The crowd of suppliers—powerful figures in their respective industries, men and women who commanded multi-million-dollar operations—stood around Ryan like confused kindergarteners waiting for their teacher to solve a problem.
Ryan raised his hand, and the noise died instantly.
He looked around at the steel river of delivery trucks he’d single-handedly created—hundreds of vehicles stretching as far as he could see, all carrying supplies he’d ordered in the past 48 hours.
“Relax,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension.
“Everyone stay calm.” He pointed at the warehouse in the distance.
“Drivers stay with their vehicles.
All of you—the owners and managers—come with me.
We’re going to sort this out.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, Ryan turned and walked toward the warehouse entrance.
The suppliers exchanged glances but immediately followed.
The massive rolling door groaned as it rose, revealing the interior.
Everyone stopped dead.
The warehouse was empty.
Completely, utterly empty.
The vast space—probably twenty thousand square feet—was nothing but bare concrete floor and exposed steel rafters.
Not a single crate, not a pallet, not even a stray piece of packaging.
Marcus from the cold storage facility was the first to recover.
“Mr.
Matthews, I…
my guys scouted this location yesterday.
The intel we got said it was full of surplus textile inventory.
Where did—” “The previous tenant cleared out early,” Ryan said smoothly, which was technically true—he’d paid them triple to vacate immediately.
“Doesn’t matter.
The space is empty now, which is exactly what we need.” He pulled out his phone and looked at Marcus.
“First delivery.
What’s the final balance after the deposit?” Marcus blinked.
“Uh…
after the five million deposit, the remaining balance is…
$38 million for the first shipment.” Ryan’s fingers flew across his phone screen.
TRANSFER INITIATED: $38,000,000.00 Ding.
Marcus’s phone chimed.
He pulled it out with shaking hands, stared at the notification, and his knees actually buckled slightly.
“Holy…
that’s…
you just…” He looked at Ryan like he’d witnessed a miracle.
Ryan was already looking at the next person.
“Your final payment?” Big Tony stammered out a number.
“$23 million for the first rice delivery…” Transfer.
Ding.
“Yours?” Ryan looked at the water plant manager.
“$4.2 million…” Transfer.
Ding.
Ryan worked his way through the entire group—pharmaceuticals, generators, outdoor gear, hardware supplies.
Every single final payment, wired immediately, no negotiation, no haggling.
Within ten minutes, every supplier had received their full payment.
The warehouse echoed with heavy breathing and the soft dings of arrival notifications.
They were all staring at Ryan like he was some kind of demigod who’d descended from Wall Street to shower them with wealth.
“Alright,” Ryan said, pocketing his phone.
“The warehouse is empty.
Here’s how this works: trucks come in ten at a time.
They unload, they leave.
Next batch comes in.
We keep rotating until everything is off the trucks and in the warehouse.” He looked around.
“First convoy to unload gets to leave first.
The ones stuck in back?
That’s your problem to solve.
I suggest you coordinate with each other instead of blocking each other’s trucks.” Then Ryan walked to the corner of the warehouse, found an overturned crate, and sat down.
He didn’t need to say anything else.
The suppliers immediately scrambled into action—friendly business partners one second, cutthroat competitors the next, all of them rushing out to command their drivers, shouting into phones, jockeying for position.
“Get my trucks to the front!” “If anyone tries to cut in line, I’ll remember it!” “Move, move, MOVE!” The chaotic-but-organized unloading operation began.
Refrigerated trucks backed up to the warehouse entrance and workers swarmed out, loading pallets of frozen meat onto forklifts and dollies.
Mountains of beef, pork, chicken, seafood—all of it rolling into the warehouse and stacking up in organized rows.
Flatbed trucks delivered pallets of rice—fifty-pound bags stacked six feet high, hundreds of pallets, tons upon tons of grain.
Box trucks unloaded canned goods—vegetables, fruits, soups, meats—creating colorful walls of preserved food.
Tank trucks pumped bottled water into storage containers.
Equipment trucks delivered generators, tools, steel beams, cables.
The warehouse filled rapidly, the empty space transforming into a supply depot that could sustain a small army for years.
Ryan just sat and watched.
By the time the last truck finished unloading, it was nearly dark outside.
The suppliers were exhausted, sweaty, but triumphant.
They’d just made more money in one day than most of them made in a month.
“Same time tomorrow?” Big Tony asked hopefully.
“I’ve got another wave of deliveries lined up—another eight thousand tons of rice, plus pasta and dried beans…” “Yeah,” Ryan said.
“Keep them coming.
