Chapter 8 The Gem That Drives One Crazy
Selena's POV
The next day, the plane landed on a desolate stretch of land in Nevada.
No luxury car, just a dust-covered SUV waiting for me.
The car door opened, and Mark, the mine manager, rushed up anxiously.
"BOSS! You're finally here!" The wrinkles on his face were deeper than during our last video conference, his eyes sunken and bloodshot.
"What's the situation?" I got in the car and asked directly.
"It's bad. Those bastards from Westwood Mining have completely lost it! They've paid off all the local media. Now TV and newspapers are full of stories about our 'inadequate safety measures' and 'disregard for human life.' They've also stirred up some workers' families to block the mine entrance and cause trouble. Legal letters are piling up on my desk. They want the government to revoke our mining permit so they can take over here legitimately!"
Just as I expected.
"The collapse wasn't an accident, was it?"
"No!" he said through gritted teeth. "An hour before the collapse, our exploration team discovered something deep in the third mine shaft! A... a massive raw stone unlike anything we've ever seen! Extremely high purity, the biggest I've seen in my life! This isn't just some rare metal anymore, miss. This is a gemstone! A gemstone that would drive every wealthy person in the world crazy!"
I understood immediately.
The so-called collapse was chaos manufactured by Westwood Mining to grab this raw stone.
They wanted to muddy the waters while they could, preferably forcing us out completely so they could reap the benefits.
"What about the trapped miners?"
"The rescue team went down, but the collapsed area is very unstable. Our equipment isn't enough... Westwood's people definitely sabotaged it. They want to drag this out and let those seven miners die down there! That way, we'll be guilty for sure!"
"They won't die." I looked at the yellow sand outside the window. "Mark, spread the word. If Westwood's people dare come near the mine again, break their legs. Also, call in my private rescue team. They'll be here in half an hour."
Mark froze. He knew what my "private rescue team" was.
It was an elite team of retired special forces, equipped with the world's top gear, taking orders from me alone.
"Yes, BOSS!"
Back at the mine, I first went to see the trapped miners' families.
"Your family members will come back safely. Each family will receive $200,000 in immediate compensation, and I will personally cover all medical and living expenses going forward."
The crowd quieted down.
In this world, money is sometimes more powerful than any words.
Next, I took my legal team and walked straight up to the Westwood representatives blocking the mine entrance. Leading them was a greasy fat man who, upon seeing me, showed a contemptuous smile.
"Well, well, who do we have here? The boss behind Kingston Mining. Little girl, don't blame me for not warning you—this isn't playing house."
I ignored his provocation and had my lawyer slap a document in his face.
"This is all the evidence of Westwood Mining bribing our internal employees and stealing our trade secrets over the past three years, including recordings, emails, and bank transfer records. Mr. Thompson, I'm giving you ten minutes to get off my property with your people. Otherwise, this document will be on the FBI's desk in the next second. Then you won't be facing a business dispute, but prison time."
The fat man's smile froze instantly.
He flipped through the document in disbelief, his face turning from red to white, then a sickly green.
"You... you..."
"Nine minutes left." I glanced at my watch and said coldly.
Ten minutes later, Westwood's people, along with the media they'd stirred up, slunk away.
Three hours later, with my elite rescue team's efforts, the passage to the third mine shaft was successfully cleared, and all seven trapped miners were safely rescued.
Crisis resolved.
In the mine office, Mark carefully opened a specially made safe. "Miss, this is the raw stone."
I looked at it, knowing this thing was a hot potato.
Keeping it would only attract more trouble.
"Contact Sotheby's auction house. Tell them I have a one-of-a-kind collection to add to their top private auction in Geneva next week. As the finale."
A day later.
My screen was live-streaming the Geneva Sotheby's auction.
I was wearing comfortable loungewear, holding a wine glass, relaxing on the sofa.
Suddenly I saw a familiar figure on screen—Royce Sterling, sitting arrogantly in the center of the first row.
I smiled.
The "Heart of the Deep Sea" appeared as the finale item.
"Starting bid, thirty million dollars!" The auctioneer's voice trembled with excitement.
As soon as he finished speaking, Royce didn't even raise his paddle, just lifted his chin slightly, and his assistant immediately raised the paddle: "Fifty million dollars!"
He wanted to scare off all competitors with this move.
Arrogant, conceited, same as always.
The venue fell into an eerie silence.
This price had already exceeded many people's expectations.
I picked up an encrypted satellite phone beside me and dialed a number.
"Sixty million dollars," I said softly. The representative on the other end immediately raised their paddle at the venue.
On screen, Royce's brow only furrowed slightly.
Someone actually dared to step on the line he'd drawn—interesting.
He clearly hadn't expected that fifty million dollars wouldn't hold the field, that someone would dare challenge him head-on.
His gaze swept lazily across the venue, not deliberately seeking the challenger, but carrying an air of "doesn't know what's good for them."
"Sixty-five million dollars." His assistant raised the paddle again, voice steady.
"Seventy million dollars." I continued expressionlessly.
Royce's expression didn't change, but his fingertips lightly tapped the table.
The corner of his mouth curved up slightly.
I frowned at that smile on screen. What was this man smiling about? Was he happy throwing money away like skipping stones because he had too much to spend?
"Sir," I saw his assistant whisper something in his ear, then quickly leave the venue.
He was investigating me.
This trust account was opened under my "Astraea" identity at the highest encryption level at Zurich Bank. Forget him—even the FBI couldn't find any information.
A few minutes later, the assistant returned to Royce's side looking serious, shaking his head.
Royce tapped the table, looked up, swept his gaze across the huge auction hall, and said calmly: "One hundred million dollars."
The entire venue was shocked.
This was an insanely unreasonable price, far exceeding the stone's actual value.
He wasn't buying something—he was declaring that in his territory, no one else could challenge him.
I swirled the golden liquid in my glass, tilting it toward the man's figure on screen.
Cheers.
Thank you, Mr. Sterling, for the hundred million dollars.
I spoke into the phone with a light laugh: "I withdraw."
"Bang!" The auctioneer's gavel fell heavily.
"One hundred million dollars! Sold! Congratulations, Mr. Royce Sterling!"
On screen, Royce showed no expression, just glanced coolly toward the venue, his fingertips stopping their tapping, as if he hadn't just spent a hundred million dollars but casually bought a ten-dollar craft at a street stall.
I watched the curve of his lips and frowned.
What was this man thinking?