Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 157: Prove Yourself, Amelia

Nobody moved.

Ryan still had his hand on Amelia's wrist, Brittle was holding the handle of the damaged door in his hand, and the loud panting of the scared woman became the room's very own heartbeat.

For that blistering second, the entire room hung frozen.

Mr. Brittle's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, locked onto Ryan Anders' hand still gripping Amelia's wrist.

Slowly, dangerously, the older man's face twisted into disgust.

"You let her go," Brittle said, his voice low and carrying the force of a sledgehammer.

Ryan wasn't an idiot. He knew doing anything but what Brittle had just told him to do would only escalate the issue.

So, he released Amelia at once, stepping back a pace, straightening his tie and smoothing his suit like the confrontation had been some minor inconvenience.

Amelia half expected him to see something, but unlike Ryan's usual self, he was silent, seemingly defeated in the way he moved.

He avoided eye contact with her and Mr. Brittle, but didn't act guilty. He just kept the demeanor of a man who had slipped and was pretending like the shame of it didn't bother him.

But Brittle wasn't done.

"You got some nerve, boy," the old warehouse owner growled, moving from the door with the stiff dignity of a war veteran. "I don't care how many big-shot companies you work for or how shiny that suit is. You're a damn disgrace."

At this point, Ryan's own pride was tested and he opened his mouth to retort, but he changed his mind, tilted his head and started to leave.

But the steel in Brittle's glare stopped him cold.

"I'm ashamed. Ashamed that someone like you came through my door. And ashamed for the poor folks that trusted you to represent them," Brittle spat.

Ryan clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. But he said nothing, still knowing better than to throw gasoline on a fire this wild.

"There ain't no way," Brittle continued, voice rising, "no damn way I'm doing business with a perverted sicko like you! Get your ass outta my building before I call security and have you dragged."

Ryan inhaled sharply through his nose, anger simmering under his polished exterior.

But he still didn't argue.

Adjusting his jacket with a slow, furious precision, he shot Amelia a venomous glance and turned on his heel.

He left the room without another word, his footsteps echoing across the concrete floor as he disappeared into the Nevarro sunlight.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The silence that followed was long, heavy, broken only by Brittle's ragged breathing as he wrestled down his anger.

He turned to Amelia.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asked, softer now.

Amelia steadied herself. She pulled her skirt down and adjusted her blazer, clutching her folder tight to her chest after.

"Y-Yes, sir," she said, voice firm despite the tremor in her heart.

He nodded, his expression still carved in stone. "Good. Don't you worry. I wasn't gonna pick that slimeball anyway. Ain't never liked them Moon Wealth rich boys. Thinking' they run the whole country just 'cause they can buy it."

He snorted, spitting to the side in pure contempt. "They already got Calivernia wrapped around their dollar bill. I'm not gonna let them sink their claws into good old Nevarro."

Amelia's heart warmed slightly at his gruff loyalty, but she shook her head quickly. "Thank you, sir... but please don't choose me just because you feel bad. I don't want pity."

"Oh. So you're one of those dignified soldiers?"

She squared her shoulders, feeling Darren's expectation heavy on her back.

"I still have my full argument against Ryan's last point," she said. "If you'll let me."

Brittle's stern face cracked into a small, approving grin.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

"Now that's the spirit," he said, lowering himself back into his chair. "Let's hear it."

Amelia took a breath. 'Darren sent me to win an asset for him. I can't return to the Complex with a victory that I earned from being a victim. I have to defeat Ryan's point and sell our deal.'

Then, she spoke;

"When Mr. Anders said his client could connect you to developers for licensing opportunities, it sounded good— but it's not guaranteed. Developers are sharks. They move fast, but only when it's profitable for them— not for the seller. If the land doesn't appreciate fast enough, you're left holding a licensing contract that's legally binding and hard to exit."

Brittle leaned forward, intrigued.

"Our proposal," Amelia continued, "focuses on finality. You sell now. You walk away clean. No residual ties. No hidden clauses. Full value, full control of your future assets without being anyone's leverage point."

She ended firmly, locking eyes with him. "That is my pitch, sir. That is the pitch of my boss, Mr. Darren Steele."

Brittle took a seat, rubbing his chin and smiling wider now. "Aren't you a determined little firecracker," he muttered proudly.

He reached into his drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and dropped it onto the desk with a satisfying thump.

"Alright then," he said. "Let's sign some damn paperwork."

Amelia's heart skipped.

Her hand moved fast, pulling out Steele Investments' prepared contract package — Darren had drilled it into her: always have a draft ready.

They spent the next twenty minutes hammering out final clauses:

Confirming a seventy-two-hour escrow.

Ensuring full confidentiality from Brittle's side.

Wiring instructions prepared for the full $360,000.

Pens scratched paper. Pages flipped.

Brittle signed with a heavy hand, nodding with satisfaction after each signature.

Amelia's own hand trembled slightly as she penned her signature — Amelia Forrest, Secretary of Investments, Steele Investments.

When the last page was signed, Brittle clapped the folder shut with a grin.

"There," he said, extending his massive hand. "Done deal. You tell your boss he's got himself a damn good one."

Amelia shook his hand firmly, her chest bursting with pride.

"Thank you, Mr. Brittle," she said, bowing slightly in respect. "You won't regret it."

"I know I won't," he chuckled. "You're a damn sight better than that rat that came before you. Now go catch your flight, young lady. I'll tell my security to follow you till you get to the airport."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that, sir."

"Of course I do. Mugs like that Anders guy don't like being caught and ridiculed. I need to make sure you're safe. Besides, you've got someone waiting for your good news."

Amelia nodded, her eyes gleaming as she quickly packed up the documents. "Thank you!"

Outside, the Nevarro afternoon sun blazed against the cracked parking lot. She shielded her eyes and hurried into the waiting town car.

Inside, she clutched the signed contract against her chest and finally let a huge, relieved smile break across her face.

Mission accomplished.