THE DIVORCED EMPLYOEE HUSBAND IS A BITCOIN TRILLIONAIRE

Chapter 7: A Call From a Key Client

The next morning, the penthouse was so empty that every footstep came back as an echo.

Alex stood in the middle of the pale oak floor with his hands in his pockets. There was no desk, no chair, no staff, and no client list. There was only the wide glass wall and the city waiting behind it.

The elevator chimed softly. Ansel stepped out in his charcoal suit, carrying a small black envelope in both hands, as though it held something fragile.

"Good morning, Young Master." Ansel gave a slight bow. "I hope the penthouse suits you."

"It suits me fine, Ansel. It just has nothing in it yet."

"That is the point of a trial, sir." Ansel's mouth moved in the smallest smile. "Your grandfather believed a man learns the most when he starts with an empty room."

He held out the envelope. Alex took it and slid out a thick card of cream paper with a gold border. The words on it were printed in neat, formal letters.

Stage One: Reach one million dollars in gross merchandise value within the first month.

"One million in thirty days," Alex read out loud, in a quiet voice. "With no team and no stock."

"With a brand that does not exist yet, sir," Ansel added gently. "I will not insult you by saying it is easy. Many men have failed trials with far more advantages."

"I am not worried." Alex turned the card over in his fingers. "I just do not know where the first order will come from."

"Then I will leave you to think." Ansel bowed again. His gloved hand rested for a moment on the elevator button. "Your grandfather also said that the first door is always opened by someone you helped long before you needed them."

The elevator doors closed behind him with a soft hush.

Alex walked to the window and looked down at the tiny cars crawling along the streets. His mind went through his old client list again and again. Names, numbers, phone calls, long dinners. Every one of those relationships had been signed under the Vivian Fashion name, and he had no right to touch them.

A first deal from nothing. Where does a man even begin?

His phone buzzed against his palm.

He glanced at the screen and felt his shoulders loosen. It was a name he had not expected to see so soon.

"Harold," he answered warmly. "Good morning."

"Alex, my boy!" The voice on the line was deep and booming, with a laugh hiding underneath it. "Did I catch you at a bad time? I know you are always buried in work."

"Never for you, sir. How are you and the family?"

"Everyone is well, everyone is loud, as usual." Harold chuckled. "My daughter Mia says hello. She keeps asking when you will come for dinner again. She says you are the only person who ever listened to her sketches without checking his phone."

"Please tell her that I will come soon." Alex smiled at the window. "Her last collection was very sharp."

"That is exactly why I am calling." Harold's voice turned a little softer and more careful. "Mia finished her design degree last spring, and she has been working at small studios ever since. She is talented, but no one gives her a real chance. I thought of you right away."

"Of me?"

"Of Vivian Fashion, to be precise. A girl like Mia needs a proper internship at a proper house. I figured you could make a quiet phone call and arrange a spot on the design floor. I would owe you a very large favor."

Alex was silent for a long breath.

"Harold, I have to tell you something," he said at last. His voice stayed calm and level. "I resigned from Vivian Fashion two days ago."

The line went completely still. Alex could hear a faint ticking sound, probably a wall clock in Harold's study, and nothing else.

"Say that again," Harold said slowly.

"I am no longer with the company. My last day was the day after the banquet."

"That is not possible." Harold's voice had lost all its laughter. "Alex, you are the reason that company has my business at all. I signed that ten million dollar contract because you sat in my father's hospital room for three weekends in a row. I remember every one of them."

"I remember too, sir."

"You were the only man from that whole firm who treated my family like people and not like a line on a spreadsheet." Harold's breathing grew heavy and uneven. "Tell me what happened. Please."

Alex looked down at the street for a moment before he spoke. He chose his words with great care, because he did not want to complain or paint anyone as a villain.

"There was a disagreement about the direction of the company, and about how credit was shared. I decided it was better to leave quietly. That is all there is to it."

"Credit." Harold repeated the word like it tasted bitter. "She gave the credit for my deal to someone else, did she?"

"I would rather not speak about her, sir. I wish her well."

A long silence stretched out on the line. It was so long that Alex pulled the phone away and checked that the call had not dropped. When he put it back to his ear, he heard the slow, deep sound of a man thinking very hard.

"Alex."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know why I signed with Vivian Fashion?"

"Because the terms were fair, I hope."

"The terms were average." Harold's voice rolled out low and steady. "I had three other offers that were cheaper. I signed because you looked me in the eye and promised that you would personally watch over every order. You, not the company. You, not the brand. The name on the building meant nothing to me."

Alex felt something warm and heavy settle in his chest. He did not trust himself to answer.

"If you are gone," Harold went on, "then the contract is only paper. And I do not do business with paper."

"Harold, you do not have to make a hasty choice because of me."

"It is not hasty. It is the clearest thing I have decided all year." The old man let out a short breath, almost a laugh. "I will send my lawyers a message this afternoon. All cooperation with Vivian Fashion is suspended, effective at once. Every order, every shipment, every future plan."

"Sir, that is a very big step."

"Then it is a good thing I am a man with big feet." Harold chuckled for the first time since the conversation turned heavy. "Now tell me, Alex, because I know you well. You did not walk away with nothing in your hands. What are you building?"

Alex hesitated for only a moment. "A fashion e commerce brand. It does not even have a name on a sign yet."

"Then I want to be your first customer." Harold said it so plainly that Alex almost missed it. "Whatever you make, I will buy it. And I will send my whole retail network to look at your samples."

"Harold, I cannot ask you to..."

"You did not ask. I offered." The voice on the line softened into something close to fatherly. "I am an old man, and I do not give my trust to many people. When I do, I do not take it back. Send me the numbers when you are ready, and my people will move the business to you."

Alex's throat felt tight. He looked at the city until the tall buildings blurred a little at the edges.

"Thank you, Harold. I will not waste it."

"I know you will not. And Alex?"

"Yes, sir?"

"About my daughter's internship. Forget it. She can work for you instead." Harold gave a low, pleased laugh. "Mia has been saying for months that she wanted to work for someone who deserved her."

"I would be honored to have her."

"Good. Now go and build something worth the wait."

The line went quiet with a soft click.

Alex slowly lowered the phone. For a moment he did not move at all. He only stood there in the bright empty room, listening to the faint hum of the air above him.

I helped him once, when no one was watching. And now he has opened the first door.

He looked down at the cream colored card in his other hand. The gold border caught the morning light, and the printed words stood out clearly against the paper.

One million dollars in gross merchandise value within the first month.

A big client was ready. A designer was ready. But there was still no product, and a first month does not wait for anyone.

His eyes drifted to the glass, and to the tower across the street. Then his mind drifted somewhere else, to a small shop on the third floor of this very building. He thought of long racks of clothes, tagged and folded with care, waiting behind a locked door because a supervisor had wanted them gone by Friday.

Kris's inventory. Four years of stock that someone almost threw into the street.

He lifted his head, and a slow, certain smile spread across his face.