IN THE WAKE OF THE SILENT TYCOON

6

A black taxi glided to a stop in front of the Moretti mansion. The late-afternoon light bounced off the glass and ornate walls, throwing a warm sheen across the driveway. Inside the car, Jaxon adjusted his tie and glanced in the small mirror, exhaling slowly. When he stepped onto the walkway, his impeccable black suit and polished shoes immediately drew attention.

One of the groundskeepers paused mid-step, eyes widening. “Hey… who’s that?”

“No idea, but look at his clothes. Must be expensive…” another murmured.

“Hey, you—are you new here?” a guest woman sauntered up to Jaxon with a flirtatious look. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Um, nice to meet you,” Jaxon answered.

The woman circled him like a hungry lion, until a voice interrupted and made her stop.

“Jaxon!” Callie appeared in the doorway, descending the marble steps with graceful poise, her stiletto heels tapping the floor with confident rhythm.

Her gaze landed on Jaxon and froze for a moment. A flash of the club night crossed her mind—those sharp eyes, the defined jaw, the mysterious air—but she quickly pushed the thought aside. She assumed he was just a regular cleaning-service guy.

“Jaxon,” she said casually, smiling. “Glad you could make it. Come on in.”

“Ah, Miss Moretti, pardon me—I didn’t know this was your gathering,” the woman who had flirted earlier said.

“No matter, I understand if you’re just a lonely lady,” Callie replied with a cool little jab.

Callie looped an arm through Jaxon’s and led him inside. He dipped his head slightly, expression unreadable, suppressing a faint smile.

“How do I look? Sharp, right?” Jaxon asked.

“You do look good, I admit that. But tell me—how did you get such nice clothes? I mean, I’m not discrediting your job, but it’s rare to see people in your line dressed up to come to a place like this. Where are you heading?” Callie teased.

Jaxon didn’t directly answer Callie’s teasing; instead his eyes swept the house, taking in every corner as they entered.

“Oh, one thing I didn’t ask—when you said you saw me at the bar, who did you come with? Your boss?” Callie probed.

Jaxon gave a sardonic smile. “The kind of sneers people like you toss around sometimes are beyond reason. As if all that luxury belongs only to the elite.”

Callie rolled her eyes but they continued into the living room, where Frans Moretti rose at once, looking down at Jaxon with a taut expression. Vincent Russo—the suitor being pushed on Callie—narrowed his eyes and evaluated Jaxon from head to toe.

“Who is this, Callie?” Frans asked, voice serious and curious.

Callie tightened her grip on Jaxon’s arm, smiling mischievously. “This is Jaxon, Daddy. He’s my partner—handsome, isn’t he?”

Vincent frowned, skeptical. “Handsome? Since when do you judge people by looks, Callie? As an economic observer, I can tell you this man probably has less than ten thousand dollars in savings.”

Jaxon simply smiled thinly at the jibe. He didn’t mind the insult so long as he could get into the den of suspects he’d been hunting.

“What do you do for work?” Frans asked.

Callie kept smiling, suppressing a small laugh. “He—uh, he’s a professional, Daddy.”

Vincent leaned forward, brows raised. “Professional? Be specific—do you have no mouth of your own that you keep letting Callie answer for you?”

Jaxon met them calmly. “I work as a cleaning service.”

Some of Frans’s associates who happened to be nearby chuckled at that, but Vincent’s reaction was the loudest—his face flushed. “Cleaning service? You’re not fit to accompany Callie to a family event! She comes from a conglomerate family, and you…” He pointed at Jaxon in a raised voice, “you’re just a servant!”

Frans lifted an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and concern. “Callie, why did you bring someone like this here?”

Callie squeezed Jaxon’s arm tighter. “Daddy, don’t judge so fast. He could be more than just a cleaner. He’s neat and capable—what’s wrong with that?”

Vincent wasn’t having it. “A cleaner? What could he possibly know about world economics? How could he talk about markets, investments, even financial theory? That’s not his level!”

Jaxon looked straight at Vincent, voice calm but confident. “May I offer an opinion?”

Frans watched the exchange, part curious, part uneasy. Vincent launched into a long, pompous exposition—an analysis of the global economy, inflation, international stock trends—confident that Jaxon wouldn’t be able to challenge him.

“So, if you look at international stock trends, the persistent rise in inflation will devastate retail and consumer sectors. The most logical solution is to shift investment into energy and technology, right?” Vincent declared.

Callie watched Jaxon, waiting for his reaction, but he remained composed. He drew a slow breath and cut in with a cool, firm voice.

“Energy and tech are certainly important, but I’d emphasize portfolio diversification to spread risk. Inflation doesn’t always crush the consumer sector if liquidity is managed correctly. For example, medium-term investments in protected bond markets can temper equity volatility,” he said.

Callie was stunned. “How does he even know this?” she whispered, barely audible. She stared at Jaxon, a mix of admiration and curiosity in her eyes.

Several of Frans’s associates looked at him with newfound respect; others were visibly surprised.

Vincent’s jaw tightened and his hand clenched with anger. “Wait a minute—you just recommended diversification and safe-bond strategies… and you’re a cleaner?”

“Yes. I’m a cleaning service,” Jaxon replied. “But a job title doesn’t determine analytic ability. Facts are facts, and solutions are still logical.”

Frans nodded slowly, a hint of admiration in his voice. “Hmm… interesting. You do have some solid thinking, Jaxon.”

“See, Daddy? Don’t judge people by appearances,” Callie chimed in.

Vincent stormed off toward the bathroom, face flushed. “Damn it! He had to show off in front of Callie! You think because you’re smart you can take my source of wealth? Callie is mine!” he muttered under his breath.

Inside the bathroom he pulled out his phone and punched a speed dial. Once the line connected he spoke low and cold, almost whispering: “Hey, where are you? There’s someone that needs to be taken care of tonight. Prepare everything.”