While chaos brewed elsewhere—while a rogue streamer was on the loose, hell-bent on uncovering what he believed would be his greatest, most explosive business venture—another storm of a different kind was brewing in an upscale office on the 1st floor of the Solaris Financial Tower.
This storm, however, wore a tailored suit and had a champagne grin.
Bill Miller—agent, shark, and self-proclaimed deal wizard—was beaming like a man who had just snatched the Holy Grail out of a lion's mouth.
Hands outstretched, voice dripping with triumph, he exclaimed, "Mr. Ching-Peng, this was an honor! Absolute honor!" His smile was wide, his eyes gleaming, and his tone was far too enthusiastic to catch the fact that he had just butchered the billionaire's name into a syllabic massacre.
But Bill didn't care.
No, Bill was flying.
He'd just secured what he would later describe to everyone—from his driver to his dentist—as "the biggest deal of his damn life."
Across from him stood a composed figure in an expensive grey Mandarin-collar suit: the man known globally as CZ. A mysterious billionaire investor from the East with a tech empire the size of a small country and a net worth that could buy out half of Los Angeles before breakfast.
The moment hung still. Then CZ chuckled softly and took Bill's hand in his own.
"My Miller," he said, gently correcting with the calm patience of a man who'd sat through a hundred mispronunciations. "Like I said, you can just call me CZ."
CZ had long given up expecting Westerners to pronounce his birth name correctly. In fact, "CZ" wasn't just a nickname—it was a branding decision. Simpler, catchier, universal. One syllable, zero confusion. Efficiency was king in business, and his name was no exception.
Bill laughed heartily again, gripping CZ's hand tighter. "And like I said—you can call me Bill." He gave a little bow of his head, the smile never leaving his face.
Both men shared a knowing look, the kind only those at the top of the food chain exchanged. Behind CZ stood his assistant, an impeccably dressed man with slick black hair and the watchful presence of someone who knew how to negotiate ten million dollars with a look and an eyebrow raise.
"Well," Bill said, stepping to the side and motioning toward the exit with the grandiosity of a maître d' in a five-star restaurant. "Allow me the honor of escorting you out."
They walked together down the hall, the marble floors echoing beneath their polished shoes. The corridor was lined with abstract art that no one understood but everyone agreed was expensive. The overhead lighting gave a golden hue to everything it touched.
"Ha ha ha!" CZ burst into laughter, throwing his head back.
Bill had just cracked another joke—one so perfectly timed and absurd it could've made a statue grin. "You're a funny man, Bill," CZ said, still chuckling.
Bill grinned. "Well, it's all in the eyebrows. You gotta learn how to raise expectations before the punchline."
That one made CZ laugh even harder, his assistant even letting out a faint, amused exhale—a rare event.
As they approached the door to the private elevator, laughter still hanging in the air like the scent of success, something suddenly interrupted them.
A soft, feminine voice rang out from the side, trembling with fear, barely above a whisper. "G-Good day, M-Mr. Miller…"
The words stopped all three men in their tracks.
They turned slowly—first Bill, then CZ and his assistant.
Standing there near the reception desk was a young woman. The same receptionist who had, just a day prior, been less than polite to Bill during a minor elevator incident. She had been curt. Borderline rude. She didn't know who he was then.
But now, she knew.
And she was terrified.
Her posture was rigid, arms at her sides, head bowed—exactly ninety degrees, like something out of a Japanese period drama. Her forehead nearly touched the front counter. She didn't dare look up. Her hands were trembling as she greeted him, the syllables quivering like leaves in the wind.
"G-Good day, sir," she said again, even lower this time.
It was so sudden, so theatrical, that Bill almost burst out laughing. But he stopped himself when he noticed the look on CZ's face.
The billionaire had tilted his head, observing the girl's extreme display of submission, then glancing sideways at Bill. His eyes weren't amused—they were curious. And mildly concerned.
To someone who didn't know the context, this scene looked less like polite business etiquette and more like the fearful bow of a subordinate in front of a ruthless corporate tyrant.
In that instant, Bill could see what CZ was thinking—Why is she so scared of him? What kind of empire is he running in here?
The assistant had the same expression, though more controlled. A flicker of intrigue. The kind that could either make or break reputations in rooms with closed doors.
Bill let out a hearty, awkward laugh—the kind that bounced off the corridor walls with just a bit too much enthusiasm. He waved his hands in the air like someone trying to swat away an invisible cloud of tension.
"Ha ha! Don't mind her," he said with a wide grin, gesturing toward the bowing receptionist like a magician revealing the punchline to a trick. "It's just a little inside joke we do around here whenever important guests visit—make the boss look like a dictator!" He laughed again, this time a little louder than necessary.
