Chapter 182: Chapter 182: Still Colleteral
The rapid expansion of a viral post rarely leaves a city’s mainstream media houses with room to breathe.
By 7:00 AM on Thursday morning, the shaky smartphone footage from inside Da Vincenzo had migrated from the trending tabs of LOOP and TikTok straight onto the overhead broadcast arrays of the Aurelia Financial Network (AFN). The high-gloss studio sets were completely dominated by a split-screen layout: on the left, the volcano-orange McLaren P1 idling beneath amber streetlamps; on the right, a tight, magnified crop of Jake Rivers signing a paper receipt voucher.
"It is a level of hyper-visibility we haven’t seen in the capital since the pre-reform era," the lead anchor announced, adjusting his earpiece as the scrolling ticker beneath him detailed the overnight trading volumes of Golden Investments. "The public narrative on the ground has completely decoupled from institutional metrics. To the streets of Aurelia, he is no longer just an aggressive market player. He’s becoming a sovereign shield."
The network cut to a live remote feed outside Da Vincenzo. Even in the crisp morning air, the small pavement block was completely gridlocked with local residents, amateur photographers, and small-scale delivery vans.
"The restaurant has already received over a hundred booking requests for the weekend slot alone," the field reporter noted, gesturing toward the closed wooden doors. "The real story isn’t the foot traffic. It’s the psychological impact. By covering the tuition balance of a student with zero bureaucratic delay, Rivers has effectively bypassed the state’s entire charitable framework."
Across town, inside Aliya’s apartment near campus, the noise of the television broadcast wasn’t audible. The only sound was the sharp, rapid clicking of a laptop keyboard.
Aliya sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone buzzing continuously against her knee. The device was physically hot. Her notifications tab was a synchronized, endless scroll of red checkmarks, direct messages, and loop alerts.
"Aliya, look at this! Look at the handle tag!" Carroll’s caretaker, Mary, yelled, spinning around in the desk chair with her tablet held out. "The clip of the chef’s daughter Sofia just got cross-posted by three different major market-watch blogs. Everyone is talking about it. They’re saying your brother literally wiped out her four-year tuition debt between a plate of pasta and an espresso!"
Aliya didn’t answer immediately. She rubbed her eyes, staring at the small, grainy preview image of Jake standing by the back booth of the restaurant.
As a second-year university student who ran a passive, low-key lifestyle and campus vlogging channel, Aliya had always kept her online life completely separated from her real life. Her videos were simple: day-in-the-life edits, library study sessions, and occasional clips of Aurelia’s hidden coffee spots. When she had posted a brief, three-minute clip over the weekend mentioning the sheer aesthetic of Veyra’s only volcano-orange P1, she had treated it like any other luxury car spotting in the city. She knew her brother was a billionaire, but the sheer scale of the Gold King persona hadn’t fully registered in her day-to-day academic routine.
Now, her video comment section was completely unrecognizable.
Boot_Licker22: Hey Aliya, can you please ask Jake to sponsor me too. I would do anything he wants.
Veyra_Vibes: If you are really Jake’s sister, prove it by telling us when his next gold signal will be.
Finance_Fix: Tell your brother Central Campus needs a new library wing next! Absolute legend.
"Why would he even take that car out," Aliya murmured, her voice a mix of disbelief and protective anxiety as she scrolled past the rising view count. "Now I’m the one who has to suffer."
To the five million people watching the clip on LOOP, Jake was a cool, unshakeable financial titan in a casual black sweater, moving through a crowded room with absolute authority while his massive bodyguard, Elias, held the perimeter. But to Aliya, he was still just Jake. The transition from her quiet brother to this public commodity had happened so fast it felt strange.
A light knock on the inner bathroom door cut through the noise of Mary’s typing.
The door swung open slowly, and Carroll stepped out. She was moving carefully, her hand gripping the doorframe for balance before she adjusted her crutch under her left arm. It had been weeks since the accident, and while she was finally back and attending classes, she was still a long way from a hundred percent. A faint, fading trace of the bruising remained near her temple, and her left leg was locked securely inside a heavy, rigid medical brace.
"You’re going to burn a hole through that screen if you keep staring at it," Carroll said, her voice still holding a bit of that raspy edge, though a small, familiar smirk touched her lips. She limped over toward the edge of Aliya’s bed, letting out a soft grunt as she eased herself down onto the mattress.
Aliya immediately dropped her phone onto the sheets, her stubborn, protective edge returning in an instant. "You shouldn’t be walking around without Mary or me helping you. The doctor said the brace needs to stay fully locked until the evening checkup."