I’ll need continuous deliveries for the next five days.” The suppliers left one by one, already on their phones lining up the next shipments, calling their own suppliers, securing inventory.
Ryan waited until the last truck disappeared down the road and the warehouse was completely silent.
Then he closed the massive rolling door, sealing himself inside with the mountain of supplies.
He walked to the nearest stack—pallets of frozen beef, each pallet holding about a ton of meat.
Ryan placed his palm on the shrink-wrapped surface.
Store.
The entire pallet vanished.
Just…
gone.
Disappeared into the infinite void in Ryan’s mind where it would sit in perfect stasis forever.
A smile crossed Ryan’s face.
He walked deeper into the warehouse.
Everywhere his hand touched, supplies disappeared.
Tons of rice—gone.
Cases of canned vegetables—gone.
Pallets of bottled water—gone.
Steel beams—gone.
Generators—gone.
It took him two hours to clear the entire warehouse, but when he was finished, the space was as empty as when the suppliers had first seen it.
Twenty thousand square feet of supplies, all compressed into a dimensionless storage space that existed only in his mind.
Ryan checked his phone: 8:47 PM.
Shit.
He was late for the weapons pickup.
He sprinted to his BMW and floored it toward Yonkers.
The abandoned mine in the western outskirts was exactly the kind of place where illegal arms deals happened—rusted chain-link fences, warning signs riddled with bullet holes, the skeletal remains of industrial equipment slowly being reclaimed by vegetation.
Ryan’s BMW headlights cut through the darkness as he pulled up to the mine entrance and killed the engine.
The white van from before was already there, headlights off, parked near the entrance.
Three figures stood beside it.
Victor in the center, still wearing the hood and mask.
His two enforcers flanking him—the tall one and the stocky one Ryan had seen at the first meeting.
Ryan stepped out of his car.
The two enforcers immediately moved forward, positioning themselves between Ryan and Victor, their posture aggressive and confrontational.
“You’re late,” Victor’s gravelly voice echoed in the empty space.
Ryan ignored him, his eyes fixed on the two men blocking his path.
The tall one stepped closer, invading Ryan’s personal space.
He grinned, showing yellowed teeth that probably hadn’t seen a dentist in years.
“So you’re the little shit who called our boss trash on the phone?” His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap beer.
The stocky one laughed—a nasty, cruel sound.
“I think this rich boy needs to learn some manners.
Maybe we need to teach him who’s really in charge here, yeah?
Maybe he needs to bleed a little before he understands respect.” They were posturing, testing him.
Standard intimidation tactics from guys who’d spent their lives in the grey market.
In their world, a young rich kid with money was just prey—soft, weak, easy to push around.
Victor stood back, saying nothing, watching.
This was a test.
He wanted to see how Ryan would react under pressure.
Would he fold?
Beg?
Try to buy his way out?
Ryan’s expression didn’t change.
No fear.
No anger.
Just a calm, flat assessment of the two clowns in front of him.
“You done?” Ryan asked quietly.
The tall one’s grin widened.
“Oh, the little rich boy wants to—” CRACK.
Something flew out of the darkness beside them—a fist-sized chunk of ore, rust-covered and heavy—and slammed into the tall enforcer’s face with sickening force.
The sound was like a baseball bat hitting a watermelon.
The man’s head snapped back, blood and broken teeth spraying from his mouth, and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Complete silence.
The stocky enforcer froze, his brain trying to process what just happened.
He whipped around, staring at the darkness where the rock had come from.
Nothing there.
Just empty shadows.
“What the FUCK—” he started.
Victor was scanning the area, his body tense.
“Who’s there?!” he barked.
“Show yourself!” But there was no one.
The mine was empty except for them.
The rock had appeared out of nowhere.
“You fucking—there’s someone hiding out there!” the stocky guy snarled, pulling a knife from his belt.
“Show yourself, you coward!” The response wasn’t a voice.
It was a brick.
SMACK.
A red clay brick materialized from the darkness behind him and slammed into the back of his skull with perfect precision.
The stocky enforcer’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed face-first onto the dirt.
Victor spun around, trying to track where the attacks were coming from, his hand moving toward a concealed weapon.
But there was nothing.
No attackers.
No movement in the shadows.
Just Ryan, standing calmly in the exact same spot, hands in his pockets, expression unchanged.
“What…” Victor’s voice had lost its professional edge.
Now it was raw, confused.
“How are you—” Ryan smiled thinly.
His infinite storage space didn’t just hold supplies.
It held anything he wanted.
Including rocks and bricks he could retrieve and teleport wherever he focused his attention.
If you are interested can check it out.