Coffee, Lies and My Student's Dad

Chapter 20: The Sleeping Giant

Dio

“One Ice Americano, extra shot. Enjoy.”

I slid the plastic cup across the polished wood of the bar. The condensation was already beading down the sides, a cold contrast to the humid Senopati air pressing against the cafe’s glass front. The customer, a man in a crisp corporate shirt, offered a distracted nod before disappearing into the midday glare.

The grinder’s high-pitched whine died down, leaving a sudden, ringing silence in the bar area.

I exhaled, a long, slow breath that felt like it was carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid words. I reached for a clean rag and began wiping the counter, my movements mechanical, my mind miles away from the scent of roasted beans.

“They’re selling Elara to pay off the debt, Sir. Dwijaya Trading is collapsing.”

Saskia’s voice from the early hours of the morning kept looping in my head, a jagged, broken record. I could still see the way Elara’s hands had trembled around that mug of hot chocolate. I could still feel the phantom weight of her leaning against me in the car, her spirit fractured by the very people who were supposed to protect it.

It wasn't just a family crisis. It was a predatory acquisition of a human soul.

I reached behind my neck, unlooping the ties of the black apron embroidered with the ‘Arx’ logo. I folded it with deliberate precision, laying it beneath the cash register. The persona of the friendly neighborhood barista was beginning to feel like a suit that had grown two sizes too small.

“Dimas,” I called out, my voice low.

Dimas, who was busy buffing a table near the window, snapped his head toward me. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Take over the bar. I have business upstairs. Do not disturb me unless this building is literally on fire.”

My tone was flat. It wasn't the patient, easy-going ‘Mas Dio’ he was used to. It was a tone that belonged to a different life, a different name.

Dimas straightened his back, his playful expression vanishing instantly. He recognized the shift in the atmosphere—the way the air seemed to grow colder, sharper.

“Understood, Boss. I’ve got it.”

I nodded once and walked toward the heavy wooden door beside the bar. My footsteps were heavy, grounded, leaving the warmth of the cafe floor behind.

• • •

The second floor was a tomb of silence.

I passed Lyra’s room, my pace slowing for a heartbeat. The door was shut tight. I could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of her breathing through the wood. She had been burning with a fever since dawn—the reason she wasn't at school, the reason I had been on edge all morning.

I continued to the end of the hallway, toward a decorative wood-paneled wall that looked like nothing more than a high-end interior accent. No handle. No visible hinges.

I stood before it, my eyes fixed on a microscopic indentation in the grain.

BEEP.

A thin red line of light swept across my retina.

Click. Whoosh.

The panel slid aside with a muted, hydraulic hiss. A gust of sterile, ozone-scented air rushed out to meet me, a sharp contrast to the lavender and cedar of the living room.

I stepped inside.

The room was a four-by-four-meter vault. Soundproofed. Windowless. The walls were clad in dark grey acoustic dampening material. In the center stood a minimalist desk of black tempered glass, supporting three curved monitors that glowed with the silent, flickering heartbeat of global markets.

This was The Node. The nerve center of Arxilon Heritage Capital’s Southeast Asian operations.

The door sealed itself behind me with a soft thud.

I sat in the ergonomic leather chair, my body relaxing into the familiar embrace of power. In this room, I wasn't a father. I wasn't a widower.

I was the Chairman.

My fingers danced across the laser-projected keyboard. The center screen flared to life, illuminating the darkness of the room.

“Connect to Leonhart Vale. Level one encryption.”

Calling...

Seconds later, the face of a middle-aged man with silvering temples appeared on the main screen. He was wearing silk pajamas, holding a glass of mineral water, with the dark, glittering skyline of Manhattan visible through the window behind him.

It was one in the morning in New York.

“Dio?” Leonhart’s voice was crisp, despite the hour. “It’s rare for you to use this line during my sleep cycle. Is there a global crisis? Nuclear launch?”

“Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, Leon. I need your brain.”

Leonhart chuckled softly, setting his glass down. He knew I didn't call for trivialities. “Speak. What does the Young Master require?”

“I want you to perform a clinical dissection of a company. Now.”

“Name?” Leonhart reached for a tablet on his nightstand, his eyes sharpening into work mode instantly.

“Dwijaya Trading. Jakarta-based.”

Leonhart arched an eyebrow. “A local firm? Mid-cap? That’s far below our usual radar, Dio. Why the interest?”

“Just do it.”

Leonhart didn't push. His fingers moved with a blur of speed. On my monitors, data began to hemorrhage onto the screens. Graphs, balance sheets, asset registries, and cash flow projections.

Silence descended for two minutes, broken only by the low humming of the servers in the corner.

“Hmm...” Leonhart murmured, his eyes narrowing as he scrolled through the data. “This is interesting. Or rather, it’s a tragedy.”

“What are you seeing?” I asked, leaning back into the shadows.

“It’s a premeditated execution, Dio. Financially speaking,” Leonhart said bluntly. “Their cash flow has been systematically strangled over the last twenty-four months. Their primary vendors all cut off credit lines simultaneously last month.”

My screen displayed the list of vendors.

“Check the affiliations of those vendors,” I commanded.

Leonhart typed again. “Bingo. They all lead back to a single holding entity... Darvian Trading.”

My jaw tightened. My suspicion hit the bullseye.

