[11:47 AM – Same Conference Room]
The signatures took fifteen minutes. Xavier worked through each document methodically, reading every clause, asking questions when something wasn't clear. Jess and David answered each one with the precision of lawyers who'd spent months building this structure.
When the final signature was in place, David gathered the documents and slid them into a leather portfolio. "Congratulations," he said. "You now own one of the most sophisticated sports franchises in the world—structurally speaking."
"Does that mean I'm smart or paranoid?" Xavier asked.
"Both," Harvey said with a grin. "But from what I've learned, that's why you'll survive longer than most owners."
Jess closed her binder and removed her glasses. "One more thing. The league's finance committee will eventually notice this structure. When they do, they'll ask questions."
"Let them ask," Xavier said. "Everything's legal. Everything's documented. If they don't like it, they can take it up with my lawyers."
"That's us," Harvey said. "And we bill by the hour, so please, let them complain."
Xavier smiled faintly. "Speaking of bills, will you guys be joining me for lunch, or are you busy with work?"
"Harvey and I have a property dispute in the Jacobs estate will, so we will have to decline," Jess said with a sigh, looking as if a migraine was threatening her. "Those brats barely buried their father and are tearing themselves apart for the tiniest scrap of the empire."
"As for me, I have to report to Father dearest why I spent the last few months on this case," David reported with a sigh. "Honestly, the man is a slave driver when it comes to billable hours. You'd think I wasn't his son with how much work he dumps on me."
"Hahah, I guess I will see you guys at the groundbreaking ceremony then," Xavier said, not minding the fact that he would have to eat alone. "I will be counting on you guys to watch over me then."
They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and then walked out to the main elevator. David and Xavier both took the elevator down, splitting up at the lobby of the trade centre that was as busy as ever. It reminded him of a rat house with people streaming in and out, chasing the cheese, except these people were Apex predators in the financial world from all over the globe.
~~~
[12:30, The Four Seasons Restaurant, 49th St, NY]
Half an hour later, Xavier sat at a corner table by the floor-to-ceiling windows of The Four Seasons, the Seagram Building's crown jewel of fine dining. Sunlight filtered through the modernist architecture, casting geometric patterns across white tablecloths and polished silverware. The lunch crowd was in full swing—Wall Street executives, media moguls, fashion designers, all navigating their own Manhattan world.
Xavier had ordered light—seared tuna, a side salad, sparkling water—his mind still half-occupied by the Jacobs power struggle. He and his sister didn't have to worry about that, as his dad had sorted out everything from business assets to money. Everything was basically split fifty-fifty in their individual trust except business assets, which were held under the James Foundation, which he held control of.
When his sister came of age, she would inherit her 20% share of the media company and the rest of the business his dad had owned. From the liquid money, she also had a 40% share, but Xavier managed it under his Apex fund. He basically loaned her money and gave her 20% of the investment's profit, which is automatically added to her trust.
The deal was honestly generous on both ends if you asked anyone on Wall Street, favouring Zoe, considering his returns from the dot-com crash. However, it also allowed him to make the maximum returns on his investment, and it was his sister, so he didn't really care even if it was more, but his mother had decided on the ratio.
He thought about this because the Jacobs family owned a particular asset that intrigued him. His reason was honestly petty due to Drew Jacobs, one of the heirs, having clashed with him at one of their get-togethers. Just like everyone in this city, there was a hierarchy in all social situations, especially with the kids of the whose, who.
The latter had bragged about his family being a hardworking, traditional elite, unlike some upstarts who got lucky guessing the right stock. Now he just wanted to take one of the guy's prized jewels that he had managed to run into the ground. Turns out, just because you come from the upper circle, it doesn't automatically make you a good CEO.
The family had managed to ruin one of Italy's three luxury car brands, Aurelio Pegaso Automobili. Pegaso, for short, had a storied history like most luxury car brands born from the cradle of the Prancing Horse and the raging bull. The inventor Alessandro Pegazze had taken their philosophy and created a hypercar so light, fast, and strong that it had amazed the market.
They ran into trouble, though, in the late seventies when their owner listed the company. Outside investors interfered with his vision, and by the time he died, the company was a shell of its former self. Like the Golden Bull, it got passed around by investors until it ended up with the Jacobs in the early 90s.
That should have been a sign for celebration, with their rich pockets, old money, and all, but it set in motion a decade of pain. The brand suffered more than Lamborghini, with cars being produced that had customers questioning what the heck they were buying. They were stingier than a mouse in a diner, investing minimal and taking a lion's share of the profits.
In 1997, they had some success launching a general market roadster that was seen as a middle-income luxury car. The sales were great, but the brand was managed more and two years later, when they attempted a new supercar launch, it received a lukewarm reception. Xavier's only interest in the company was to turn it around and stick it to Drew, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
Just then, the waiter had just refilled his water glass when movement near the entrance caught his attention. A group of six young professionals walked towards the exit, having just finished lunch, all dressed in business-casual attire. The women wore designer blazers with jewellery, the men sported untucked button-downs and designer jeans.
They carried themselves with confident energy that so many in the building had after just closing a deal. Xavier was mid-sip when he heard it—a voice that cut through the ambient conversation like a canary falling from the sky who had forgotten it had wings. "Oh my God—Xavier?!"
His head snapped up. Standing near the entrance, frozen mid-step with her hand still on her friend's arm, was a dark-haired brunette. She looked different—older, sharper, more polished—but unmistakably herself. Her hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, framing a face that had matured from pretty to striking.
She was tall, five-eight and maybe five-ten in her heels, dressed in a cream blazer over a black silk camisole and tailored pants. Her blue eyes were currently wide with surprise, locked onto his. "Xavier James!" she said again, louder this time, drawing attention from neighbouring tables, not caring a bit.
Before he could even stand properly, she was moving—heels clicking across the polished floor as she abandoned her group entirely and rushed toward him. "Serena—" he managed, but she was already there, throwing her arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked him back into his chair.
"I can't believe it's you!" she said, pulling back just enough to look at him, hands still on his shoulders. "What are you doing here? Wait—don't answer that. You look good, though. Hmm, but you've been frowning too much. When did you get so—" She gestured vaguely at his suit, his posture, the general air of confidence he now carried. "—grown up?"
Xavier laughed, caught off-guard by the whirlwind that was Serena Lively in full force. "It's been six months, Serena. You make it sound like decades since we saw each other."
"Hmph, still as heartless as ever," She retorted, her hands moving to his face, turning it left and right as if inspecting his head was still attached. Her slender fingers brushing through his curls with practised movement, frowning every now and then. "You could have at least called me more, you know how bored and stressed I was during finals?"
"That's why... can you let go of my face? People are starting to consider calling the cops," Xav said, his hands moving to grasp hers, stopping her actions. "Plus, who do you think sent all those frappuccinos and catering to your workshop. Knowing you, you probably thought they magically appeared because you're pretty."
"Wait, they don't?" she asked, tilting her head in genuine curiosity that told him that she hadn't questioned how the provisions continued to arrive wherever she was. He could only curse the simps at her school who must have been doing crazy things trying to gain her attention.
"Sigh, it's a wonder you weren't kidnapped more as a kid." He retorted, resisting the urge to slap his forehead. "Why don't you deal with your people so we can catch up?"
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To Be Continued...