The Tiger investment fund had examined the entire operation with meticulous detail. It was a deal that surpassed operational profit margins of 300% or more. A spreadsheet so precisely measured—with projected gains, detailed days, and exact times to enter and exit investments—seemed almost absurd. And yet, to everyone's surprise, the fund's head approved it. Julian Robertson knew about China, but he hadn't expected Billy Carson to have that information as well. Though the timing and behavioral predictions raised eyebrows, he understood one thing clearly: with this kind of intel, the profits were on the table.
–Billy might have some very powerful contacts. – Julian Robertson commented to Gwen Hallaway. In his view, she wasn't born to be a predator, yet her business acumen and operational expertise were second to none, with high-level logistics skills.
–Then I suppose entering the deal is, in itself, an investment. – said Gwen.
–It's a gain. We're going to make a lot of money off this. – replied Julian Robertson, deliberately skipping over the fact that he had no idea where the information came from or what circle was backing the striking young man in the designer suit.
Raimon was drenched in sweat, the suit itched around his neck, and he hated wearing a tie. And when those sensations faded, evening was falling over New York City. The sun's warmth lingered faintly as night slowly crept in.
–I've got dinner with Monica, you coming? – Billy asked.
Raimon made a face. The last thing he wanted right now was to be dragged into one of those long, peculiar dinners his group of wild friends in the Big Apple loved. Where women seemed to only want a piece of Billy's life, even with the stunning Monica by his side. Being the "ugly friend" was not a role he was in the mood for tonight.
–I've got a meeting with Lomas, and… well, I'll see you when we go to buy that building downtown. – Raimon replied. Business never stopped. After purchasing a hotel, they'd use the money to reinvest and refine even the smallest detail. Billy's appetite for real estate only grew—he was already eyeing new spots in Washington, Chicago, and another in Manhattan, possibly Staten Island.
–Practice your voice acting—and yeah, get some exercise. I've got someone in mind for a role in the Star Wars franchise. – Billy said, winking. Building a character that fit Raimon's rhythm wasn't Billy's top priority, but gratitude was something he understood well. And there was no one he owed more than Raimon.
The man's eyes lit up like twin suns. He tried to speak, but nerves—maybe anxiety—blocked his voice. Raimon was frozen, unable to form solid words.
–This isn't charity… I'll pay you generously for what you'll do. But more than that, we're friends, and helping you chase a dream that's within reach is easy for me. – Billy said, leaving Raimon on the sidewalk, stunned, as he walked into the building with his security team. The young man, who once dreamed of being cool but was buried beneath hard work, good grades, and fear, had always lived as someone without control over himself. The relief of seeing a dream within reach softened his soul and reignited his will to grow. Still, he wrestled with whatever he could to numb the melancholy and twisted desires that haunted him. Maybe Billy had just helped straighten a tree that had always had the potential to grow tall, yet bent under the weight of its branches. Raimon had hidden in a cave of pain, damaged by city life, while others with less talent thrived.
…
Billy walked without stopping, arriving at the best restaurant in Manhattan, located on the 33rd floor. The view was unmatched. The clientele—all high society. A $500 deposit was required just to dine, covering only two main courses and a drink. It was purely a place for the rich—a fusion of flavors, exquisite taste, and the finest dishes.
–Sorry, I'm late, darling. – Billy said, kissing Monica as she sipped wine, gazing out at the New York streets below from her seat.
–So? Was it worth the time? Did you close the deal? – She asked.
–I did… but let's not dwell on things that don't deserve our time. We've got a fashion show to attend, remember? – Billy replied, noticing her new hairstyle—a kind of soft perm with charming curls that made her look angelic. He brushed his fingers through her hair and inhaled the familiar scent of her shampoo.
In silence, promises passed between them.
–Just three blocks away. It starts tonight and rolls into a plaza party... many high-profile people will be there. You'll want to look handsome and charming while I model. – Monica said, drawing closer to Billy. Unlike when they'd first met, she was leaner now, with more definition in some areas. The dress she wore—no cleavage, tight against her slender body—was utterly captivating.
–Of course. If I must… – he smiled, seeing how she nodded, pleased by how easy it had been to convince him. Lately, Billy had been rejecting anyone who came near. But it was understandable—everyone was looking for a benefactor, or someone to secure deals with. A favor here, a hand there, and suddenly you were in a partnership. Attending donor galas, charity events, and social parties was dull, but now, it was part of the job.
–Thank you, my love. – Monica sighed.
The event started at 8:00 PM. Before Billy, thousands of exotic models paraded in the finest designer labels. Among them were future icons of the global fashion world, now just beginning their rise. Though women's fashion was incredibly lucrative due to compulsive buyers, Billy knew this was a high-stress industry. He preferred the safety of other sectors, waiting for the right moment to dip his toe in, through acquisitions or by aligning with the highest bidder.
Harrison Douglas, a landowner and tycoon of New York, held positions in several regional American banks, pillars of the economy.
–Billy Carson. The kid who moves like he doesn't care. – Harrison commented. His polished American image wouldn't be so easily eclipsed. Still, the pace of Billy's growth was undeniable—his business savvy, his ability to make things work, it was all there.
–He's very sharp. – Julian Robertson replied. He was also attending the soirée, along with other top businessmen—America's elite.
–He'd have to be, with all those millions. – Harrison said.
–I suspect he's got allies behind the curtain. Maybe someone is still in the shadows. A patron who's made his life easier, taught him the game, and now he's plowing through like a freight train. – Julian added.
–Could be. The internet was locked down for ten years, but when they finally opened it up, the kid jumped in fearlessly. The government couldn't even react fast enough. He cut ties with Apple, partnered with Bill Gates, funded Spielberg's ventures, and created jobs across California—all while backed by Stanford and Berkeley. – Harrison exhaled deeply. Some people didn't grasp that these allies were critical to Billy's business journey.
–He even bought my baseball team. I don't think he even knows he bought it from me for $110 million. He spends so much and doesn't know who the previous owner was. – said Peter Alden Magowan, grandson of Charles Merrill from Merrill Lynch Funds.
–You're a partner?
–Sure, but I was a partial owner. The kid's offer was wildly disproportionate. He gave us returns for a team with almost no liabilities. As a fan, I gave in… the kid just doesn't care about money. – Magowan said.
–Money seems to fall from the sky for him. –
–He's clean. – Magowan said. – Cinema always creates millionaires when you least expect it. –
–The movie business always brings miracles. But tonight, we have someone clearly more interested than us. – Julian Robertson said, watching Rockefeller approach the young man.
...