Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 236: The Lotus Triad’s Hideout

Step. Step. Step.

Their footfalls echoed in the long, reverent corridor like a countdown to disaster.

Darren couldn't stop thinking about it. Throughout the drive to this place, his mind had punished him.

He and Rachel had sat in the back, their wrists bound with cold, biting handcuffs. Black fabric blindfolds clung to their faces because they didn't want them to register the direction to this hideout.

Because of that, the drive felt endless, a disorienting maze of turns and stops. It was then that the guilt struck Darren as he realized how terrified Rachel would be at that moment as she had no idea what was happening.

He regretted not telling her anything about it, and allowing her to walk blindly into this.

Step. Step. Step.

They walked further. Darren flexed his fingers, testing the cuffs, but they held firm, not that he had any hope that it would be loose.

Rachel turned to him once again. "Darren," she whispered, lips trembling. "Where are they taking us?"

"It'll be fine, I promise," he murmured, keeping his tone steady for her sake. "Just stay sharp, Rach. We're not done yet."

She didn't reply, but her breathing hitched, and he could feel her trying to hold it together. He hated how small she sounded, how the fearless edge he relied on was fraying.

"Move," one of the gunmen barked, his accent thick, shoving Darren forward. Rachel stumbled beside him, and he instinctively leaned closer, trying to shield her.

"Easy," he growled. "She's not your problem."

A grunt was the only reply, and they were pushed through yet another doorway.

This one had a narrower corridor, the air heavy with the scent of metal and something floral, almost sickly sweet, like lotus blossoms left to rot.

Darren looked at the walls, they had steel panels on them, some etched with peculiar patterns shifting in the dim light— spirals and vines that felt alive, watching.

He saw hidden speakers, possibly used for announcements or alarms. The floor beneath their shoes was polished black marble, streaked with veins of silver, reflecting their silhouettes as they walked.

Every few steps, a camera lens glinted in the ceiling, red lights blinking like predatory eyes.

Darren understood how secured this place was now. One wouldn't expect anything less from a hideout. But this one was clearly a fortress, a blend of ancient elegance and cutting-edge paranoia, designed to intimidate and disorient.

The gunmen — four of them now — marched behind and beside them, rifles slung but hands ready. Their boots clicked in unison, a disciplined rhythm that echoed off the walls.

One had a scar across his cheek, another a tattoo of a lotus curling around his neck. They moved like men who'd killed before and would again without hesitation.

Darren's eyes flicked to Rachel, her face pale, her lips pressed tight. She was trying to hide it, but her eyes darted to every shadow, every glint of steel.

'She's out of her depth,' he thought, guilt surging again. 'I should've told her about the Triad. Given her a chance to prepare.'

The corridor opened into a wide chamber, and they were led through the third door, this one heavy steel with a biometric lock that hissed as it released.

Inside was a room that felt like it belonged in a private club for the elite— or a warlord's lair. The space was large, its walls draped in dark velvet, absorbing the light from a single crystal chandelier that cast fractured glints across the room.

Plush leather armchairs circled a low mahogany table, its surface inlaid with silver lotus motifs. A bar lined one wall, stocked with bottles that gleamed like liquid gold, and a faint haze of cigar smoke lingered, curling in the air. The room screamed power, wealth, and control, a place where deals were struck and fates decided.

At the center, seated in a high-backed chair like a throne, was the patriarch of the Lotus Triad.

He was a man in presumably his late fifties, lean and sharp, with a face carved from years of calculated cruelty. His hair was silver, slicked back, and his eyes were a pale, piercing gray, like storm clouds trapped in glass.

His suit was charcoal with a single silver lotus pin on his lapel. His hands rested on the arms of his chair, one finger adorned with a heavy ring etched with the same lotus symbol.

His presence was magnetic, commanding, but cold— like a predator sizing up its prey. When Darren entered, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto him with an intensity that felt like it could peel back skin.

As Darren met his stare, and finally he could do what he needed to do.

Ding! The notification came.

┏Personal Insight Protocol is complete┛

┏Information on subject is as follows┛

┏Full Name: Viktor Dragomir

Age: 57

Occupation: Patriarch, Lotus Triad; Shadow Investor, Untraceable Ventures

Education: Unknown; Suspected Training in Cryptography and Economics, Eastern Bloc Intelligence Programs

Achievements: Architect of the 2008 Darknet Heist, Orchestrated Collapse of Rival Syndicate (2007), Mastermind of Untraceable Crypto Laundering Network

Net Worth: Estimated $4.2 Billion (Unverified, Scattered Across Offshore Wallets)

Personality: Ruthless, Methodical, Enigmatic, Patient

Motivation: Absolute Control, Legacy Preservation, Dominance in Global Underworld

Traits: Strategically Brilliant, Emotionally Inscrutable, Lethally Decisive

Address: Unknown; Operates Through Mobile Safehouses Across Eastern Europe

Phone Number: Untraceable; Uses Encrypted Relays┛

Darren's pulse quickened, but his face stayed impassive, betraying nothing. 'Could have presumed that he was a man similar to Archibald Mooney, but someone like him — Viktor Dragomir — probably has no morals, unlike Archibald.'

The Insight Protocol painted a picture of a ghost who moved markets and erased enemies without leaving a trace. This was no ordinary thug; this was a kingpin who could make them disappear with a word.

Maybe.

The door behind them hissed open again, and two figures entered. Darren's eyes flicked to them, his stomach tightening. The Romanian girl from Cluj-Napoca — the one who'd handed him the lotus card — stood there, her green eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor.

Beside her was the man from the garage, the one in the coal-black suit. Up close, he was even more unsettling— tall and gaunt, his face a map of scars, one slicing through his eyebrow, another twisting his lip into a permanent sneer.

His eyes were cold, dead, like a shark's, and he carried himself with the quiet menace of someone who'd killed too many times to count. He stood close to the girl, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, possessive.

Finally, the silence came to an end with Viktor Dragomir taking a sip of his wine then sighing. He scrutinized Darren one more time before speaking, his Romanian accent defeating his English words.

"You the American, eh? The Bitcoin hunter."

Darren kept his gaze cold. "Bitcoin hunter?" He tilted his head, faintly pursing his lips. "Somehow, I like the way that sounds."

Rachel's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with disbelief. 'How can he joke now?' she thought, her heart pounding so loud she was sure they could hear it.

Viktor's eyes narrowed, his lips thinning. "You have something that belongs to us." He waited.

"The wallet," he said, his voice like gravel. "Hand it over. Now."

Darren's eyes darkened, intensity locking onto Viktor's. "I spent a lot of money to get that wallet," he said, his tone low, defiant. "Blood too, apparently. Why would I just give it to you?"

Viktor's expression didn't change, but his hand moved— a single, sharp snap of his fingers.

The room suddenly came alive with the metallic click of safeties disengaging. Ten rifles and pistols rose from the men and pointed directly at Darren and Rachel.

Rachel jerked, her body tensing, her eyes darting to the guns. Darren's face remained impassive, but inside, his mind raced.

Then he gave a defeated shrug.

"Okay," he said. "That's a fair enough reason."