Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 502: The Price of Audacity

Parker stepped forward—smooth, unhurried, like the entire ballroom was just a scenic detour on his afternoon walk. He didn’t need fanfare. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply adjusted his cuff, looked Grandfather Wilder in the eye, and said:

"I’d like to formally propose a new acquisition under Wilder Holdings: the Ashford Media Empire."

"I mean..." Parker tilted his head, voice smooth as chilled bourbon. "I just came here to get my girl. But now that you mention it..." He turned slightly, eyes flicking to Grandfather Wilder. "A media empire wouldn’t look bad under the Wilder umbrella, would it?"

A beat.

Luciano Wilder blinked. Once. Twice. The man’s soul had survived assassinations, power struggles, secret wars, and dinner with seven in-laws who could kill gods with a smile—but this? This left him speechless.

Even the other heads of the Five Families were staring like they’d just heard the wind whisper world domination in slow motion. Alessandro Morello’s wine glass shattered in his hand. Isabella Harrington’s jaw visibly dropped. Someone in the crowd actually made a squeaking noise, like a broken fax machine of disbelief.

Then the entire room broke.

"You wouldn’t dare."

Dominic’s voice came out strangled, like it had to crawl its way out from under the mountain of shock now pinning him in place.

Parker turned his head slightly. Just slightly. The look he gave was surgical—like a predator humoring its prey’s final, futile protest.

"Oh, but I would," Parker said with calm finality, "and I already am."

"You can’t be serious," Dominic croaked, voice cracking under the pressure of watching his generational legacy get put on sale during cocktail hour.

Parker gave a little shrug, the kind that could make kings question their self-worth. "I just offered a polite alternative to publicly dismantling your bloodline. Would you prefer the second option? Because I can absolutely skip to dessert."

"You don’t have the authority—"

Parker raised a hand. Just one. The room dimmed, shadows curling at the edges like reality itself had started listening. And remembering who it belonged to.

"You’re standing in your own house, Dominic," Parker said softly, "and even the walls are wondering why you still think this is yours."

The man had rebuilt Manhattan. Thrown a hundred trillion dollars at it like it was a weekend project. The Ashford Media Empire was powerful, yes—but in comparison? It was a school science fair next to a cosmic detonation.

"Let’s be clear," Parker continued, now pacing slowly, hands in his pockets like a bored CEO at a shareholders’ funeral. "You threatened my girl. You tried to blackmail her family. You teamed up with something you couldn’t even comprehend to put her grandfather in a hospital bed."

He paused.

"And you still thought this party was going to end in your favor?"

Dominic took a shaky step forward, trying to salvage what was left of his spine. "We’re one of the Big Five. You wouldn’t risk destabilizing the balance."

Parker’s smirk was cold enough to give Time frostbite.

"I am the balance."

Gasps spread through the crowd like wildfire catching silk. Wine glasses slipped. Someone whispered "Holy shit" into their champagne. Even Thomas Wilder dropped his poker face for a full two seconds before remembering he had to breathe.

"You’re not serious—" Aleric stepped forward, looking like he was begging gravity to make this a dream. "You can’t do that. That’s our legacy—our holdings—our control!"

Parker offered him a glance that could freeze boiling water.

"I’m sorry—were you under the impression that your legacy was still intact?"

Aleric flinched like he’d been physically hit. Dominic looked like he was about to vomit into his own ego.

Parker said nothing at first.

The room was still trembling from Wilder’s announcement, but all eyes turned to the man they now understood had been holding the knife behind the curtain long before tonight.

Helena had already filed the final documents the moment they stepped inside this cursed house. The Infinity Equivalent Exchange he had absorbed the entirety of the Ashford empire. All their companies. All their offshore holdings. Every media string they once pulled.

Originally, the full prize had been quietly granted to Calista and the Kingswells family to build his media empire, an arm for his full empire. But after what Parker witnessed tonight—the coercion, the attempted leverage over the Wilders, the arrogance—he shifted the balance.

It wouldn’t be wrong for the Wilders to walk away with 30% of the Ashford legacy. Not as charity. As compensation.

He finally spoke.

"Ownership has changed hands."

That was all.

And somehow, it was louder than any declaration. Louder than law.

The silence was deafening.

"You can’t do this," Dominic said again, this time louder, more desperate—as if volume could reverse inevitability.

"That’s funny," Parker replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Because I distinctly recall you trying to force a marriage contract on my girlfriend while her grandfather was hospitalized by a magical entity you summoned like a debt collector from hell. But this... this is where we draw the line?"

Somewhere in the room, someone from the Morellos actually laughed. Then coughed. Then pretended to sip wine very fast.

"This is war," Dominic hissed. "You’re disrupting centuries of balance between the Five Families."

"And yet," Parker said, finally smiling, "not a single one of them is lifting a finger to stop me."

His gaze swept the room. The Morellos stayed frozen, calculating. The Harringtons? Quiet and very still. Even Diana and Isabella, who could blackmail a demon for lunch money, didn’t speak.

Because they all knew.

The man had rebuilt Manhattan like it was a Lego set. He’d casually funneled a hundred trillion dollars into a decaying city because he was bored. What was the Ashford Media Empire compared to that? What was generational wealth when you stood in front of someone who could literally bend existence like a napkin?

"Parker," Grandfather Wilder finally said, voice a little hoarse but eyes sharp, "are you sure?"

"I am," Parker replied, his voice softening only for him. "You were protected by my mother for forty years ago for a resaon. They tried to humiliate you in your own sickbed. I’m not just cleaning house, sir."

He turned back to the Ashfords.

"I’m erasing the floor plan."

"You arrogant little—"

"Careful," Parker said, cutting Dominic off with a tone that suddenly reminded everyone in the room that this was no longer just business. "Because we’re about two sentences away from seeing what the Prince of Existence does when bored and insulted."

A shadow flickered behind his eyes. Brief. Cosmic. Cold.

Aleric actually dropped to one knee—not intentional, just the moment when his body stopped listening to his ego.

"Please," one of the Ashford uncles stammered. "There are livelihoods. Families. Generations of work behind those networks."

"And most of them will be retained I believe," Parker replied, brushing his blazer sleeve like that somehow explained corporate restructuring. "I’m not a monster. I’m a visionary that’s why im handing you over to the Wilders. I know Grandpa Wilder won’t mind retaining them" the old man nodded.

He glanced sideways at Dominic, who looked like he was fighting back a scream.

"You, however, are fired. Retroactively."

"Fired?" Dominic rasped. "Fired?"

"Oh, and blacklisted," Parker added casually. "Not just from media. From every major financial ecosystem in the developed world. I’ve already uploaded your voiceprint to a blacklist algorithm. Your face will auto-flag bank systems. You won’t even be able to finance a subway sandwich." Karen and her team already did what was necessary.

The Ashfords looked like they’d been collectively hit by an extinction-level event.

"You can’t erase us."

"But I did," Parker said, smiling faintly. "And trust me—this is me being merciful."

Dominic’s mouth opened, then closed. No sound came.

Parker adjusted his collar. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s still a celebration to finish. Champagne tastes better when it’s no longer funded by generational extortion."

He turned back toward the Wilder family, completely ignoring the muffled sob Aleric let out behind him.

"And Grandfather," he said with a wink, "we’ll talk about the new board seats in the morning. I’ll have my teams draft a vision statement. Something tasteful."

Then he smiled—really smiled—and added just loud enough for everyone to hear:

"Maybe we’ll call it the Phoenix Rebrand. You know... rise from the ashes of Ashford."

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