Turning to the girl who was still in that exaggerated ninety-degree bow—her face buried toward the floor as if gravity itself was ashamed—Bill added quickly, "Nice one, you really got me." But his voice betrayed a hint of unease as her head slowly rose and she stared at him, not with understanding or shared amusement, but with a puzzled expression—like she wasn't sure if this was still part of the performance or if she'd just walked into the middle of some bizarre corporate improv skit.
Before the moment could get more awkward, a deep, full-bellied laugh burst out from beside him.
"Haha! That's really something," CZ chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I might just have to try that at my office. Imagine the look on my assistant's face!"
Bill turned to find the crypto billionaire doubled over in laughter, while CZ's secretary, perhaps taking a cue, joined in with a polite but clearly forced chuckle, unsure whether to commit or remain neutral. Meanwhile, the receptionist—still standing stiffly—looked around, caught in the strange theater of power, politeness, and pretense.
Still riding the momentum, Bill let out another laugh and said, "You're too kind, CZ. Around here, we like to keep things… interesting."
As the group stepped out into the front of the building, the laughter faded into warm smiles. The energy was good—so good, in fact, that even the spring air felt like it was rooting for Bill. Everything was aligning.
"You're a rollercoaster of a man, Bill," CZ said as he walked, his laughter trailing off, replaced by a more serious tone. "Truly. But let's not forget why I'm here."
He paused, his gaze now focused, grounded.
"This deal, Bill—this isn't just another move on the board. It's monumental. I want it locked down and processed quickly. I don't want this dragging into endless negotiations. This—this has to be finalized and ready as soon as possible."
Bill nodded firmly, stepping into a more formal mode. "Absolutely, CZ. The deal is solid, and the timing is perfect. It would be best to move swiftly while the concert is still in the beginning-to-middle stages. Once we've completed everything on our end, I'll reach out to the label directly and make sure the legal and financial frameworks are airtight."
He adjusted his collar slightly as he added, "Once all of that is squared away, we'll present it to Ethan."
CZ's eyes stayed on him, impassive for a moment. Then Bill continued.
"I don't want to stress Ethan out while he's focused on the tour. He's under a lot of pressure already, and I think it's best not to distract him until we have something clean and ready to go."
CZ nodded, visibly satisfied with the logic. "Good thinking," he said. "He's performing tonight, isn't he? Hmm… which state was it again?" he asked, as if the detail had momentarily slipped his mind.
Bill tapped his temple, trying to remember. "Yes, yes… I believe it's—uh…"
"Iowa, right?" CZ interjected smoothly.
Bill's eyes lit up. "Yes! Iowa. That's where he's performing tonight. That's right."
He tilted his head curiously. "Didn't know you were a 'Jonesing,' CZ," he added with a chuckle, referencing Ethan's ever-growing fanbase.
CZ laughed again, shaking his head. "Well, now I am. But that's not why I know—my daughter will be attending the show tonight. She's a big fan."
Bill's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, then she's in for a treat," he said with a genuine smile. "It's going to be one hell of a show. Ethan's stage presence is second to none. She's in for a one-of-a-kind experience."
CZ nodded, pleased, before stepping into his sleek, customized black car that looked more like a spaceship than a vehicle. As it rolled away from the building, Bill stood for a second, watching it disappear into traffic with the kind of pride one has after watching a perfect chess move play out.
Stepping back into the building, he spotted the receptionist already scrambling to her feet again like a rookie soldier who had just heard a general enter the barracks.
"S-Sir, I—" she began, but Bill raised a hand casually without looking at her.
"You don't have to do all that," he said flatly, his voice calm and monotone as he walked past her. "Just be normal. You're not in trouble, but next time, be mindful. You never know who you might be talking to… or how your attitude might come across."
He didn't wait for a response. He was already halfway to his private office when her voice rang out behind him, loud and high-pitched with emotion.
"Thank you, sir! I promise to always be respectful!"
Bill didn't turn around. He simply pushed open the heavy door to his office and walked in, letting it close quietly behind him. The outside noise was gone. Silence wrapped around him like a well-tailored suit.
And just like that, the matter of the receptionist was gone from his mind—filed away in the same mental cabinet where he stored parking tickets and bad hotel coffee. He had far more important things to think about.
The deal with CZ was nothing short of history in the making. If this went through—and he was almost certain it would—it would become one of the most significant debut artist deals ever recorded. The numbers alone were enough to make any executive giddy. And Bill? He was already calculating the zeroes, projecting the profit margins, imagining the headlines, and hearing the echo of champagne bottles popping in celebration.
Just as his mind began to wrap itself around the glorious possibilities, his phone pinged.
He looked down.
A message from his wife.
"It's always good to have you back in town, baby. Last night was so hot. Can't wait for dessert tonight."
A grin spread across his face slowly, a mixture of amusement, satisfaction, and pure male pride. Thinking of his beautiful wife, the monumental deal, and the money already as good as in the bank, Bill leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, and whispered the same thing Ethan himself had said just days ago, the words rich with meaning now.
"Life is good."