt heavy—binding me to agreements I barely understood, to expectations I had yet to fulfill. But I placed the pen down and looked up, meeting their gazes.
They all nodded once, curtly. Mercer gave me a satisfied smirk. "Congratulations, Daren. Welcome to Cedar Gate Ventures."
As we stood to leave, the younger investor held out his hand. "Don't disappoint us," he said, tone half-jest, half-warning.
I shook it, resolve hardening in my chest. "I won't."
Back out in the lobby, sunlight glinting off the polished floors, I felt the weight of everything I'd done and everything to come. Mercer clapped me on the shoulder. "See? Nothing to it."
I forced a laugh. "Easy," I said, though my stomach churned. Five thousand credits—enough to secure new servers and distribution nodes—but the deal's strings pulled tightly. Every milestone would be scrutinized; every misstep could cost me Cedar Gate's support and expose my network to reprisal.
We emerged onto the street, the city's hum swelling around us. Vendors hailed customers, trams rolled past, neon billboards flickered early ads—life pulsed on, unstoppable. I breathed it in, tasting the promise of change in the crisp air.
Mercer stowed the contract in his coat pocket. "Next, we draft the rollout schedule," he said. "I'll handle the legal side. You focus on delivering."
I nodded, steeling myself. "Let's get to work."
As I walked toward home, credits echoing in my pocket, I knew the real test had only just begun. Chapter Three had begun with a Breaking Point—but this deal would push me further than any market crash or rooftop hack. It would demand every ounce of cunning, every shard of mercy, and every spark of vengeance I possessed.
And I would rise to meet it.