Silence! I Am the Trillionaire Boss

The sunny afternoon was shining on the Days Corp. private airport, which was littered with heavily armed elite security officers and military-grade equipment. The private airport hummed with muted activity as jet engines receded into the distance. Twenty rare and exotic cars lined up, each of them a gift to Blake Dayton from those whose lives he had transformed from behind bars. The very air was thick with anticipation as the door of the perfectly streamlined jet opened. 

The twenty-seven-year-old stepped out in a tailor-made charcoal suit in tow, calm and commanding at the same time. His black hair was longer and a little wild now, while burgeoning lines drew their crude symphony across the road on his forehead, the aftermath of the trials of the last seven years. Yet his weathered appearance was hardly capable of wooing those wandering eyes, which burned with a quiet intensity.

"Welcome back, Mr. Dayton," Gerald Noah greeted with respect. He was a salt-and-pepper-aged gentleman, his bearing that of an experienced diplomat, bowing slightly in front of Blake. Behind him, a miscellaneous group of dignitaries, business moguls, and even the President of the United States mingled, awaiting the opportunity to shake hands with the man who had made fortunes for many of them. 

A small smile crept onto Blake's face as he offered his hand. "Thank you, Gerald; seven years feels like a lifetime." 

Gerald straightened himself and let those eagle-sharp eyes scan Blake's face. "You look...different. But the fire inside is still there. We've all been waiting for this day. And like you have instructed, we made sure not to bring any press." 

Black smiled. “Good, I wouldn’t want to freak my girlfriend and her mother out since they still don’t know about my wealth.”

One of the hedge fund managers who was representing his CEO asked his fellow manager, “The cars, the jets, and this airstrip. Is this really all his?” He asked astonishingly. 

Another one of the CEOs in the group chimed in, “His full name is Blake Dayton, the world's richest man with a net worth of $5 trillion. You see this private airstrip and the five private jets here with a total value of over 1 billion dollars are all his to toy with.” 

He said with an arrogant smile. “His investment in my shipyard company helped make me a billionaire. He is what many call a miracle man.” The man paused for a second, almost impressed by his own knowledge of the country's richest man.

“Seven years ago, as far as I know, Mr. Dayton was poor and struggling, but he had invested in some projects that he believed would yield positive results, like my shipyard company. For a time, it seemed that he was wrong and all his investments were gone. However, while in prison, the companies he invested in had surged in growth, dominating the stock market and being worth over one hundred billion dollars. And since he had up to 80% stakes in the companies, he owned them all.”

The hedge fund manager could not believe his ears. ”Talk about being lucky.”

The Shipyard company CEO shunned him, “This is not a result of luck; this was a result of a man who defied all aspects of life and won. While in prison, Mr. Dayton controlled some of the major activities of the companies, including reinvesting in numerous companies and even political campaigns for politicians he believed in.”

The hedge fund manager now understands why even the president of the United States of America was here and just how powerful the man of the hour, Blake Dayton, was.

The handshakes were firm yet hurried, and Blake moved down the line, exchanging pleasantries with all who stood there. Reaching the President at the end of the line, the two men exchanged a knowing look.

"You funded my campaign when no one else would," the President said, his voice low enough for only Blake to hear. "The country owes you, Blake."  

Blake chuckled softly. "Let’s just say I saw potential where others didn’t."  

The President nodded, stepping aside as Gerald gestured towards the line of twenty helicopters parked on the tarmac.  

"Which one would you like to use for your first trip, sir? All custom-made, state-of-the-art, you also have the option to choose from the array of cars littered all over the airport, all of which were gifts given to you by those whose lives you have impacted even from inside the prison cell.” Gerald said, his tone almost teasing.  

Blake shook his head. "I’m not interested in helicopters and cars, Gerald. I’ve been locked up for seven years. I want to walk. Feel the city again."  

Gerald wasn't surprised; he had always known Blake to be a calm and humble person. He hesitated a bit, then he glanced at the heavily armed security detail in the background. "With all due respect, sir, that’s risky."

The president, as well as other dignitaries, also echoed Gerald’s concern. The President said, “Mr. Dayton, the city can be a very dangerous place. You should listen to your butler.”

"No." Blake’s voice was firm but not unkind. "No entourage. No limos. Just me, the pavement, and the city." He turned to Gerald and said with a grin. "Also, pick up some wedding gifts for Rose. She deserves only the best."  

"Of course, sir," Gerald said, the expression on his face melting away. "All the best for the future Mrs.Dayton.” 

---

The footsteps of Blake sounded against the pavement as he walked through the streets of New York City. The world hadn’t changed much; all stayed the same with the city's energy. He halted his steps in front of a flower shop, one of those stores with buckets of blooms spilling onto the sidewalk. 

