World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 166: Cullen Corp’s Situation Worsens

It took James a good fifteen minutes to finally get curious Leslie off his back.

She had heard Rachel’s name loud and clear during the phone call, and her instincts had immediately flared.

A woman’s intuition, sharpened by love and honed by subtle rivalry, was not so easily calmed.

Patty, on the other hand, hadn’t pried as much. But the quiet glances she exchanged with Leslie told James everything he needed to know: this wasn’t going to be forgotten. Not soon, at least.

Still, with a combination of reassurance and charm, James managed to redirect their attention. Barely.

And yet, just when he thought the cross-examination was over, Patty leaned forward with a deceptively casual tone.

"So... how are you going to stop this arranged marriage?"

Leslie tilted her head, eyes narrowing again with interest.

James blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled slightly and leaned back into the couch, arms stretched along the backrest.

"The same way I told Rachel," he said calmly. "I’ll handle it."

That earned him a pair of synchronized eye rolls.

"Vague much?" Leslie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Infuriatingly vague," Patty added, but her tone was teasing.

Still, they didn’t push. Instead, Patty placed a warm hand on James’ arm.

"Just... be careful, alright?" she said softly. "These people... they don’t play fair."

"And they don’t forget," Leslie added.

James nodded, the sincerity in their voices cutting through the playful atmosphere. He hugged them both gently, a quiet moment of gratitude exchanged between them.

Then, as they turned their attention back to the movie, James excused himself briefly and stepped into the hallway to make a call.

He rang Mr. Harrington, and after a few rings, the ever-efficient man answered.

"Mr. Zolomon."

"Evening," James said smoothly. "I need a contract drawn up. Something tight. Binding. Non-negotiable."

"I’m listening."

James laid everything out — Rachel’s request, her offer, the stakes, and the potential fallout. He didn’t leave out the risk. He didn’t need to. Harrington was sharp enough to spot the landmines even without a map.

"So you want a documented agreement with defined terms, performance benchmarks, and penalty clauses in case she backs out after you help her."

"Exactly. And I want it drafted discreetly."

"I’ll get started immediately. You’ll have a draft within forty-eight hours."

James hung up after a brief thank you, and leaned against the wall for a moment, staring down at the floor.

Now came the hard part.

How the hell was he going to stop an arranged marriage?

He thought about it and spent almost an hour turning the problem over in his head.

He looked at it through multiple angles, several possibilities. But every potential solution came with complications.

One path was confrontation — threaten or outmaneuver the groom-to-be and his family. But that meant stepping into open conflict with old money — and potentially pitting himself against two powerful legacies at once.

Another idea was sabotage — dig up dirt on the groom, expose scandal, or engineer social embarrassment. But that was risky, dirty, and if traced back, would hurt Rachel more than help.

What he needed... was something clean. Something indirect. Something strategic.

He needed a way to make the arranged marriage collapse on its own — without anyone knowing he’d pushed.

That’s when he finally got the idea.

A fake relationship.

The more he considered it, the more sense it made.

If Rachel were seen to be already romantically involved with someone — someone visible, influential, and polarizing — it would send a message. Especially if the relationship played out publicly enough to draw social attention.

In elite circles, perception was everything.

No high-ranking family would want their son entangled in a scandal where the bride was already "claimed," so to speak — especially not by someone with growing fame and a reputation for defiance.

The suitor’s family would back off first — not out of kindness, but pride. They’d refuse to "compete" for a woman already entangled in messy headlines.

And Rachel’s father, seeing the relationship gain momentum, would have no choice but to let the marriage idea go. He wouldn’t fight a public image war.

It would solve the issue.

In theory.

But James also knew the risks.

If the suitor — or his family — decided to push back, they could retaliate. Paint Rachel as unstable. Paint James as manipulative. It could become ugly fast.

Not only that, they might even come after him, singing the same old, popular music, telling him that he’s new money and a nobody.

Even worse, Rachel’s father could step in and demand she end the relationship, spinning it as a disgraceful rebellion.

And suddenly, James would be caught in a political storm with no safe exits.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the faint pulse of a headache blooming behind his eyes.

It was the safest plan — but also the one with the most variables.

He needed to talk to Rachel. They would have to align their moves perfectly. It had to look real enough to unsettle the suitor’s family — but not messy enough to spark scandal.

James let out a breath and returned to the living room, sinking back into the couch.

He relaxed into the couch, as he thought of how things are going and how they are going to pan in the future, and he was looking forward to it.

If he was going to do this, it had to be done right. And it wasn’t just about helping Rachel anymore.

This was about reputation, influence and power.

***

Meanwhile, at Cullen Corp Headquarters

Another emergency meeting to battle another storm of panic and confusion

The executive boardroom, normally a symbol of control and wealth, had been reduced to a pressure cooker. The long mahogany table was cluttered with scattered documents, empty water bottles, and abandoned coffee cups.

Low murmur of agitated voices and the occasional sharp tone of someone snapping under pressure, filled the room.

Edward McCullen sat at the head of the table, drenched in sweat. His perfectly tailored suit clung to him uncomfortably, the silk fabric soaked at the collar and cuffs.

He looked far older than he had just days ago — his features sunken, his eyes rimmed red, and his composure hanging by a thread.

In less than 24 hours, their situation had gone from critical to catastrophic.

They have lost another potential profit of $50 million, after the initial $103 million of yesterday.

Also, a second civil suit had been filed — this time by a former employee who now claimed retaliation and coercion under whistleblower protections.

More major clients were freezing deals. And this morning, an influential financial newspaper published an exposé on Cullen Corp’s internal mismanagement, complete with anonymous quotes from executives.

The leak was spreading like poison through every artery of the company.

And now, with desperation clawing at every man and woman in the room, Edward had convened this third meeting in less than twelve hours.

But it was going nowhere.

The private investigation team — a shadowy group Edward had hired through backchannels for triple their usual fee — had promised results in 24 hours.

But Cullen Corp no longer had 24 hours.

Every minute that passed shaved more value off their stock. Every hour invited regulators, journalists, and opportunistic rivals to dig deeper. And every word that left the mouths of frightened employees fanned the flames of suspicion.

Edward gritted his teeth as one executive — Peterson, VP of Compliance — nervously repeated something he’d already said three times that morning.

"If this is a coordinated takedown, it means someone had access to everything — contracts, emails, digital systems, even employee records. It’s not just a whistleblower. It’s a full-spectrum breach."

"We already know that!" Edward snapped, slamming his hand against the table.

The room jumped.

A deep silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. No one dared speak.

Edward leaned back, covering his face with one trembling hand.

His heart was pounding and his mind ached.

He hadn’t slept in over 36 hours.

And the worst part? He could feel the fear sinking into his bones — the kind of primal fear that came when a man realized he might already be dead, but just didn’t know it yet.

He had been in dangerous situations before. Deals that walked a legal tightrope. Quiet payments to silence partners. Favors owed to people who didn’t use phones or sign paperwork.

But never had he felt this kind of collapse.

Never had he heard "The Boss" call directly. Never had his life felt so... negotiable.

And now, this meeting — this useless meeting — was just a ticking clock counting down to their funeral.

He sighed internally.

Maybe it was over.

Then — a slam.

The door to the boardroom burst open. One of the security liaisons — a lean man in a navy suit, earpiece still in — strode in with hurried steps, eyes wild.

Everyone turned toward him, startled by the interruption.

Edward’s temper flared.

"I said no interruptions unless it’s life or death—!"

But the man cut him off.

"It is," the security liaison said breathlessly. "Sir. We’ve found something. Actually... someone."