Celebrity Investment System

Chapter 4

Jay spent the remaining money on three things: a specific brand of high-end hair pomade, a single ticket to an underground jazz club called The Onyx, and a bottle of water.

As the sun began to peek over the horizon, Jay led Leo to an alleyway behind a row of storage units.

"This is your office?" Leo asked, looking at the rusted metal doors.

"This is my home," Jay said. He slid open the door to Unit 412.

Inside was nothing but a thin sleeping bag, a stack of notebooks, and a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The air was cold and smelled of old paper.

Jay felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. He looked at the five dollars he had left in his hand—change from the suit. He looked at the pomade sitting on his "desk."

He knew he should buy a sandwich. His head was light, and his vision was starting to blur. If he didn't eat, he might pass out. But then he looked at the pomade. It was the "Signature" brand—the kind used by the elite. If Leo wore a cheap brand, the scent would give him away. The smell of cheap wax and chemicals would scream "poor man trying too hard."

Jay’s hand trembled. He put the five dollars back in his pocket and picked up the pomade.

"Sit," Jay said, gesturing to a plastic crate. "I’m going to show you how to walk, how to breathe, and how to look at a person so they feel like they’re the only one in the room—and then, how to look away so they feel like they’re nothing."

For the next ten hours, Jay didn't let Leo rest. He didn't teach him a single note of music. He taught him "The Gaze." He taught him how to sit in a chair without slouching, how to hold a glass of water like it was worth a thousand dollars, and how to hum in a way that vibrated in his chest rather than his throat.

Jay’s hunger became a dull roar, but he ignored it. Every time he felt weak, he thought of Finn Turner’s face. Every pang in his stomach was an investment in his revenge.

That evening, outside The Onyx, the air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume and Cuban cigars. This wasn't a club for the public; it was where the "Quiet Money" went to relax.

"Remember," Jay whispered to Leo, who was now dressed in the charcoal suit, his hair slicked back perfectly with the expensive pomade. "You are not a janitor. You are not a singer. You are a mystery. Do not talk to anyone. If someone speaks to you, nod once and walk away. Only hum when you are near someone with a phone out."

"Why?" Leo asked, nervous.

"Because the world doesn't want talent anymore, Leo," Jay said, his voice weak from hunger. "They want a puzzle. They want to be the one to 'discover' something beautiful. Go. I’ll be watching from the shadows."

Leo walked in. He looked incredible. The vintage suit hid his rough edges, and the way he moved—slow, deliberate, confident—made people stop and stare. He looked like a young movie star from a bygone era.

Jay stood across the street, leaning against a lamp post to keep from falling over. He watched through the club’s open windows.

Inside, a famous social media influencer, Chloe V., was filming a TikTok. She was dancing and laughing with her friends, her ring light illuminating the dark club.

Leo did exactly what Jay had coached him to do. He didn't try to get in the frame. He simply walked past her, about five feet behind her. As he did, he began to hum the low, haunting melody Jay had heard him hum in the rain.

He didn't look at the camera. He didn't smile. He just passed through the background like a ghost of a king.

Leo exited the club five minutes later, exactly as planned. He found Jay in the alleyway.

"Did it work?" Leo asked. "I felt like an idiot. Nobody even talked to me."

"Exactly," Jay said, his voice a whisper. "Now, we wait."

Jay pulled out his phone. He opened TikTok and searched for Chloe V.’s profile. She had just posted the video.

In the video, Chloe was doing a silly dance, but the comments weren't about her.

User1: “Wait, who is the guy in the background? Those eyes…”

MusicLover: “Did anyone else hear that humming? It literally gave me chills. Is that a new song?”

TrendFinder: “WHO IS HE? He looks like a classic Hollywood star. Someone find his handle!”

The likes were climbing. 10,000. 50,000. 100,000.

Jay’s phone began to vibrate. It was a notification from a news site. “The Mystery Man of The Onyx: Is this the next big thing?”

Jay felt a surge of triumph, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of dizziness. He slumped against the wall of the storage unit, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Jay? You okay?" Leo asked, reaching out to steady him.

Jay pushed him away. "I'm fine. The investment... it's paying off. The market is reacting."

But as Jay looked at his phone, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

A new comment appeared on the video, pinned to the top. It was from a verified account: @ZenithGroup_Official.

The comment read: “We know exactly who he is. And he’s already ours.”

Jay stared at the screen. Finn Turner was moving faster than he had calculated. He wasn't just watching; he was claiming the "asset" before Jay could even secure the contract.

"Jay?" Leo asked again, looking at the phone. "What does that mean? Why is Zenith saying they own me?"

Before Jay could answer, a dark sedan pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing a man in a black suit. He didn't look like a talent scout. He looked like a shark.

"Leo?" the man asked. "Mr. Turner would like to have a word. He has a check for fifty thousand dollars with your name on it. He says he wants to save you from the 'drunk' you're hanging out with."

Leo looked at the car. He looked at the mention of fifty thousand dollars. Then he looked at Jay, who was pale, starving, and living in a storage unit.