Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Tommy Chen: The Cover Story

The week blurred past like a caffeinated montage of spreadsheets, encrypted calls, and bad coffee. Charlotte, proving she deserved every penny of her mythical 20% cut, orchestrated the cover story like a Bond villain with a heart of gold.

She staged a legitimate interview process for her "Revolutionary AI Development Team"—twenty top-tier candidates from Ivy League and MIT-level universities, all desperate for the glitter of Quantum Tech Industries. Recorded, documented, professional.

Each candidate brilliant enough to make you question why you ever bothered leaving your dorm.

Then she added number twenty-one at my request: Tommy Chen.

"This is some Willy Wonka golden ticket bullshit," Tommy muttered in the waiting room, sweat soaking through his only dress shirt while MIT grads around him quietly flexed their portfolios like gym rats.

"Just... be yourself," I told him through the call. "Smart version of yourself. Not the one who spent three hours last night arguing whether hot dogs are sandwiches."

"They’re clearly tacos," he muttered.

Charlotte’s "selection" of Tommy was nothing short of performance art. Public announcement, press release, full-on optics:

"While Mr. Chen lacks formal advanced education in AI development, his intuitive understanding of system integration and innovative problem-solving made him stand out. Sometimes fresh perspective trumps traditional expertise."

The other candidates exploded. Tech blogs called it "another questionable Quantum Tech decision." Board members added it to Charlotte’s growing file of "naive heiress incompetencies."

Perfect.

Tommy officially became a Junior Development Consultant with a salary of $125,000—a number high enough to cause mild euphoria, low enough to avoid triggering SEC-level panic attacks.

Later, when our API project "accidentally" sold for $30 million through Quantum Tech channels, Charlotte would generously give him 90% of the profits. A modest windfall disguised as a business accident.

"Won’t this wreck your reputation?" I asked during one of our encrypted calls.

Her laugh cut through the line like a scalpel. "Peter, my reputation is already ’incompetent heiress who got lucky.’ Let them think I’m dumb enough to give away millions. Makes it easier to move in the shadows."

She poured scotch, the kind that would make my old family budget weep. "Phase one complete," she said. "Your friend is officially a Quantum Tech employee. Salary won’t raise eyebrows. Now we watch him become essential... without anyone realizing it."

*

"Ninety percent?" Tommy’s voice cracked like a pre-teen hitting puberty. "But that’s... if it sells for thirty million..."

"Twenty-seven million to you guys. Three to the company," Charlotte said, swirling her scotch like it was a prop in a Bond villain monologue. "I’ll be roasted by shareholders for giving away that much. But honestly, I’ve always been far too generous with talent. But hey, It’s my fatal flaw."

Her fatal flaw is being a puppet master who everyone thinks is incompetent. Yeah, keep underestimating her, board members—you’re going to need therapy after this.

"Your friend exceeded expectations," she continued, the smile audible in her voice. "Genuinely impressed the interview panel with his IT knowledge."

Finally, someone here knows the difference between Java and existential dread.

Kid actually knows his stuff. Just don’t ask him to argue why grilled cheese isn’t a sandwich—he might start a 3-hour debate on food ontology.

"The board bought it?" I asked.

"Completely. Young talent, fresh perspective, unconventional thinking—all the buzzwords they love. And it distracts them from why I abandoned the AI search in the first place."

Ah yes, the classic "Look over here at the shiny rookie while I do shady billion-dollar maneuvers behind your back" trick. Elegant.

The beauty of the plan? Simple: Tommy fronts our API software, gets the credit, and Charlotte "generously" hands over 90% of the profits.

"Thirty million?" I confirmed, because yes, sanity still requires double-checking insane numbers.

"Conservative estimate. Could go higher if we play the bidding war correctly." She leaned back like she invented gravity itself. "Some will praise my eye for talent; others will mock my poor business sense. The mix? Perfect optics."

"Make it authentic," I said. "Young CEO geniuses or morons—they expect either extreme. You’re threading the needle like a drunken tailor on espresso."

"This is really happening," Tommy whispered, eyes wide like a kid realizing Santa’s sleigh is actually a Tesla. Tommy muttered. "Holy shit, this is really happening."

Two weeks. Or, as we call it in the business world: "time to make a miracle look like a coincidence."

Says the guy whose apartment looks like a figurine museum slash anime shrine. Noted.

"Excellent. Mr. Chen, you start Monday evening, work evenings during the week, and full-day Saturdays. I suggest you spend the weekend studying. Peter will make sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of a board full of millionaires who think AI stands for Absolutely Incompetent."

Edward thought he could storm our house and flex his daddy issues. Charlotte’s board thought they could control her with spies and spreadsheets. Everyone thinks they know the game. Everyone is wrong.

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