The offices of Johnson & Associates—one of Aurelia’s most aggressive boutique finance firms—felt like a pressure cooker. Catharine, a fresh Finance graduate with a GPA that could cut glass, had expected her first day to be a whirlwind of spreadsheets and analysis. She hadn’t expected the blatant arrogance that seed to be a prerequisite for the senior analysts.
In the mid-morning briefing, the lead analyst, a man nad Henderson, was presenting a valuation model for a local manufacturing acquisition. Catharine sat at the back of the conference table, her eyes darting across the projected Excel sheet.
"Wait," Catharine said, her voice clear despite the fluttering in her chest. Henderson stopped mid-sentence, his laser pointer trembling slightly on the screen. "Mr. Henderson, on the terminal value calculation... you’re using a 5% perpetual growth rate, but the industry cap for this sector is barely 2.5% due to the new import regulations. You’re overvaluing the exit price by nearly twelve million marks."
The room went silent. Henderson slowly lowered his tablet and looked at her over the rim of his glasses. The other junior analysts looked down at their pens, sensing blood in the water.
"And you are?" Henderson asked, his voice dripping with forced patience.
"Catharine Stone. The new associate," she replied, her heart hamring against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Well, ’Associate’ Stone," Henderson said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "In this departnt, we value ’optimistic projections’ to secure the client’s interest. We don’t need a lecture on industry caps from soone who hasn’t even filled out their first tax form. Sit down, keep your head in the data entry, and let the adults handle the modeling."
A few of the senior staff chuckled. Catharine felt a hot wave of frustration wash over her. It wasn’t just a mistake in the math; it was a fundantal flaw in the risk assessnt. She sat back, her face flushing, the weight of the "new girl" label feeling like lead.
---
While Catharine was fighting for respect in a boardroom, Jake was standing in the kitchen of the Zenith. He had driven over from his parents’ house at **5:00 AM** because he realized he’d left his high-end laptop and encrypted hardware keys at the penthouse.
He didn’t have a new office yet—Alice was still scouting locations—so the sprawling marble island of the Zenith’s kitchen would have to serve as his temporary command center. He logged into the secure Zoom link. The windows popped up one by one: Adrian, Marcus, Noah, and Leon.
"Morning, everyone," Marcus started, looking like he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. "I’ll jump straight to it. Negotiations for the ridian Hotel are a dead end. The current managent is stonewalling us. They won’t even provide an updated P&L statent for our due diligence. It’s like they’re waiting for the Group to officially default so they can trigger a liquidation."
Jake took a sip of black coffee, his eyes cool and observant. "They aren’t stonewalling you, Marcus. They’re just confused. They won’t sell the hotel because it’s not for sale."
"We know it’s not ’formally’ on the market," Noah countered, his voice sharp through the speakers. "But everything has a price when the parent company is facing drug trafficking charges. We were going to leverage the scandal to force a buyout."
"You can’t force a buyout on an asset that isn’t owned by the Group," Jake said, shrugging lightly. "The ridian Hotel belongs to ."
The screen went silent. Adrian leaned so close to his cara that his forehead took up half the fra. "Run that by again? You own the most expensive five-star property in Veyra?"
"My family owns the trust that holds the vast majority of the asset," Jake explained. "And since my father signed the activation papers last night, the title is now effectively mine. I only found out about the inheritance yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Noah exploded, his frustration boiling over. "Jake, we’ve been treating you like a peer because of your trading skills, but this? You’ve been sitting on a three billion-mark inheritance this whole ti? It may be worth a billion on paper right now because of the crash, but we all know its true valuation once the dust settles."
"I was as surprised as you are," Jake said, his voice dropping into a firr, more authoritative tone. "My father wanted us to grow up without the shadow of the money. I’ve been living on a student budget while owning a hotel I didn’t know existed. The only thing I’ve truly mastered is trading Gold. That’s how I made my own capital. The ridian stuff? That’s just a new set of tools I’m still learning to use."
Noah looked skeptical, leaning back with his arms crossed. "You’re telling you just *woke up* as a billionaire heir? It feels like you’ve been playing us, Jake."
"I promise you, the situation is complicated," Jake said. "But look at the reality. **Sterling** is second-tier. He’s a vulture trying to feast on my family’s mistakes. If you four help squeeze him—if we use your influence to choke his credit lines and block his short positions—we can protect the ridian assets. In return, I’ll ensure our joint venture gets the primary contracts once I restructure. We can also carve out a piece of Sterling’s capital for ourselves."
