THE DIVORCED EMPLYOEE HUSBAND IS A BITCOIN TRILLIONAIRE

Chapter 4: The Untouchable Crown Center

The lobby of Crown Center was so bright and so clean that even the air seemed to be charging rent.

Alex stood near the security desk at ten o'clock sharp, holding the cream colored deed in one hand. Behind him, a group of tenants waited for the elevators, talking loudly about the one thing every person in the building loved to talk about.

"You know the rule, right?" a man in a pinstripe suit told his coworker. "Crown Center is lease only. Never for sale. Not a floor, not a room, not even a parking spot."

"Everyone knows that," the coworker answered with a proud little laugh. "Billionaires have tried to buy the top floor for ten years. The owners won't even answer their emails."

"That's why we pay what we pay," the man went on, straightening his tie. "This place is untouchable."

Alex listened without a word, his face calm and blank. He felt a quiet, dry amusement rising in his chest, the kind a person feels when he hears strangers argue about a house he already owns.

A young receptionist in a sharp black uniform looked up from her screen and gave him a slow look from head to toe. Her smile was thin and polite, and it did not reach her eyes.

"Sir, the visitor line is outside," she told him. "This entrance is for tenants only."

"I have an appointment with the property manager," Alex replied. "It was arranged for ten."

"With Mr. Jeff?" She let out a short laugh through her nose. "Mr. Jeff does not meet delivery workers, sir. Please leave the package with security."

Her voice was sweet, but there was a sting under it. Her eyes slid across his plain gray jacket as if she were reading a price tag that said nothing at all.

"I am not a delivery worker."

"Then you are lost, and that is worse." She tapped her pen on the desk. "People who wander into this lobby without a badge usually look like you. Tired. Dusty. Like a stray cat looking for a warm spot to sleep."

The pinstripe man glanced over and snorted. "Honestly, Brenda, call the guards. He is dripping on the marble."

Alex's gaze moved to him, steady and quiet. He said nothing. He only lifted the deed slightly, and let the light catch the embossed gold seal on the corner.

Before anyone could speak again, the polished doors of the manager's office burst open.

A heavy man in a navy suit came hurrying across the lobby, with his tie flapping and sweat shining on his forehead. He was breathing like he had run up three flights of stairs, and his eyes were scanning every face in the room.

"Where is he?" Jeff hissed at the receptionist. "Headquarters said the owner would arrive at ten. A man in a gray jacket. Have you seen him?"

Brenda blinked. "The owner? Sir, nobody like that has..."

Jeff's eyes landed on Alex, on the cream colored deed, on the gold seal. His face went white, then red, then white again.

"Mr. Morgan."

The word dropped into the lobby like a stone into a still pond. The pinstripe man stopped talking. The elevator line went silent. Brenda's pen slid out of her fingers and clattered on the floor.

"Good morning, Jeff," Alex answered, in the tone of a man greeting a neighbor.

"Sir, I am so sorry for the wait." Jeff bent forward at the waist, almost folding himself in half. "I received the notice from headquarters only an hour ago. They said a mysterious owner would arrive today, and I did not dare ask a single question. Please forgive this terrible welcome."

His voice shook from his throat down to his hands. A bead of sweat rolled slowly off his chin and landed on his polished shoes.

"It is fine," Alex told him. "I only came to see my floor."

"Of course, sir. Of course." Jeff swung around and glared at Brenda so fiercely that she shrank back in her chair. "Do you know who this is? You have been rude to the owner of this tower!"

The room went so quiet that the hum of the air conditioner sounded loud.

"The... owner?" Brenda whispered. Her lips had gone pale. "Sir, I thought he was..."

"You thought he was a stray cat." Alex's voice stayed soft and even. "It is all right. You were only guarding the door."

Brenda's eyes filled with tears. She bowed so low that her forehead nearly touched the desk. "I am very sorry, sir. I will never speak like that again."

Behind her, the pinstripe man was trying to melt into the wall. His face had turned the color of old paper. He kept looking at Alex's gray jacket, and then at the deed, and then at the floor.

Jeff took a shaky breath and waved toward the private elevator at the far end of the lobby. "Please, sir. Your elevator is ready. I will take you up myself."

"Thank you."

They walked across the marble together. Alex's steps were slow and relaxed, as if he were crossing his own living room. Jeff followed half a pace behind, nodding to every worker who dared look their way, and silently praying that none of them would say another word.

Whispers spread through the lobby like fire in dry grass.

"Did he say Morgan?"

"The Morgan? From the family trust?"

"I heard the whole building belongs to them. Nobody ever knew who stood behind it."

"That jacket cost fifty dollars. Fifty! And he owns the tower."

Alex heard every word, but he did not turn around. He felt only a small, quiet warmth, like a candle lit in a dark room.

I did not need to say anything. The deed did all the talking.

The private elevator was lined with dark wood and soft gold light. Jeff pressed the button for the top floor with both hands, as if the button might break.

"Sir," Jeff started carefully, "if I may ask, is there anything the building can do for you today? Any staff you want to replace? Any tenants you want us to review?"

"No." Alex studied the numbers lighting up one by one above the door. "Just keep things running as they are. And Jeff, do not tell anyone more than they already know."

"Understood, sir. Not a word." Jeff swallowed hard. "I only wish to say, sir, that this building has never had an owner before. We were told for years that the owners did not wish to be seen. I never imagined I would be the first to meet you."

"You are the first," Alex told him. "Do your job well, and you will not be the last."

Jeff's whole face lit up with relief, as if he had been handed a lifeline. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

The top floor stretched out before them in a wide, open space of pale oak floors and tall glass walls. Sunlight poured in from every side, and the entire city lay spread out below like a map drawn on a table.

Jeff stepped back respectfully. "This is yours, sir. Every inch. Please call me if you need anything at all."

"I will."

Jeff bowed once more and slipped away, closing the elevator door behind him with the gentle care of a man leaving a sleeping lion.

Alone at last, Alex walked slowly to the center of the room. His shoes made a soft sound on the oak floor, and the sound echoed in the wide, quiet space.

He stopped in front of the tall windows and looked out.

Far below, across the street, a glass tower stood among the other buildings. It had a bold silver sign on its roof, and the sign read Vivian Fashion. From here, it looked small. It looked like a toy box someone had left on the sidewalk.

That building made me feel like I was nothing for three years. Alex's reflection looked back at him from the glass, calm and unmoved. And now I can barely see it.

He did not feel pride. He did not feel hate. He only felt a deep, steady quiet, like the stillness before a long journey begins.

He took out his phone and called the restaurant on the very top level of the tower. A polite voice answered at once, and Alex booked a corner table by the window for seven o'clock that evening.

Then he opened his messages and found the number he had written on the business card that afternoon. His thumb moved slowly across the screen.

Wrap up your affairs and join me for dinner to discuss our partnership.

He pressed send, and watched the city glow gold in the afternoon light.