World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

Anna walked downstairs, and I could hear her steps behind me. Arnold leaned back, looking in her direction.

When the door to the basement of the mansion shut, his attention shifted back to me, the look on his face steely.

"How do you know about Freewinds?" He asked.

"I got an invitation."

His eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe—but it vanished just as fast.

He glanced at Sam, clearly hesitating for a moment. Then, as if deciding it didn't matter, he sighed and leaned forward.

"Freewinds isn't for just anyone, Jack." His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. "Celebrities, politicians, multi-billionaires—those are the ones that Freewinds invites. You getting an invite?" He shook his head, a hint of disbelief crossing his face. "That's not something they do lightly. It's starting to smell funny... but let's just say maybe they're impressed by how fast you've risen."

"Wait... Freewinds?" Sam spoke up. "Is it the club you asked me about?"

Arnold shot Sam a hard, but protective look. "It's an underground club, Sam. Stay out of it. I don't want you involved in dangerous things."

I kept my eyes on Arnold. "So, you're part of Freewinds?"

"Of course I am." He didn't hesitate.

"Do you use the club to connect with government officials?"

Arnold's expression darkened. "Jack," he warned, his voice dropping, "don't dig where you don't need to."

Before I could say anything, Anna returned, carrying a tray with crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey—Macallan 18-year-old, expensive as sin. She set it down smoothly, pouring the dark liquid into each glass.

Arnold slid a glass of whiskey across the table toward me.

His eyes were on mine again, cold and calculating."Now, I'll level with you. You need my help finding the guy who's got it out for you. I'm willing. But nothing's free. I need something in return."

I raised an eyebrow, taking the glass. "What exactly do you want?"

Arnold took his time, swirling his whiskey, then brought the glass to his lips. He didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch. "I want your votes, Jack."

"Votes?" I repeated, not understanding.

"You'll get it once you're in the club," Arnold said, flashing a knowing smile, like he was holding all the cards.

Adam, who had been silent up, suddenly cleared his throat. "But Arnold," he said cautiously, "we still haven't determined why they're coming after him."

Arnold waved him off, eyes still locked on me. "Doesn't matter. I can look past that. Especially if Jack's about to be a fellow Freewinds member. Isn't that right?" He leaned back.

I didn't flinch. "I've got nothing to hide, Mr. Johnson."

Arnold let out a low chuckle, but there was no warmth in it. "Everyone's got something to hide, Jack. The only difference is who's better at covering their tracks."

He leaned back on the couch, eyes gleaming. "Now, as for this hacker—or whoever's behind it—we'll find them. Within gangs, there's always a thread, a small connection. But it's not a clean job. Can't just run a trace and call it a day. The government is too lenient, too soft with these bastards.

Too much red tape, too many rules. We don't have those problems."

I took a sip of the whiskey, its warmth spreading through me. "If it's a Russian oligarch targeting me, isn't that a bit... much, even for you, Mr. Johnson?"

Arnold's eyes flashed with irritation, his tone turning cold. "Nothing is too much for me, Jack."

There was a beat of silence; I must have hit a nerve. He stared at me for a long moment before softening his tone. "You can't move against someone like me or you without stepping on someone's toes. And trust me, Jack, I know whose toes to step on."

'I... I actually don't know what he means with this...' I thought.

Adam chimed in again, more confidently this time. "With Arnold's reach... we'll get to them. Gangs, cartels, oligarchs... doesn't matter."

Arnold took another sip of his whiskey, a satisfied look on his face. "We'll take care of this, Jack. But don't forget," he said, his voice turning sharp again, "you owe me. And I always collect."

The mood changed after that tense exchange, and for some reason, we started talking about investments—Sam's in particular.

Arnold seemed more relaxed, as if he had already resolved the issue.

Arnold poured himself another glass of whiskey, glancing at his son with something close to pride. "Sam's doing well," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Maybe Gabriel will finally have some competition for that first spot this year." He chuckled, clearly pleased with his son's progress.

The mention of Gabriel made me wonder, "What about Evelyn?"

The moment her name left my lips, the atmosphere shifted again, darker, heavier.

