Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 212: Darren Vs Archibald (Round 1!)

The table he sat on was crescent-shaped, carved from a single slab of ebony, and top of it was an already opened bottle of Pinot Noir and a half filled glass.

Archibald Theodore Mooney.

He was dressed just as Darren had imagined. Not literally, but the vision remained.

A vision of calculated menace. It was like there was this smoke of burning aura seeping out of him, billowing from his bespoke Armani suit— matte black, devoid of unnecessary flourish— that clung to his lean frame like armor forged for boardrooms rather than battlefields.

His silver hair was combed neatly and his neat beard gave him the look of some ancient fantasy king. A crescent moon pin at his collar caught the light, a subtle emblem of his empire.

At that same moment, he was scrutinizing Darren just as much as Darren was scrutinizing him. But his eyes, they were freaking intense.

Dark. Unyielding. It had time and experience behind it, and the weight of a man who had shaped the city’s skyline and its shadows with equal ease.

Archibald sat motionless, a predator at rest, exuding the kind of authority that didn’t need to shout.

Darren kept his face under the mask of control: marble-smooth, with steel-blue eyes that betrayed nothing.

Olivia Sinclair followed a step behind, her Carolina Herrera gown cascading to the ground and shimmering with every movement. Her presence was a counterpoint to Darren’s intensity, but even with her elegance, she had no plans of taking the limelight from Darren. No one would want such gravity.

Archibald turned his head slightly, noticing her. He didn’t say anything, but waited for them to get closer.

Their two security guards flanked them silently, their faces impassive as they took their positions near the door, eyeing the other guards present in the room. Archibald’s own security detail.

The Lion did not rise. Not that Darren expected him to. Once they were close enough, with a single, languid gesture, he indicated the chair opposite him. "Mr. Steele. Sit."

The words were not a request but a command, delivered with the ease of a man accustomed to obedience.

Darren gave a curt nod — polite, but not deferential — and lowered himself into the chair, making sure his movements showed strength and confidence, not any sort of fest or submission.

Olivia stepped back, taking her place against the velvet-lined wall beside Darren’s guard. Regardless of her relationship with Archibald’s colleague, for today, she was an entourage.

And the room was not meant for entourages; it was a stage for kings.

The silence stretched, heavy as the air before a storm. Archibald’s fingers rested lightly on the stem of a crystal glass, ignoring its crimson contents.

The fireplace crackled softly, the only sound in the room.

Darren waited, keeping his face as impassive as his last name.

"Do you know what makes men kings in this city, Mr. Steele?" Archibald began with a voice that was low and smooth, each syllable honed like a blade.

That was a rhetorical question of course, and he didn’t wait for an answer. "It isn’t wealth. Not power, not fame, not even ambition. It’s timing. The knowledge of when to strike, when to yield, when to vanish into the shadows and let the world forget you were ever there."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto Darren’s. "You emerged in a vacuum. Anders fell. That is on him, he was sloppy, overconfident. Smithers collapsed under his own perversion and greed. I was abroad, tending to matters beyond this city’s borders. Morrison hesitated, as he always does. The board was open, and you — a young man with a sharp mind and sharper instincts — saw the gap and claimed it."

He paused, a faint smile curling his lips, though it held no warmth. "I will give it to you, boy. That was not foolish. It was masterful."

Darren remained silent, his face unreadable, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his chair. His stillness was not submission but a coiled readiness.

At this moment, Darren viewed himself as a wounded panther, deceiving its prey. Letting it believe that it was the predator, while he prepared to pounce.

Archibald’s smile faded, replaced by a glint of approval. "Then, you went and did even more. You acquired the Hightower Group with precision that I can only compare to that of a surgeon.

"You brought Kaito Sagomoto and Leonard Holloway into your fold— men I consider honourable and virtuous. You lured my assets with offers so clean they gleamed, backed by paperwork no lawyer could dispute. You humiliated Ryan Anders, destroyed the oldest family in Los Alverez’s history, the Hendersons, and dismantled Gareth Smithers’ empire before he could blink. All of it..." He tilted his head, as if appraising a rare artifact. "Commendable."