He left the shop with a bouquet of roses as he remembered that Rose loved them. He walked to a very small, upscale restaurant where Rose had invited him to meet. The sound of the bell over the door rang out again as he entered the building.

Blake didn’t have long to wait before someone came up to him, but it wasn’t Rose.

"Excuse me, are you…The Guy?" 

Blake turned to see a young woman in her early 20s with lots of energy and a stylish outfit that was sort of high fashion and business.

"Who’s asking?" Blake replied, his tone neutral. 

Obviously, she hadn't been invited to sit next to him by anybody. “Chelsea London. I think we have some business to talk about.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Do we?" 

Chelsea pulled out her phone and checked her texts. "You know what you agreed to in your marriage contract - three months' pay, $500,000 a month, and a $5 million payout if all goes well?”

Blake blinked, then laughed—a deep, genuine laugh that startled Chelsea. 

"You’ve got the wrong guy," he said, shaking his head. 

Chelsea frowned. "What do you mean? My assistant confirmed everything." 

Blake drifted back in his chair, a kind of warm grin still on his face. “I’ve been in Bang Kwang Central Prison for the last seven years. Unless you’ve been bargaining with somebody in a Thai prison, my guess is there has been a mistake.”

Chelsea had turned red. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said suddenly, nearly tripping over her chair. "I... I probably…”

Blake waved her off, still smiling. "Don't worry about it. Mistakes happen.”

Chelsea muttered an apology and quickly left to another table, grabbing her phone to call her assistant.

"You gave me the wrong guy," she snapped into the phone as her assistant tried to apologize. "Get it straight out, now.”

Blake laughed at his own joke. It wasn't something he'd done for too long. Though the lady did not know him, he knew the lady. She was a big name in New York—number one woman on Forbes lists and numerous Woman of the Year Award winner from organizations like TIME Magazine, Harper's Bazaar, Glamour, and the U.S. Department of State. 

These were the least of her achievements; she was also a leading CEO, running a prime company under her family's empire, Chels Corporation, with a net worth of $15 billion. Chelsea was not just a stunningly attractive woman; she was a business mogul and an accomplished woman in her own right, all at just twenty-three years of age, and Blake was very much aware of who she was. 

One of his companies was doing business with her company. Plus, her company had put out a contract, and many companies were lobbying for it, including Rose's company. Blake had influenced her decision through one of his managers to give the contract to Rose's company. The contract signing ceremony was scheduled for tonight, and it was announced that the CEO of Days Corp. would be attending to honor Rose Hackley.

Another call came in. "Finally," she muttered, snatching it up. "What’s the update, Mason?"  

Her COO’s voice came through, calm but strained. "Chelsea, it’s not looking good. The new initiatives are bleeding us dry. The numbers are worse than we projected."  

Chelsea’s hand tightened around the pen. "How much worse?"  

"Millions. If we don’t pull the plug now, we’ll be looking at a full-blown disaster within the quarter."  

"No," Chelsea said sharply. "We’re not pulling the plug."  

"Chelsea—"  

"I said no, Mason!" Her voice was firm, but the frustration was evident. "Do you know how hard these candidates have worked? How much potential they have? Rose Hackley alone—she’s a star waiting to shine. We cut funding now, and we destroy everything we’ve built."  

"We don’t have a choice," Mason argued. "If we keep this going, there won’t be a company left to save. Your grandfather’s already given the directive."  

Chelsea’s jaw tightened. "Grandfather isn’t in charge anymore. I am."  

There was a pause, then Mason sighed. "He’s still the majority shareholder and chairman of the board, Chelsea. And he’s made it clear—if you can’t secure new investments, he’ll step in."  

Chelsea leaned back in her chair, her free hand rubbing her temple. "And by ‘new investments,’ I assume he means Days Corp."  

"Exactly," Mason confirmed. "You know how critical this is. Days Corp’s mystery CEO could wipe out all our problems with a single check."  

"And how do we even get his attention?" Chelsea snapped. "He’s a ghost. No one even knows what he looks like."  

"Harold Jacobson does," Mason said carefully.  

Chelsea froze, her grip on the phone tightening. "Harold?"  

"You know the deal," Mason said. "Your grandfather’s been pushing for this marriage for months. Harold’s already positioning himself for a private meeting with the CEO of Days Corp. If you marry him, it’s our best shot at securing the investment."  

Chelsea let out a bitter laugh. "So that’s the plan, huh? Sacrifice myself on the altar of Harold Jacobson for the sake of the company?"  

"It’s not ideal," Mason admitted. "But it’s a solution."  

Chelsea ended the call abruptly and dropped her phone in her bag as she walked away.

Back in the diner, Blake was still laughing out loud when the bell on the outside door rang again.

This time, he knew it was her. Rose Hackley, the love of his life!