Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin! Chapter 248: Signing the Club

anwhile, Darren's other employees had a job to finish for him.

All the way in Westblock District where the morning air carried a distinct blend of fresh ink, recycled air, and tension —the bureaucratic kind, lined with plastic badge scanners and filtered sunlight through reinforced skylights.

The Calivernia Departnt of Economic Recognition & Trade Licensing, or CERTL, stood like a blunt monolith in the business sector: thirteen floors of slabbed walls, smart-glass panels, and security caras hanging lazily like vultures keeping watch over ambition.

Inside, the main atrium of CERTL resembled a cross between a futurist airport and a corporate mausoleum.

Queues of executives, assistants, and startup founders lined the chro-inset floor in snaking patterns, all inching toward self-registration kiosks glowing with sterile white light.

Each kiosk pulsed with customizable interfaces, ID validation ports, retinal and facial verification pads, and contract scanners embedded beneath biotric plates.

Filling the air was the murmured chatter of pitch decks, legal debates, and whispered curses about licensing fees.

Among the crowd stood Sandy yers and Alia Forrest, dressed to fit but not to blend.

Sandy, ever the definition of understated class, wore a high-waisted cream pantsuit tailored to perfection. Her blouse was dove grey silk with a subtle pattern of bronze-threaded pinstripes that shimred only when caught by the light.

A pair of antique rose-gold earrings shaped like tiny ciphers swung gently from her ears. Her ash-blonde hair was tied in a low, minimal knot. Her expression was fairly sharp, though she could never get rid of the softness of her older gaze.

Beside her, Alia brought a different kind of presence. She wore a navy-blue pencil skirt that kissed just below the knee, paired with a crisp sleeveless blouse of pure white tucked into a tailored vest.

Her dark hair fell close to her brows in her usual bangs, and a watch she had gotten from her last month salary glistened in her wrist. Unlike Sandy's cool calm, Alia had a spark in her gaze— alert, precise, a constant ntal current that matched her kill-bill expression.

They had just passed through level-two verification, having submitted the preliminary business code request under the na The Pantheon Club— an umbrella body ant to cover Darren's expanding investor network.

It was for the building he had bought a while ago; the one he wanted to turn into an exquisite get-together for the actors and other celebrities who were filling up Los Alverez like sardines.

At the fifth kiosk in row B, Sandy laid the encrypted authorization file gently into the plate slot. A soft beep followed, and the monitor before her requested signature from two founding board officers.

"I'll take left," Alia said.

She placed her index and middle finger on the designated biotric pad while Sandy mirrored her on the right side. After that, they signed and the dual authorization was active.

They proceeded to file for the business architecture.

"Upload it," Sandy said.

Alia tapped on her keyboard. A new window opened on the terminal screen, detailing the proposed internal structure of the Pantheon Club; Darren as Executive Chair and placeholders for upcoming departnt heads, press liaisons, and legal counsel.

The system paused for a second, then began cross-checking the proposed hierarchy against business ethics registries and pre-registered conflict warnings.

While it worked, Sandy exhaled. She wasn't necessarily exhausted, it was just a ritual to do that when one was waiting.

"They're slow today," she murmured.

"It's Tuesday," Alia replied, lifting an eyebrow. "Tuesdays are for startups trying to look legitimate and hedge funds trying to pretend they aren't already laundering sothing."

Sandy smirked but didn't comnt. The screen dinged again.

Step 3 was complete.

"Co on, let's go."

They headed to the Intent Registry to get the compliance agreent done.

There, Alia selected the pre-prepared mission statent and scrolled through the clauses, her fingers moving in sharp lines as she toggled through:

Darren Steele's Club: Official Draft

Purpose: To provide an exclusive, private sanctuary for influential actors and musicians, facilitating discreet social engagent and high-level networking away from public scrutiny.

mbership: Invitation-only; closed circle, strictly for verified, high-profile individuals within the entertainnt and music industries.

Key Offerings: Premium bar and lounge services, private soundproofed areas, and bespoke concierge for mbers.

Compliance Clause 17A: Subject to FEDTECH oversight in the event of AI-integrated forecasting modules.

When they were done, Alia turned. "You want to handle the rest?"

"No," Sandy said, adjusting her blazer. "Let's finish this together."

They walked together toward the lounge. On the way, Alia gave Sandy a side glance.

"I always wanted to talk to you about sothing you know. You've known Darren longer than any of us," she said softly, casually, almost as if thinking aloud.

Sandy's eyes flicked to her, then forward again. "Yes. We were both in... Smithers Group."

"You ever think about that?"

Sandy gave a small smile. It was faint—almost imperceptible. "Sotis."

Alia hesitated, then asked more carefully, "I an... The company's grown so fast. And Darren... he's always surrounded now. I think sotis that you might feel left out... seeing how he spends more ti with Rachel and Kara... and . Even though you've known him longer than the rest of us."

Sandy didn't answer imdiately. She stepped into the elevator, waited for the doors to shut, and then said, "Uhhh... It's just... he spends more ti with you all because... your roles require proximity. I'm head of Finance so I just stay in the office more."

Alia tilted her head. "But it still stings a little, doesn't it?"

Sandy turned to face her.

"Sorry if my questions are a bit..."

"It's okay," Sandy smiled. "I do feel left out sotis. But what matters is the work. Darren's just pretty busy. Nostalgia doesn't matter when there's money to be made."

Alia looked at her for a mont, but didn't say anything else and followed out as the doors opened to Level 2.

Inside the notarization lounge, a registrar with the seal of Calivernia walked towards them.

Alia and Sandy presented their credentials and verified the signature token. The registrar confird and after a few docunts were checked, it was completed.

They trademarked the club na, The Pantheon Club right there.

After that, Sandy picked up the hardcopy, brushed her thumb along the watermark, and gave a small nod.

"Done."

"Seeing how fast we got it done, hopefully Darren would consider giving us a raise," Alia joked.

"Of course you'd need a raise after you spent all of last month's ceremony on a watch."

"Hey!"

Sandy giggled.

They turned back toward the main atrium, stepping into the streaming crowds with renewed purpose. But just as they were halfway through the hall, Alia froze slightly.

She was certain that her eyes weren't deceiving her.

Across the atrium, near a vendor lounge, stood a man in a grey three-piece suit. His hair was dark brown, swept back in crisp waves.

When Alia squinted her eyes, she realized that he was grinning straight at her.

She tugged at Sandy's blazer.

"What?" Sandy asked.

Alia pointed with her eyes. "Isn't that Adam Scotland?"