Adrian looked at Marcus and nodded slowly. "Sterling is an upstart. If he’s betting against a first-tier legacy, he’s over-leveraged. It shouldn’t be hard to handle once we coordinate."
"I’m in," Leon added, speaking up for the first ti. "If we can trap him in his own short, the squeeze will be legendary. But we need to be surgical. We don’t want the authorities looking at us next."
"Agreed," Marcus said. "Jake, send over the trust’s verification docunts. We need to be sure the legal shield is air-tight before we move."
---
Twenty minutes after the eting ended, the doorbell to the Zenith rang. It was Alice. She walked in looking as professional as ever, carrying a sleek leather briefcase.
"You’re an early riser, Jake," she noted, setting a stack of papers on the marble island. "I have the paperwork for the new office. I managed to secure a floor in the Apex Plaza."
She showed him the photos on her tablet. The office was located in the heart of the financial district, overlooking the central park. It was a modern, glass-fronted space with an open-plan trading floor and a private, soundproof corner office for Jake.
"It’s high-security, has a dedicated fiber line, and the lease includes twenty-four-hour biotric access," Alice explained. "It’s the perfect spot to transition from an individual trader to a firm."
Jake scanned the photos, liking the clean lines and the tactical location. He pulled a pen from the holder and signed the lease without hesitation. "It’s perfect, Alice. Get the hardware moved in by tomorrow."
"Consider it done," she said, gathering the papers. "I’ll handle the rest of the filings today."
Once Alice left, Jake pulled out his phone. He dialed a familiar number: Blackwell & Carter.
"Blackwell & Carter, how may I direct your call?"
"I’d like to speak with Samuel Carter, please. It’s Jake Rivers."
A mont later, Samuel’s voice ca through the line, warm and curious. "Jake! It’s been a while. I trust the brokerage case we handled for you is still holding up?"
"It is, Samuel. But I have a new proposal. One that could be very beneficial for your firm and would involve a long-term partnership with my new investnt company."
"You have my attention," Samuel said.
"Let’s talk about it over lunch. Tuesday at 1:00 PM?"
"I’ll mark my calendar. I look forward to it, Jake."
---
The day had been a whirlwind of high-stakes reveals and corporate positioning, which made the quiet atmosphere of the Italian bistro that evening feel like a different world. Catharine was picking at her pasta, the frustration from the Henderson encounter still radiating off her in waves.
"He called it ’optimistic projections,’ Jake," she said, her voice shaking with indignation. "It’s not optimistic; it’s a lie. If the client buys that company based on those numbers, they’ll lose millions in the first three years. I tried to tell him, and he just... he humiliated in front of everyone."
Jake listened intently, watching the way her hands moved as she spoke, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp focus in his eyes. He didn’t offer a shallow platitude. Instead, he leaned forward.
"Henderson isn’t interested in the math, Cath," Jake said gently. "He’s interested in the commission. If the deal closes, he gets paid. Whether the company fails in three years is a ’future problem’ for soone else. He’s playing a short ga."
"But it’s wrong," she whispered, her eyes searching his for so kind of validation.
"It is," Jake agreed. "But you’re a Finance graduate. You know that the loudest person in the room isn’t always the one with the best ledger. Henderson thinks you’re a threat because you actually understand the industry caps he’s trying to ignore. If you want to beat him, don’t do it in front of the partners. Not yet."
Catharine looked up, her brow furrowing. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just let him lie?"
"Docunt the error," Jake advised, his voice steady and insightful. "Save the email where you pointed it out. Keep your corrected version of the model on a private drive. And then... wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait for the ’Ouch,’" Jake said with a supportive smile. "When the senior partners do their own final review—or when the client starts asking hard questions during the closing—you’ll be the one with the corrected model ready in your pocket. You aren’t just an associate, Catharine. You’re the person who’s going to save their reputations when Henderson’s ’optimism’ falls apart. When that happens, they won’t just respect you. They’ll need you."
Catharine stared at him, feeling the heavy weight of the day lift slightly. She saw a side of Jake that went beyond the calm exterior of her boyfriend; he was a strategist. He was soone who understood the battlefield she was walking into.
"You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?" she asked, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.
"I spend my days looking for flaws in the market," Jake said, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "It’s the sa thing. People see what they want to see. But the numbers... the numbers always tell the truth eventually. You just have to be the one standing there when they do."
Catharine felt a surge of emotional warmth. It wasn’t just about the diamonds or the luxury car anymore. It was about having a partner who understood the weight of her ambitions—and who was willing to help her sharpen her sword for the fight ahead.
---
User Comments
0 comments from readers