Layla's phone rang just as she stepped out of the antique building. Behind her, the receptionist stood frozen in place, still shaken, her face pale with disbelief. She couldn't comprehend how someone so breathtakingly beautiful, so young, could also be so terrifying. The contrast was too much for her mind to process.
She answered the call without checking the screen. "What is it, Asma?"
"Girl! You keep disappearing like a ghost! I've searched the whole school for you. Where are you?" Asma's voice crackled through the line, a mix of frustration and genuine concern.
"Almost there," Layla said casually, then hung up before Asma could say another word.
With the same composed grace she always carried, Layla crossed the street toward the nearest taxi stand, entirely unfazed by the chaos she had left behind. Moments later, a yellow cab rolled to a stop. She slipped into the backseat and gave the driver the school's address with a calm nod.
---
By the time she arrived, she knew a teacher would already be in the classroom. She had no intention of interrupting the lesson just to sit through a few minutes. That wasn't her style. Quiet efficiency always worked better. She would return for the final period—just enough to ensure her presence was noted.
Instead, she veered toward the school playground. The area was peaceful at this hour, shaded and empty. She found a spot beneath a wide tree and sat down, her posture relaxed but her mind already in motion.
Pulling out her phone, she began typing swiftly, her expression focused and unreadable.
She wasn't texting.
She was researching.
Her fingers moved with practiced ease as she sifted through business listings and financial articles. Her search was specific: mid-sized pharmaceutical and cosmetic companies on the brink of collapse. Firms desperate enough to sell, but still valuable enough to rebuild.
This was the beginning.
She was officially setting out on her mission—to become the world's youngest billionaire.
Selling that gold bar to old Malik had only been a test run. A small step to gauge the currents of the underground market. That bar was merely one among many. Her spatial ring held far more—countless more—waiting to be converted into legitimate, traceable wealth.
And gold wasn't her only asset.
Inside that ring was a hidden trove: ancient artifacts, flawless gems, and priceless heirlooms. But what truly interested her now were the rare herbs—bundles of exotic, potent plants collected from forgotten worlds. Some of them possessed properties that could rival or even surpass modern science.
She already knew how she would use them.
By turning them into groundbreaking medicine. By developing revolutionary cosmetics. Her plan was to quietly acquire a broken company and use it as her platform—a springboard into the global market.
Then, something caught her eye.
BioVera Health Co.
She tapped on the listing and read every detail with measured attention. The company specialized in oral medications, capsules, and basic injectables for common ailments. Nothing revolutionary, but stable—reliable. Exactly the type of foundation she needed.
Status: Bankrupt
Reason: Over-leveraged due to a failed expansion attempt
Asking Price: $3.2 million USD
Outstanding Debt: $1.5 million USD
Note: A newly constructed wing remained unused. The potential for revival was strong with the right investment.
Layla's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.
A clean setup, recent infrastructure, and just enough desperation to make it accessible—this was precisely what she'd been looking for. With functioning facilities and a skeletal framework already in place, there would be minimal groundwork required. All it needed was sharp leadership and capital.
And she had both.
She tapped the contact button, copied the listed number, and dialed. Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited as the line rang.
Finally, a tired male voice picked up.
"This is BioVera Health. Who's calling?"
Leaning back against the tree trunk, one leg crossed over the other, Layla replied with effortless confidence.
"I'm calling about your company," she said calmly. "I'm interested in purchasing it."
A pause followed. Static buzzed softly through the silence.
"Pardon?"
"You heard me," Layla said coolly. "I want to buy BioVera. Let's schedule a meeting."
------
Layla hung up the phone without another word. The meeting was set—10 a.m. tomorrow. Direct, simple, just the way she liked it.
She didn't waste time. She opened another app on her phone, navigated to the OTC (Over-The-Counter) desk for a trusted cryptocurrency exchange. The interface was sleek, the numbers constantly moving—her kind of rhythm.
She scheduled an afternoon appointment to convert her crypto to fiat. Clean. Quiet. Untraceable.
Everything was falling into place.
One company to buy.
One transaction to fund it.
She slid the phone into her pocket and let out a slow breath.
Tomorrow was going to be a very productive day.
-----
The school bell rang with its familiar, shrill tone—the final ring of the day. Students poured out of classrooms, filling the halls with laughter, chatter, and the rustling sound of backpacks slung over shoulders.
Layla walked beside Asma for a few steps before saying, "You head home first, Asma. I've got something to take care of."
Asma looked at her suspiciously, "Again? You better not disappear on me tomorrow too."
Layla smiled, "I won't."
With that, she turned and walked away, slipping into the quieter side of the school grounds, where her pre-booked taxi was already waiting. She entered calmly, gave the address of the OTC desk she had arranged with earlier, and leaned back in her seat.
---
OTC Exchange Office – Ankara
The building didn't look like anything special from the outside. Gray-tinted glass, discreet signage, and a small parking lot. But inside, everything was clean, precise, and monitored—exactly what Layla preferred for a transaction of this scale.
A well-dressed security officer checked her appointment and waved her in. She was led to a private meeting room where the air smelled faintly of polished wood and leather.
A man in his late forties with a conservative suit and thin-rimmed glasses greeted her with a nod. "Miss Layla?"
Layla nodded and took her seat.
"I'm Mr. Erdem, the desk manager. We've reviewed your request—converting $5 million USD in cryptocurrency to fiat. We'll need to run the transaction in phases across vetted liquidity pools to avoid any red flags, but since we've already verified your wallet, everything is ready."
Layla opened her MetaMask wallet from her phone and scanned the QR address he presented on the screen. She selected the exact amount: $5,000,000 USDT.
"Transferring now," she said.
Mr. Erdem watched the screen carefully. Within moments, the transaction hash confirmed. "Received. Blockchain confirmation in progress.... there we go. That's one of the fastest confirmations we've seen."
He typed a few things into his terminal and printed a hardcopy ledger for her to review.
"You will receive your funds in three tranches over the next 24 hours," he continued, "to the international bank account you've provided in Zurich. We use intermediary shells to separate the exchange origin, as per your privacy protocol."
Layla reviewed the paper briefly, then signed it. "Make sure the last tranche comes before 10 a.m. tomorrow."
He nodded. "It will."
As she stood to leave, Mr. Erdem offered a professional smile. "We've had some unique clients before, but you're... exceptional. If you ever need further assistance—offshore trusts, equity masks, our firm has deep discretion."
Layla just gave a small, quiet smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
And with that, she walked out of the office, into the fading light of the evening, her steps steady and her eyes focused on tomorrow.