Alejandro's POV
Sitting behind my spacious mahogany desk, I leaned back in my leather chair, my fingertips steepled as I studied the trio of airport investors across from me.
Their slick suits and forced smiles did little to mask their nervousness. They were here to convince me to invest in their airport venture, and I intended to make them dance to my tune.
"So, gentlemen," I began, my voice smooth as silk, "you believe I should invest in your airport project?" I raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corners of my lips.
The lead investor, Mr. Rodriguez, cleared his throat and nodded. "Absolutely, Mr. Montellia. Your involvement would bring substantial financial backing and a level of prestige that—"
"Ah, prestige," I interrupted with a chuckle. "A noble pursuit, indeed. But let's talk numbers, shall we?" Leaning forward, I steepled my fingers once more, creating a bridge of power between us.
Mr. Hernandez, another investor, exchanged an uneasy glance with his colleagues. "We're offering you a generous 15% of the shares," he said cautiously.
"Fifteen per cent?" I arched an eyebrow, my tone incredulous. "Gentlemen, I'm a man who values control. I don't settle for anything less than a commanding stake."
Mr. Martinez, the third investor, spoke up, his voice strained. "Mr. Montellia, we understand your desire for control, but 15% is—"
I raised a hand, silencing him. "Forgive me, but I think you misunderstand. You've come to me because you need more than just my money. You need my influence, my connections. And yet, you offer me a paltry 15%?"
My lips curled into a knowing smile. "I believe a more equitable distribution would be, say, 40%."
The room fell into a tense silence as the investors exchanged incredulous glances. Mr. Rodriguez finally spoke, his voice tight. "Mr. Montellia, 40% is a significant share. It would alter the balance of power within the project."
I leaned forward, my gaze locked onto his. "Mr. Rodriguez, you came to me. You sought my dominion. And now you're hesitating?" My tone remained calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
The negotiations carried on for what felt like an eternity, punctuated by arguments and counteroffers.
They tried to push back, to resist my demand for a higher share. But I held my ground, my words and presence unyielding.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across my office, I watched as their resolve wavered.
Finally, with a weary sigh, Mr. Hernandez conceded, "Fine, Mr. Montellia. We'll grant you 40%."
I leaned back in my chair, my smile victorious. "Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen."
As they left my office, heads bowed, I knew I had shown them a glimpse of my dominion. It wasn't just about the numbers; it was about the power to shape destinies, to bend situations to my will.
I had secured not just a deal, but a demonstration of my control—a control that extended far beyond percentages and shareholders.
Alejandro Montellia, a name not many people yet were aware of. An upcoming influence. The strongest rival against Del Montes coming of age.
Money, the source of all evil. A shame to those who keep saying money cannot buy happiness. Crying in my 50 million-worth mansion or my 500k-worth car is better than crying inside a slum.
And May no one dare to judge me, especially if you've never cried inside a slum that is about to fall with the next rainfall.
Without money, you are a failure. A lot of problems can be solved with money. Respect is earned because of money.
Even if you kill an innocent person in front of police, just ten thousand dollars and they make up an excuse, she was drunk or she fell by herself, she was ill.
Ten thousand dollars. That's all it took for my woman's case to be deleted from the face of the earth. Money as little as that. Not even a normal person can use it for the whole year. Money not even enough to pay fees to some colleges.
My friend, don't get twisted with these rich people saying money can't buy happiness. Those are the people who've been rich their entire lives. The people that don't know the smell of poverty.
These kinds of people don't even know the smell of dirty ass water from those drainage systems, so dark in colour.
They don't know how it feels like to have your slum near one of the biggest waste collection points or these drainage systems with the dirtiest and darkest water.
Of course, Marcus didn't know all that. He'd been taken care of like an egg his entire life. A spoiled brat. A little bit of wonder is how a father chooses which children to spoil and which ones to abandon.
A billionaire like him, Mr Del Monte, who may rest in hell by the way, doing everything to outcast my mother and me when I didn't ask him to fail to keep his little cock to his boxers just because of my mother's beauty
My mother was a queen of her time. Slim figure with a long face that went perfectly with long straight hair. From the look of her old picture, her skin was soft and brown. An angel not born but brought to earth straight from heaven.
Mr Del Monte took away all of that. As I remember when I was young, her face and body were always covered with dark layers and so was I.
Even soap was a luxury we couldn't afford. I was only six years old, so it was not easy to understand the disasters I went through.
To me, that was a definition of life. We woke up, struggled to get food and then slept. I was even happier when Mother didn't notice I didn't shower the whole day.
Then, by the grace of God, I started going to school. The kids were so clean as if their feet never touched bare sand.
They smelt like fruits, some like cocoa and some had these nice smells I never knew their names. They wore perfumes, a vocabulary that was not yet known to me.
That was when I knew I smelt bad and that's when I tried everything I could so I could be able to afford soap. I didn't want kids to walk away when I arrived.
I wanted to look normal like everyone else and that's when an innovative mind took over me. I didn't have a single cent with me and I mostly had one meal per day and stole fruits from different houses.
Soap. Soap. Soap. It made me miserable in front of those students. It made me feel different. It made people have eyes on me and their noses covered whenever I made my presence. The same thing that made me meet her one day.
Perla.
Under the shiny sun that makes you feel like it's following you, I found a tree that had no one under it.
It was break time. The cafeteria made my stomach growl louder than a lion. I sat under it and took the apple I had stolen from one of those houses I passed near every morning.
As I took the bite, producing a low sound and my tongue already feeling its taste I heard a voice I never heard before.
"Hey," I looked at her. She waved her hand and as she smiled I realised she didn't have front teeth and her weight was a little bit too much for an eight-year-old girl or an age around that.
The beginning of a legendary friendship. Someone I could not protect.
How about we end the Flashback here for today? My head hurts every time I think of that first day. I smiled for the first time in school and what did I do to the person who made it happen? Nothing.
Today, in my leather boss seat in my office, Ariana got inside with what looked like a letter in her hand. Her high heels kept crashing against the wall, making a sound that echoed against the walls.
"Sir, I guess you have an invitation tonight,"
I raise an eyebrow as she hands it to me. Marcus Del Monte and Camilla Martinez, "The Del Monte we all know? I thought you told me he isn't the type of guy to marry,"
Marcus was known to be the player of the universe. Like father like son.
"I took a little time to search about this Camilla. She doesn't seem to come from among your class," One of the few things I liked about Ariana, she always knew how to be extra.
"Interesting, I will attend this wedding. Let's see if I can find anything useful."
"Oh, sir Boss, Congratulations on the airport project today. You nailed it as usual." She winked at me, making me laugh. Her heels produced echoes as she walked out of the room.
Let's get me ready for the wedding ceremony, shall we?