Arnold's gaze hardened, and the lightness vanished.

It was as if I had brought forth a typhoon.

That was the moment the meeting ended.

Arnold rose with a stern face. "Jack," he said, his voice flat and final, "accept that invitation to Freewinds tomorrow."

With that, it was over.

I had my answer and my next move—whether I wanted it or not.

Leaving Arnold's mansion, the night air felt cool against my face as I slid into the car, to drive back to Gainessville.

...

The next day, I came back from university.

The house was empty—Charlotte wasn't back yet.

I stared at the phone. Without hesitating, I called the number on the invitation again.

The same woman picked up. "Mr. Somnus?"

"I accept the invitation," I said quickly.

"We're glad, sir. A government official will be at your house in no more than three hours. Are you available?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Perfect. I look forward to seeing you then," she said before hanging up.

Just over an hour later, Charlotte came home.

I told her that I had decided to join the Freewinds club and mentioned that Arnold Johnson was a part of it.

"Be careful, Jack."

A few minutes later, a black car pulled up to the house, moving slowly.

It rolled to a stop in front of the house, and my security team immediately went to work, checking the driver and the passenger.

The driver was a solidly built man with a military haircut.

The back door of the car opened and a man stepped out. He was somewhat plump, with a square-cut hairstyle. His suit was dark and well-tailored, complemented by a golden tie. Despite his slightly rotund figure, his demeanor was one of quiet confidence and control.

After my security gave the all-clear, I walked up and stepped into the back of the car. The door shut and the car pulled away from the house.

The man did not extend his hand for a handshake. Instead, leaning back in the seat, he looked at me calmly.

"I'm Rudy Garcia," he said. "Member of the Florida Senate. Republican."

'Alright... who asked?' I thought. "Jack Somnus... non-affiliated?"

He chuckled softly. "It doesn't matter anyway; I'm just here to introduce you."

"So... where exactly are we going?"

Rudy García adjusted his golden tie. "We're driving to Ocala," he said. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

"There's a branch of the club in Ocala?"

"That's the location of the nearest Church of Scientology."

I raised my eyebrows. 'Scientology?' I vaguely remembered some... unsettling stories associated with it, but I didn't voice my thoughts.

A few minutes later, the car pulled into a parking lot in front of a striking building bathed in neon blue pain and lights. Bold letters spelled out "SCIENTOLOGY" across the top, and a sign resembling a cross was standing atop the building.

A few people wearing casual clothes sat on benches nearby, seemingly relaxed and waiting.

Rudy García stepped out of the car. "Alright, Mr. Somnus, follow me."

We walked up to the entrance and stepped inside. The interior was clean, with polished floors. The air was cool and a bit... relaxing?

In the main area, a few people were seated at a desk, each holding two small metal cans in their hands. Wires from the cans connected to a machine on the desk.

Someone on the other side of the desk was focused intently on the machine, adjusting dials and taking notes.

"What are they doing?" I asked García, taking in the unusual scene.

He glanced over briefly. "They're going through therapies," he said, but as we walked up the stairs to the second floor, his tone changed. "But the religion is just a cover," he added.

The second floor had a markedly different vibe. It was a more luxurious, relaxed zone, with high-end furnishings. Expensive-looking couches lined the walls, and a few men sat lounging on them, giving us casual nods as we passed by.

We continued up to the third floor.

Here, a security guard stood by a door.

The senator showed the guard a card.

The guard nodded and let us through.

I turned to García. "What's that card?"

García flashed the card at me briefly. It had eight squares drawn on it, all marked with checks. "It's made-up stuff about Operating Thetan levels from the church. You can read up on it if you want."

We proceeded through the door into an office.

There was a woman sitting at a nice, pretty redwood desk. And the woman was pretty as well. She looked to be in her early thirties, with long, midnight brown waves of hair. She had a gentle face and beautiful green eyes, as well as a few gentle freckles around her small nose.

As soon as we entered, she stood up with a small smile. "Mr. Somnus, I'm Operator Liliana. I was the one who spoke with you; it's great to meet you in person."