"The doctor isn’t the one who had to sit through a three-hour macroeconomics lecture with a cramped hamstring," Carroll countered, leaning her head back against the wall. She nodded toward Aliya’s glowing phone screen, where a paused image of the volcano-orange McLaren was still visible. "So... your brother is officially a saint on TikTok now? I heard that girl Sofia was crying in the student lounge. Apparently she said she doesn’t even know how to write a thank-you letter to someone who’s a billionaire."
Aliya sighed, picking the phone back up and tossing it onto her desk. "He didn’t do it for the views. Jake doesn’t care about the comment sections. He just... if he sees a problem he can fix with a pen stroke, he does it."
"Must be nice," Carroll joked softly, though her eyes turned slightly serious as she looked at her friend. "Hey. Are you okay? You look like you’re going through it today."
"I’m fine," Aliya said quickly, her jaw tightening as she looked at Carroll’s locked leg brace. The guilt from the crash still flickered in her chest whenever she saw Carroll struggle with the crutches, but she forced it down, remembering the promise she had made in the hospital room. She straightened her back, a familiar spark returning to her eyes. "Actually, I was just thinking about that trip."
Carroll blinked. "What trip?"
"The one I told you we’re taking the second you get those pins out of your leg," Aliya said, her voice dropping into a determined, zero-negotiation tone. "I’m already looking at places. Paris, Tokyo, the Swiss Alps—wherever you want. I haven’t texted Jake yet, but he’s paying for the whole thing. First-class flights, five-star suites, everything. I’m going to drain his account for every single bag of shopping we lost in that wreck."
Carroll let out a genuine, low chuckle, shaking her head. "Aliya... Jake is already paying for my specialists. He literally cleared my family’s medical deductible before the insurance company even processed the claim. You don’t need to extort him for a vacation."
"I’m not extorting him, I’m his sister. It’s a tax," Aliya said flatly, a slight smile finally breaking through her anxious expression. "And I’m not asking you, Carroll. I’m telling you. Pick a country by Sunday, or I’m choosing for you and making him book the tickets."
Carroll looked at Aliya’s stubborn expression, recognizing the unbending attitude that usually meant arguing was completely useless. "Fine. But if we go to Tokyo, we’re staying in one of those hotels with the automated room service robots. And you’re carrying my bags."
"Deal," Aliya said.
Before Carroll could reply, a sharp, distinct chime cut through the room. It wasn’t a generic notification from her vlogging app. It was a text message from an unlisted number that Aliya now knew by heart.
She picked up the device.
Kovacs: Miss Rivers. The perimeter team has noted an increase in media surveillance around the residential gates this morning. Two unverified press vehicles are currently stationed near the exit. Do not engage with any direct inquiries regarding Golden Investments or your brother’s recent movements. All transport vehicles are on standby if you or Miss Vance require anything.
Aliya stared at the text for a second, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard before she locked the screen and turned her phone toward Carroll. "Look at this. Kovacs just sent a warning."
Carroll leaned over, her brow furrowing as she read the message. The slight humor vanished from her face. "Press vehicles? Outside the dorm gates?"
"Yeah. Two of them," Aliya said, her voice dropping as she looked toward the window. "They’re trying to find anyone connected to Jake. The moment that restaurant video hit five million views, our room basically became a target for local reporters."
"Are they allowed to just camp out there?" Carroll asked, gesturing with her crutch toward the main campus exit. "This is private residential property."
"They’ll stay just outside the line where the security can’t touch them," Aliya replied, her jaw tightening. "They don’t want an official statement from Golden Investments. They know they can’t get past the security or the corporate lawyers. They’re looking for an easy angle. A quote from his sister, or a picture of us leaving the building."
Carroll let out a dry, pained breath, adjusting her leg brace slightly on the mattress. "It’s like the accident all over again. First it’s that SUV tracking us down, and now it’s a bunch of news vans because your brother bought helped someone."
"They’re not getting anything," Aliya said firmly, her steel beginning to forge itself anew. She stood up from the bed, walking over to the window and pulling the heavy privacy blinds shut, cutting off the sunlight. "Kovacs has the transport vehicles ready. We’re not using the main exit today. If we have to go to the late lecture, we go through the basement passage straight into the secured garage."
Carroll looked at her friend’s sharp, unyielding expression. "You’re starting to sound a bit like him, you know."
"Good," Aliya said, her face entirely neutral as she sat back down at her desk. "Because if these reporters think they can use me to get a headline about Jake, they’re going to learn exactly how stubborn this family is."
Down on the main campus quad, clusters of students were still standing near the library steps, their heads huddled over their phones as they replayed the video from the restaurant. The city wasn’t just watching her brother anymore. They were searching for every link to his network—and the campus vlog she had been running between classes had just become the closest window into the world of the Gold King.
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