Naomi was still catching her breath.
The elevator had closed behind them not two minutes ago, and already Daniel had disappeared into the bare concrete cathedral of the 43rd floor like he owned it. She stood a few steps behind, red Chick-a-Fil uniform still clinging to her shoulders like a curse from another life, envelope of contracts and a million questions tucked under one arm.
Daniel, however, had transformed the moment the mirrored doors opened. No longer the strange teenager with a rusted car and a calm voice—he had become something else entirely.
Someone who walked like he had every right to be there. Someone who pointed at a skyscraper floor and said, "I want it," like ordering lunch.
Claude's voice hummed in Daniel's head. You could've picked something less conspicuous than leasing prime real estate in River North.
"It's not about what I pick," Daniel replied under his breath. "It's about how the world reacts."
Park, the broker waiting for them, did a double-take when she spotted Daniel—and visibly faltered at the sight of Naomi next to him.
The woman blinked. "Mr. Haizen?" she asked cautiously, tablet hugged to her blazer like a shield.
"Yes," Daniel said, calm as snowfall. He didn't wait for permission to walk. Naomi scrambled to follow.
The floor was unfinished. Columns like bones. Windows like dreams. Naomi tried not to breathe too loud.
"You're... certainly young," the broker said, heels tapping to keep up. "I was told Haizen Holdings scheduled the viewing. I assumed—"
"An older man?" Daniel offered. He smiled faintly.
"Well. Yes."
"I get that a lot."
Claude snickered in the back of his mind. Let her underestimate you. They always do, until it's too late.
Park cleared her throat. "This floor is zoned for executive suites or open-concept tech layouts. We've had interest from consulting firms and hedge funds, but no one's signed. It's a full-floor lease. Expensive. High expectations."
Daniel turned toward the windows, arms crossed.
"I want it."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I want the floor," he repeated, stepping closer to the window. "And the one above it."
She hesitated. "Mr. Haizen, the 44th floor is the penthouse executive level. We haven't opened it for leasing. It's reserved for corporate—"
"Then unreserve it," he interrupted. "I want both floors. Today. I want the keys in my hand before sundown."
She looked stunned. Her fingers hovered over the tablet. Behind her, the elevator chimed again. Chambers, the building manager, stepped out and froze.
"Avery, what's going on? Who is this—?"
"Client," Daniel said, turning. "Daniel Haizen. Haizen Holdings."
The man squinted. "You're serious? You're the one behind Haizen Holdings?"
Daniel gave a half-bow. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"
"Chambers. I manage leasing for Drake Tower. We typically vet our tenants with more... scrutiny."
"I'm fine being vetted," Daniel said. "Just make sure the vetting keeps up."
Claude chuckled darkly in his head.
Chambers seemed about to argue, but Daniel reached into his coat and pulled out a slim folder. Inside: a printout of Haizen Holdings' current liquidity, cash reserves, and letter from his lawyer outlining corporate protections.
"That should cover the paperwork," Daniel said.
Chambers opened it. His brows lifted. Then lifted more.
"Jesus. This is... how old are you?"
"Old enough" Daniel said, walking past him toward the structural core of the building.
The shell of the floor was massive—columns evenly spaced, ducts curled above like sleeping snakes. But what mattered was the light. Every window caught the skyline differently. North for inspiration. East for morning power. South for warmth. West for ambition.
Claude: You're being poetic again. Stop that. It's unsettling.
"You'll need to handle furnishings" Chambers said behind him, voice more polite now. "The space comes raw, but we can recommend contractors."
Daniel turned. "I'll bring my own. Full build-out. I want occupancy in two weeks."
"Two weeks? That's impossible."
"Then I'll pay triple. And I want the 44th floor done in ten days."
"Sir, with respect, the 44th floor isn't—"
"It is now. I'll have the money wired by end of day. Put the paperwork together. Both floors. I don't need excuses. I need keys. And make sure no one breathes a word of this to the press. If this leaks, your bonus disappears."
Silence.
Chambers finally nodded, slowly. "We'll get the paperwork started. Avery, get him the lease documents."
The broker fumbled through a leather folder, pulling out a thick paper lease packet and a gold-trimmed pen.
"Sign here, initial there. We'll need photocopies of your ID and the company's articles of organization."
Daniel took the pen. "You'll have them in twenty minutes."
Signature loaded. Lease submitted.
He turned back to the skyline as Claude sighed inside his skull.
Claude: You just leased two full floors like it was ordering takeout.
"Because it is," Daniel whispered. "And I'm starving."
Naomi finally found her voice. "So... we're doing this."
Daniel didn't look at her. "We've already done it. Now you build it."
LLater that afternoon, the 44th floor was unlocked for the first time in years. It was pristine—white walls, standard ceiling tiles, rows of sad fluorescent lights and boxy HVAC grills. Daniel hated it instantly. Empty cubicle energy.
She turned to Daniel. "It's hideous."
He grinned. "Good. I was worried you'd say something hopeful."
He pulled out his phone and called her.
"Yes, boss?" Naomi answered, deadpan. He is less than 6 feet from her!
"I want contractors. Top-tier, discretion-only. I want the 44th floor turned into a Dark Academia sanctuary. Wood, brass, stone. Chandeliers. No drywall. No plastic. It needs to feel like a cathedral and a library had a child, and the child was trained in the occult.[1]"
"Top-tier contractors. No leaks. You know the tone."
"Gothic?"
"Exactly. Chandeliers, brass, wood, fake fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The works. I want it to feel like it remembers older things."
Naomi clicked her pen. "Budget?"
"Unlimited."
She nodded. "I'll get started."
"Also," he added, "let them do whatever they want down there. Cubicles. Fluorescent lights. Silicon Valley knockoff garbage. Let them drown in their modernity. That floor is theirs. But up here—we breathe."
Naomi chuckled under her breath, jotting it down.
Daniel moved to the center of the room, arms raised like a conductor.
"Build me my tower."
Naomi stood by the elevator, watching him. She didn't know what he was. A genius. A lunatic. A myth no one had noticed yet. But something inside her whispered what she hadn't dared think for years:
She was going to win.
And this boy, with his old car and strange eyes, had just handed her the map.
[1] Am I the only one that hates modern architecture ?