Saturday. September 15th, 2001. Just past noon.
Daniel adjusted the rearview mirror of his rust-colored 1989 Toyota Corolla, affectionately and somewhat sarcastically known as Jimmy. The engine wheezed like a lifelong smoker, the A/C rattled on its lowest setting, and somewhere beneath the passenger seat was a smell Daniel had learned to accept as a feature, not a flaw.
He pulled into the cracked asphalt parking lot of the Chick-a-Fil on North Side Chicago, sunlight bouncing off the car's faded hood like it was clinging to relevance. Claude would've called Jimmy a disgrace to all things automotive—if she were allowed to speak to anyone but Emily. For now, Daniel drove alone.
Naomi Nakamura stood behind the register inside, running on autopilot. Red polyester uniform, weary eyes, name tag slightly askew. She didn't look up until he said her name.
"Naomi Nakamura?"
She blinked. "Who's asking?"
"Daniel Haizen."
She crossed her arms. "Look, if this is about some prank, or a favor, or—"
"Born in Osaka. 27 years old. Moved to California at twelve. Went back to Japan to study in Waseda University, top 3%. Internship at Sumitomo Mitsui. Thirty-seven job applications since graduation. No offers. You've been here in Chicago for four months, and they haven't even promoted fry-shift-lead."
She stared.
"I need ten minutes. Ask your manager for a break."
Moments later, they were sitting at a cheap plastic table near the window. Daniel placed a sealed envelope in front of her.
"This is a formal offer. Employment contract. NDA. Signing bonus. I need a CEO. You're hire number one, congratulations."
Naomi's laugh was dry and defensive. "You want me to believe some teenager walked in here with a job offer? For CEO?"
"You don't have to believe me. You just have to read."
She opened the envelope. She didn't speak for nearly two minutes.
Ten million dollars wired to her account as sign bonus. Total autonomy. Hiring rights. Operational control. Corporate foundation documents. Her name printed under the title: Chief Executive Officer – Haizen Holdings, LLC.
Her hands trembled. "Why me?"
Daniel's voice didn't waver. "Because I've already seen what happens if no one picks you. Because you're smart enough to build something better than anyone else. Because I don't have time to run a company—I have high school, and soon, college. So I need someone who can be the foundation. Someone I can trust."
In the restaurant, the glow of his battered Toshiba Satellite casting shadows across his face. His fingers tapped with quiet precision, lines of code and authorization keys dancing across the screen. A soft chime. He looked up.
"It's done," he said. "Check your account."
Ten million dollars had just landed in her bank account with all the subtlety of a grand piano falling down a flight of stairs.
Naomi stared at the screen. Then at the folder. Then back at Daniel, who was sipping cheap coffee like this was Holiday and not whatever fever dream this was.
"This is a joke, right?" she said. "Like, an elaborate, financially irresponsible prank?"
"Nope," Daniel replied, already moving on to slide a sleek, charcoal-black folder across the table like he was handing her a cursed artifact. "Keep flipping."
Inside: corporate documents. Dozens. All real. Stamped. Notarized. One page simply said:
Chief Executive Officer — Haizen Holdings, LLCName: Naomi Nakamura
Her name. Her actual name. Not some placeholder. Not Insert Generic Candidate Here.
She blinked. "Is this one of those fake LLCs people use to buy yachts under pseudonyms?"
"Kind of," Daniel said. "Except instead of yachts, you'll be buying influence. And instead of pseudonyms, you'll be using your actual spine."
Her hands hovered over the papers. "This has to be illegal."
"Only in countries that fear competent women," he said cheerfully. "Luckily, we operate in Delaware."
Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why me?"
Daniel leaned back like he'd been waiting for that question.
"Because I've done the math," he said, eyes gleaming in that unnerving way that made her feel like a spreadsheet about to be audited. "And every timeline where you don't take this offer ends badly. For you. For me. For the company I haven't even finished designing yet. And probably for the economy."
She stared. "You're offering me a company—your company—because of a timeline?"
He nodded. "And because I'm seventeen. I can't legally drive a rental car, Naomi. But I can see talent. You're terrifying on a budget and lethal with funding. I need someone who knows how to build quietly, efficiently, and with enough rage to keep the wolves away."
"You want me to be your guard dog."
"I want you to be the foundation," he said. "You get to hire. Fire. Build. Burn. I'll supply the fuel. You decide what we set on fire."
She sat back, brain spinning like a blender with the lid off.
"Jesus."
"Nope," Daniel said, standing. "Just me."
She shook her head. "This is insane."
"No, this is structure. I'm seventeen. I can't run a Fortune-level shell company, not while pretending to care about school. I need someone to be the architecture. The edge. The adult in the boardroom who knows how to weaponize a balance sheet."