He set his glass down, the soft clink echoing in the quiet. "So, Mr. Steele, tell me. Why are you here?"

Darren’s voice was even, measured. "You invited me."

Archibald chuckled, a low, dry sound. "I did, didn’t I? But surely you must have wondered what the reason was. You must have a suspicion of some sort."

Darren shrugged with one shoulder. "Why bother with suspicions when you can just tell me?"

Archibald chuckled again. "Spoken like a true businessman. I’ll tell you then. You see, Mr. Steele, I invited you here because I know what you are."

He scoffed. "You are not noise. You’re not some upstart with a shiny logo and dreams of blockchain billions. I know you. I know that you’re deliberate. Systematic. I know that your hunger to succeed, your anger for once failing... I know that it makes you dangerous." His eyes narrowed, the word hanging between them like a guillotine. "And I do not tolerate danger."

The air suddenly grew heavier once he said that, the firelight casting shadows across Archibald’s sharp cheekbones. He leaned back, steepling his fingers.

"You’ve built something remarkable with Steele Investments . A vision. A machine. But vision alone doesn’t survive in this city. It needs protection. Allies. Infrastructure. So you know what? Tonight, I will offer you what no one else can."

Here it came... the pitch. Darren narrowed his eyes. The real reason why he was here.

Archibald’s voice softened, but it was the softness of a blade sliding from its sheath. "Join Moon Enterprises. I’ll give you a division— fully funded, fully autonomous. Your own executive wing, your name on the door, your genius untouched. Insulation from state regulators. Direct channels to policy makers. Contracts in education, urban development, even national security. Instant approval for any kinds of expansions. I’m giving you a sandbox, Mr. Steele, but one with toys no other store has."

Darren’s brow lifted slightly, the only sign he was listening.

"In exchange," Archibald continued. "I want access. Your analytics. Your A.I. architecture. The predictive algorithms behind Trendteller’s insight protocols. You can keep your bitcoins and keep your empire, but you play within my boundaries. No more poaching Moon-linked companies. No more unchecked acquisitions."

He paused, letting the offer settle, his eyes never leaving Darren’s. "I know how this must feel for you. But listen, this is not a takeover. It’s a partnership. A chance to build without the weight of my opposition."

Darren tilted his head, his voice cool. "And if I refuse?"

Archibald’s smile was thin, almost serpentine. "Then you will have me as an enemy, Mr. Steele. Your mining operations face new environmental regulations— ones I’ve already drafted. Your licenses stall in committee, indefinitely. Your allies: Sagomoto, Holloway, Tamara Johnstone, even Grant Hayes that you hold down dear, and your own board. They will all drift away. Not because I threaten them, but because I remind them who draws the map of this city."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "But that would be a waste. You’re young, brilliant, commanding. I don’t destroy what I admire... unless it forces my hand."

The firelight danced across Archibald’s face, illuminating the sharp planes of his features.

He was a man who had clawed his way to the top not through brute force but through intellect, foresight, and an uncanny ability to bend others to his will.

But now, because of all the power he had gathered, brute force was something he could freely use. Without a single fear in the damn world.

Every word, every pause, was a chess move, calculated to expose weaknesses, to coax surrender without firing a shot. He sat back, satisfied, as if the game were already won.

"So... What will it be?" he asked. "Become my subsidiary, keep your bitcoins, but give me everything else and have all the control you need to expand in this city and beyond? Or lose it all and oppose me."

It was a tempting offer.

But Darren Steele was no pawn.

Inside him, something shifted— a spark igniting into a blaze. His passive skill, Command Aura, stirred to life.

The invisible force drew the room’s light to him, and slowly began to influence every living person present.

His posture straightened, his shoulders squared, and his steel-blue eyes hardened into something unyielding, almost predatory. The panther was done pretending.

The air around him thickened, as if the very atmosphere bent to his presence.

He leaned forward, his movement deliberate, tectonic. His voice was low when he spoke. "You’ve said everything you want, Mooney."

The use of his name, unadorned, hung in the air like a challenge. Archibald’s eyes narrowed. So he is that daring?

Darren’s gaze locked onto his, unwavering. "Now it’s my turn to talk. And your turn to listen."

The room held its breath.