“So Darvian chokes the supply, waits for the company to gasp for air, and then arrives as the savior with a predatory bailout?” I surmised.

“Exactly. A classic, albeit crude, hostile acquisition strategy,” Leonhart commented cynically. “But why do you care? Dwijaya Trading has zero strategic value for the Arxilon portfolio. Their tech assets are non-existent.”

I stared at the screen, my eyes fixing on the name ‘Rafli Dwijaya’ in the organizational chart.

“The owner’s daughter is Lyra’s teacher,” I said, the truth tasting like iron in my mouth. “And she’s the only person who has made Lyra laugh since her mother walked out.”

Leonhart went silent on the other side of the world. His expression softened. He knew exactly how far I would go for Lyra.

“Ah... The Teacher,” Leonhart whispered. “Understood. That is a valid enough reason for me.”

He returned to the data. “Wait. There’s a new development this morning. Dwijaya’s primary creditor bank just filed for an asset freeze.”

My eyes widened. “An asset freeze? This early?”

“Yes. And the trigger was a default report filed by... Rei Darvian. He was acting as a guarantor and withdrew his support.”

That name again. Rei.

The pieces of Saskia’s frantic explanation from last night clicked into place. Rei wasn't just trying to buy a company. He was creating a scenario where Elara would be forced to sell herself to save her father from a prison cell and total ruin.

“He’s cornering a mouse so it has nowhere to run,” I hissed, my voice cold.

A slow, predatory anger began to coil in my chest. I hated men who used wealth as a leash. It reminded me of Camille. It reminded me of the very reason I had discarded my surname in France and fled to this corner of the world.

And now, Rei Darvian was doing it to Elara.

“Leon,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Listen to my instructions carefully.”

Leonhart straightened his posture. He knew this tone. This was the ‘Hidden Alpha’ speaking.

“Use Vector Holdings. The shell company we used for the Singapore acquisition last year.”

“Okay. Vector Holdings. And then?”

“Buy every cent of Dwijaya Trading’s debt from that creditor bank. All of it. Leave nothing behind.”

Leonhart frowned. “Dio, are you sure? That company is a sinking ship. If we buy the debt, we’re just buying a headache. The ROI is deep in the red.”

I looked directly into the camera lens. My gaze was frozen, traveling through thousands of miles of fiber-optic cable to reach him.

“I don't care about the profit, Leon. I want the leash.”

My hand curled into a fist on the glass desk.

“Buy the debt. Make us their sole primary creditor. I want Dwijaya by the throat, not Darvian.”

A Trojan Horse strategy. Enter as the debt-holder, then seize control from the inside to protect, not destroy.

“Give me three days,” Leonhart negotiated.

“You have twenty-four hours. Before the seizure notice hits the courts.”

Leonhart let out a resigned sigh, but a challenging smile touched his face. “You’re a demanding bastard, Dio. Fine. I’m on it. Sleep is canceled.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” I said, using the childhood name I had for him.

Leonhart smiled warmly. “For Lyra. And for her teacher.”

BEEP.

The screen went black.

I sat in the darkness of The Node for a long moment. The blue indicator lights of the servers flickered, reflecting in my eyes.

Rei Darvian wanted to play God with people’s lives? Fine. Let’s see what happens when he meets a real deity.

• • •

1:45 PM.

I stepped out from behind the wood panel.

WHOOSH. CLICK.

The door sealed itself, hiding the Chairman of Arxilon behind the persona of a simple single father.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, and let the cold mask on my face dissolve. I walked down the hallway toward Lyra’s room.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open gently.

“Daddy...?” Lyra’s voice was weak, a raspy whisper.

She was lying in bed, her face flushed with the lingering heat of the fever. Bobo was clutched tightly against her chest.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. Still warm, but the fire had died down.

“Hey, Princess. You’re awake?”

Lyra nodded feebly. Her glassy eyes drifted toward the door, as if searching for someone who wasn't there.

“Ms. Ela... isn't coming?”

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand.

“Ms. Elara is busy at school, sweetheart. Remember? You stayed home today.”

Lyra’s lip trembled. “But I miss her... I want Ms. Ela to feed me the porridge...”

Tears began to pool in the corners of her gray eyes.

Yani entered the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of chicken porridge and a glass of warm water. She looked at me with a pained expression.

“She’s been refusing to eat, Mas. She keeps asking for Ms. Elara,” Yani whispered.

I took the bowl. I stirred it slowly, letting the steam rise and dissipate.

“How about Daddy feeds you? Here comes the airplane. Vroooom...”

I offered the spoon. Lyra turned her head away, a rare act of defiance.

“Want Ms. Ela...” she whimpered, a tear rolling onto her pillow.

I set the bowl back on the tray. The sight of my daughter’s grief, mixed with the knowledge of what Elara was facing, made my blood boil.

The woman my daughter loved was being bled dry by her own family and a man named Rei. If Elara broke, Lyra would lose her smile too.

I stroked Lyra’s damp hair.

“Lyra, listen to me,” I whispered into her ear.

“I promise. I will bring Ms. Elara back here. And I promise I won't let any bad people hurt her.”

Lyra turned back, her eyes wet and searching. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

I kissed her forehead.

An Atmanta’s promise was absolute. Rei Darvian had no idea he had just woken a giant from its slumber.