Naomi stared at the folder again. It stared back.
Then Daniel stood and, with casual blasphemy, reached into his coat.
He pulled out a black metal card. No number. No chip. Just her name. And a Roman centurion etched in matte obsidian.
The American Express Centurion Card.
The kind of thing that doesn't get offered. It appears, like dark magic, for people that spending habits can reach the level of small nations.
He throw like a holy relic between them. It clicked audibly against the wood.
Naomi choked. "That's not real."
"Oh, it's very real," Daniel said. "It's tied to an account with enough liquidity to buy a controlling stake in several defense contractors. You'll need it for expenses."
"Expenses?!"
"Try to keep it under 50 million this week."
"Welcome to Haizen Holdings. Try not to collapse civilization until Monday."
Naomi's world tilted. She had shown up this morning to mop floors and hand out fries. Now she was looking at an empire waiting to be built.
She nodded slowly, as if afraid the moment would vanish.
Daniel stood. "Good. Let's go."
"Wait—what? Go where?"
"We have an appointment. Office space lease. I want you to see what will be yours."
"I'm still in uniform!"
"Doesn't matter."
He was already walking to the door. Naomi scrambled to follow, still clutching the envelope.
Outside, she stopped in front of Jimmy and blinked.
"This is your car?"
Daniel patted the roof. "His name's Jimmy. He's a beast."
She opened the door carefully, like it might fall off. The seat creaked as she slid in.
"You're giving me ten million dollars and driving this?" she muttered.
"Jimmy's got character," Daniel said.
"Ji-iimmy smells"
"You'll get used to it. Or you'll go numb."
Naomi clutched the seatbelt and whispered, "Oh god."
Daniel grinned. "Relax. He only catches fire occasionally."
They pulled onto the street. The city rolled by in wide, sunlit blurs. Naomi stared out the window, still unsure if this was a dream, a kidnapping, or a job interview conducted by someone who'd fallen out of the sky. She sat stiffly, glancing around the car like it might fall apart mid-ride. The dashboard had a crack that looked like it had survived an earthquake. A cassette of jazz fusion sat jammed into the deck.
"What is Haizen Holdings?" she asked finally.
"It's a blank page," Daniel replied. "You'll write the story. Tech, real estate, biotech, clean energy—we'll be in all of it. First you hire a legal team. Then accountants. Then whatever you need. Your only goal is this: build something that'll still be here in a hundred years."
Naomi blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Naomi clutched the door when he made a hard left. The car groaned.
"Are you even old enough to drive?"
"Barely. Legally. Spiritually, I'm about 110."
She stared at him. "What does that mean?"
"You'll figure it out."
Twenty minutes later, they stood at the base of Drake Tower. Daniel adjusted his coat. Naomi was still in her Chick-a-Fil uniform, grease-stained and wide-eyed, clutching the envelope like a lifeline.
"This is where you're planning to lease?" she asked.
"Yes. This afternoon. You're coming with me."
"I'm wearing a red polo with a chicken on it."
"Which makes this all the more legendary."
They entered the Drake Tower. Security glanced at Daniel, then looked confused, then let them through. The entrance was mirrored chrome and classical jazz. Naomi stared at her reflection: red polo, oil stains, Chick-a-Fil logo, ten million dollars burning in her pocket.
They walked into the lobby. Polished marble. Expensive silence. A receptionist glanced up and blinked at the sight of them.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Are you here to deliver something? Which floor?"
Daniel stepped forward. "Daniel Haizen. I have an appointment regarding floor forty-three. The receptionist didn't even try to hide her skepticism.
"Are you... someone's assistant?"
"No. I'm the principal."
She paused, looked Naomi up and down, then back at Daniel. "I don't have you on the schedule."
"Check again," Daniel said calmly. "It was booked through my counsel."
The receptionist didn't move. But the security guard near the elevator straightened a bit. A second guard, behind the desk, casually picked up a walkie-talkie.
Naomi's heart began to race. She looked down at her uniform. She looked at Daniel.
"They think you're lying," she whispered.
"They always do."
"They're about to call security."
"Let them."
Naomi clutched the envelope tighter. "Are we getting arrested?"
Daniel exhaled through his nose, bored. "God, I hope not. I've got things to do."
The receptionist looked at the name again, typed something into her terminal, then froze. Her eyes narrowed. Something flickered across her face.
"One moment please," she said, voice suddenly more formal. She picked up the phone, pressed a line, and spoke quietly.
The guards stayed alert. Naomi was now visibly sweating.
"Daniel," she whispered, "this is insane."
He didn't answer. Just stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the lobby like it was already his.
Then—
The receptionist looked up. "Mr. Chambers will see you now. Elevator 3."
Daniel smiled.
Naomi stared at him in disbelief. "What just happened?"