Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!

For the most part, the company launch has done everything that it had set out to do; introduce The Pantheon Club to the world, and remove focus primarily from Steele Investments' Bitcoin activities.

But the government, as usual, was always watching. And in order to remove all suspicions, they started an operation of their own.

Intentionally, they had sent out notifications of this operation late to the people and companies that were targeting.

For Darren and Steele Investments, it was a visit on a cloudy Tuesday morning that informed them.

There was a racket going outside the glass doors of the building, so Beth, the receptionist, got up and hurried to check what was going on.

Once she arrived outside, her eyebrows drew together as she took in the woman standing amongst two corporate looking men and the company's security.

Beth shockingly recognized her. The woman had an unsettling aura of Capitol Hill authority, dressed in a dark, regulation-length blazer with dull silver earrings.

The badge clipped not to her lapel, but prominently to her belt, seemed less like identification and more like a low-key threat. Beth pushed down a flicker of unease, forcing a neutral, professional tone. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," the woman stated flatly. "My name is Lilian Greaves. Department of Financial Integrity. I'm here on an open review authorization. It is impromptu but you all have received an email by now. Immediate access is requested so I advise you let me in now."

Beth's fingers clenched into fearful fists. "Uh..." She didn't need to check the system; Darren's warnings echoed in her mind. Still, procedure demanded action. She hurried to her seat and pressed the intercom button. "Miss Meyers. We have a... government agent downstairs."

A brief pause crackled over the speaker before Sandy's voice responded, calm but clipped. "Bring her up. Meeting Room C."

Beth returned outside, gesturing to the security to let the woman pass as she shot her a nervous, impersonal smile. "Right this way, Agent Greaves."

Agent Greaves sized the security before snobbishly following after Beth.

Throughout the elevator ride, Lilian Greaves stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind her back, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.

She didn't glance at the shifting company ads on the small LCD screen, nor did her expression betray a single flicker of thought. A woman like this was certainly the cold and no nonsense type.

Beth swallowed.

When the doors finally slid open on the executive level, Sandy Meyers was already waiting. She quickly studied the agent before greeting, "Agent Greaves," she said evenly. "I'm Sandy Meyers, Head of Finance."

"Good," Lilian replied, her voice devoid of inflection. "Let's begin."

Inside Meeting Room C, Kara was also waiting, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed tightly, the blue streaks she'd recently added to her scarlet hair catching the muted ceiling lights.

Rachel sat rigidly at the far end of the polished table, a legal pad open before her, pen poised. Amelia, hands clasped neatly on the table surface, observed everything with her customary quiet intensity.

The conspicuous absence was Darren.

Agent Greaves entered the room like a blade slipping silently into water – smooth, deliberate, and unsettlingly inevitable.

Kara lifted an eyebrow instantly at the sight of her, as though she was impressed.

That was fair, because Agent Lilian Greaves of the Department of Financial Integrity was a very impressive woman.

Having trained in the military, worked as a model and competed in athletics, Lilian Greaves was a study in controlled intensity.

She possessed a striking, almost severe beauty that seemed to have been worked for rather than born with. She had high, sharp cheekbones, which framed a face dominated by intelligent, watchful eyes the color of storm-grey flint.

Her dark hair, the deep brown of polished mahogany, was pulled back into an impeccably smooth chignon at the nape of her neck, not a single strand daring to escape.

It emphasized the clean, angular lines of her jaw and the pale, unblemished canvas of her skin, devoid of any makeup save for a faint trace of moisture on her lips. Her beauty wasn't soft or inviting; it was architectural, formidable, a weapon honed by discipline.

Kara wondered whether a woman like this even had time for pleasure or ever even desired it. The look on her face was like all she cared about was her job.

Efficiency.

For her clothing, it only reinforced this same assumption. Everything about what she wore gave off the impression of unyielding purpose.

The dark blazer that squeezed her heavyset breasts wasn't merely regulation-length; it was tailored with military preciseness, hugging a lean, athletic frame without a whisper of excess fabric.

Beneath it, she wore a stark white blouse which was buttoned to the very top, collar starched to knife-like sharpness. The dull silver studs in her ears were smaller than a pea, utterly functional.

And the badge clipped to her belt wasn't an afterthought; it was positioned like a sidearm, gleaming dully under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Why did she keep it there? Someone who was once a soldier never stopped living as one.

As she entered deeper in the room, everyone silently watching, her movement reminded them of actual soldiers.

She walked with an economy of motion that spoke of rigorous training, every step deliberate, her posture perpetually upright, radiating an aura of contained power and unwavering focus. There was no warmth here, only the chilling efficiency of a scalpel held steady.

Without preamble, she reached inside her tailored blazer and produced a thick, official-looking brown envelope. "I'm authorized under the Capital Asset Oversight Motion of 2010," she announced, with the most clipped and precise tone the women had ever heard.

Even Rachel, who was used to being the stern one, felt intimidated by the competition.

Lilian Greaves continue. "Section B-2 grants me the right to inspect privately held financial instruments deemed to carry speculative risk to national stability."

The room remained utterly still, the air charged.

"Your firm," Greaves continued, her gaze sweeping across the occupants, "has been flagged for excessive interest in decentralized commodities – namely, Bitcoin. That designation makes you a focal point of current investigative concern."

Seeing their expressions, she sighed. "Don't look so surprised. You must have expected it. You received an email, didn't you?"

"It was late," Rachel said, challenging her. "Almost like it was intentional."

Lilian Greaves didn't respond to her, she only eyed her up and down before asking if she could begin the investigation.

Kara let out a slow, controlled breath through her nose. "You said 'speculative risk.' That's a new one."

Agent Greaves turned her head fractionally towards the sound. "You are?"

"Kara DeAndre. Head of IT."

"Noted," Greaves said coolly. "Your department will be of priority if you're not aware. Be prepared."

Kara frowned, wondering to herself why that sounded like a threat.

Amelia leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but probing. "What precisely falls under inspection? Hardware components? Financial records? Transaction histories?"

"All of it," Greaves replied without hesitation.

Ten tense minutes crawled by. Still, no Darren.

Rachel tapped her pen twice against the legal pad, a sharp staccato in the quiet, then leaned forward, her lawyer's instincts kicking in. "You just gave us a late notice of visitation, but we haven't been served any official notice of non-compliance," she pointed out, her tone carefully neutral.

"You haven't," Greaves agreed, a subtle emphasis on the word that hung heavy in the air. "Yet."