Date: May 3, 2027
In the world of real power, things aren't bought with cash, not even with bank transactions.
They're bought with time, anonymity... and silence.
The studio monitor displayed an endless stream of legal documents in different languages: corporate French, Virgin Islands legal English, notarial Spanish, tax German.
Iker reviewed them silently. He didn't read word for word. His mind, amplified by the Absolute Compression System, analyzed risk patterns, contractual contradictions, and hidden clauses at inhuman speed.
Every signature, every logo, every digital seal... was connected to a network of front entities that Eidolon had created from scratch.
Companies with common names, based in countries without tax cooperation treaties: Belize, Cyprus, the Cayman Islands, Uruguay.
A perfectly constructed network, where not a cent touched the Ayala name.
"Acquisition status," Iker asked.
Eidolon responded immediately:
"The transaction is in its final stages. The Silva Nova Holdings Ltd. fund, incorporated in Georgetown and controlled by three false representatives, has signed the purchase agreement with the Federal Secretariat of Patrimonial Resources."
"Final cost?" Iker repeated.
"Fiscal closure estimated at $3.9 million, including indirect bribes, multi-level management, document laundering, and demarcation procedures. The island was officially appraised as a "marginal territory with no immediate ecological value."
Iker didn't blink.
That figure didn't even represent 0.5% of what he had already accumulated in his parallel financial network.
"And what does the government really know?"
"Only that a "remote, undeveloped, and industrially untapped" area is being sold to a foreign fund with no physical presence. No international or environmental alert was triggered."
Eidolon paused. Then he added:
"They've filed the case as a "low-impact transfer." No one will investigate it."
Iker closed the file in front of him and replaced it with the digital rendering of the island. A detailed satellite image floated before their eyes: a green, jagged mass, surrounded by an untouched coastline, dotted with jungles, ravines, and underground waterways.
Isolated.
Perfect.
"They call it Tzabek Island," Iker said quietly. "Any meaning?"
"In Mayan historical records, Tzabek can be translated as "suspended cloud" or "island that never rests." It was possibly renamed during the colonial period, but there are no modern references. The name was officially abandoned in 1993 after a failed geothermal drilling attempt."
"Then it will have a name again. Arkaia."
Silence.
And then, Eidolon's voice answered, with an almost reverent modulation:
"Recording new title: Arkaia Project."
The following hours were a choreography of invisible actions.
In an empty office in Bogotá, a fictitious actuary signed the final approval sheet.
In Zurich, a shell company transferred a surety bond to a Mexican SAT account.
In Lisbon, an insurer digitized an environmental risk policy for a piece of land they didn't know existed.
All without a single in-person meeting.
All without anyone knowing what had just happened.
At 2:47 a.m., Iker received the final message:
📄 ACQUISITION COMPLETED
Name: Coastal Undeveloped Parcel No. 0271-C
Owner: Silva Nova Holdings Ltd.
Operational Activation Date: Immediate.
Link to the name Iker Ayala: NULL
Environmental Observation Protocol: Suspended due to "low ecological priority."
Iker turned off the screen and leaned back in the chair. On the outside, nothing had changed.
On the inside… the map of the world was no longer the same.
Now he had a territory.
A canvas.
A miniature nation.
That morning, Iker went downstairs to have breakfast.
The children were already at the table, arguing about dinosaurs.
Alma poured him coffee without saying a word.
But she looked at him.
She looked at him with that mixture of tiredness, suspicion… and a spark he recognized: hope.
"Did you sleep at all?" she asked, her tone neutral.
"A little," he said.
"And whatever you're doing… is it still growing?"
Iker looked her straight in the eyes.
"Yes.
But it won't grow without roots. Everything starts somewhere. And I've already found mine."
She didn't ask any more questions.
She just remained silent, stirring the sugar slowly.
And that, for him… was enough.
Because while his family lived between concrete walls and routines, he had just bought the future.
A future covered in jungle, surrounded by water.
Where the world would be rewritten, species by species.
And where no government would know what was happening.
From that day on, the name Arkaia was no longer a dream.
It was a real coordinate.