World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

His shoulders sagged slightly, the defiance in his eyes dimming as he accepted the reality of his situation. "Very well," he said with a resigned sigh. "I'll set it up for you. You don't need to pay me; I'll do it free of charge."

"Oh, no. I will pay you. Use your brain, Sidorov. Why make it suspicious?"

He paused, considering my words. "You're right," he conceded, his voice tinged with a mix of respect and weariness. "I'll make sure everything appears aboveboard."

I nodded, satisfied. "Good."

Sidorov's fingers hovered over the keyboard momentarily before he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, squishy stress ball. It was brightly colored and well-used.

'When I met him in my last life, he was already dying from all the stress.' I thought.

He squeezed the ball in his hand, then put it down and started typing on the keyboard.

Every so often, he looked through a stack of papers on his desk, making notes or double-checking information as he went.

His resigned acceptance has been replaced by a desire to carry out my request perfectly.

"Where do you want the company to be situated?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"I need a Boston office that can accommodate fifteen people," I replied firmly.

He nodded, jotting down the information. "Boston. Understood."

'Britney will definitely live and start studying at MIT in Boston next year. I wanted her to be a part of it.' I thought.

At some point, it seemed Sidorov was done with the basics. He looked up from his computer and asked, "Do you have any particular requests when it comes to the identity of the owner?"

"Yes," I replied.

"What is it?"

"I need you to find a man from New York called Derec Johnson. He fits the profile perfectly. Wealthy background, yet distanced enough from his family that he doesn't enjoy any of its benefits. Someone who's struggling to make it on his own." I said.

Sidorov's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Do you know this man?"

"Yes," I replied, leaning back with a confident smirk. "He works at a small company trading commodities. This should be enough information."

Sidorov's gaze was skeptical. "Are you sure he will be willing?"

"He will definitely accept it. That guy has no morals. Just offer him $10,000 a month, and he'll jump at the chance."

Derec Johnson was a true sellout. I remembered the scandal involving one of the direct Johnson family members, who had been caught bribing the chair of the Federal Reserve to influence interest rates.

For a certain amount of money, Derec took the blame and served a three-year sentence in jail.

Sidorov paused, considering my words. "I could create a fake identity instead..."

"I didn't say you wouldn't be making one..." I said, a sly smile playing on my lips. "You will make Derek the owner of the company, but he will only be the figurehead."

"What do you mean by figurehead?"

"He will not have the right to withdraw the company's funds. Instead, you will create a fake identity for the position of Chief Financial Officer of the company and give all the rights to that person." I explained.

"And what would be the name on that fake identity?" he asked.

"Christopher Vanderbilt," I said, a smile spreading across my face.

Sidorov's eyes widened as he leaned on his desk, rubbing his temple. "I can't believe I assumed it was your real identity..."

...

"Finally... what about the name of the company?"

"Immortal investments," I replied confidently.

"Immortal?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

I waved it away nonchalantly. "Just write it down."

After some frustration, we got all the details solved.

I would pay $4,800 for a month of rent; $10,000 would go to the new owner of the company, Derec Johnson; and $900 for Apex's services, which was the lowest available option.

"Everything seems to be in order," Sidorov said, jotting down the final notes. Then he looked up at me. "But I'll need your phone number so I can contact you if necessary."

I shook my head slightly. "I can't give you my phone number, Mr. Sidorov."

"Then how are we supposed to reach you?" he asked incredulously.

I picked up a sticky note from his desk and a pen, writing down "Gainesville, Florida. University of Florida, Jennings Hall, Room 27," and handed the note over to him. "Send traditional mail to this place."

He read it quickly, then glanced back at me with surprise, the corners of his lips twitching. "You are a student?!"

I nodded. "I'm sure you would figure out who I am eventually, so there is no point in hiding it." I said as I grabbed a few documents from the desk and stood up from the chair.

"But why the hell should we send traditional mail? Can't we just use a phone?"

Now standing up, I looked down at him seriously, "For now, let's just say there is a certain program the government is working on that will allow them to listen to every single phone call, internet message, email, as well as track your online searches and location."

He stared at me, completely stupefied. After a long pause, he finally asked, "Sir, is this a joke? How do you know about this?"

"I recommend you start doing the same with your other clients," I said calmly, then turned and walked out of his office.

From what I remembered, the PRISM program would not start working until late 2003, but it was still a good idea to be careful.

Until Snowden comes into the picture, talking about this would be seen as a conspiracy theory.

As I walked down the corridor to the lobby, I noticed the blonde behind the desk. When she saw me approaching, she stood from her seat, her gaze alight and a gentle smile gracing her lips.

"Till next time, Mr. Vanderbilt," she said cheerfully, her voice pleasant.

I gave a soft nod. "Have a nice day," I said with a small smile.

I walked out of the building and headed to my car.

Driving out of the district, I decided to stop by a store.

I walked through the aisles, grabbing drinks and snacks. As I walked up to the cash desk, on a whim, I grabbed a pack of condoms. Who knew when they would come in handy?

After getting out of the store, I drove back to the hotel.

I spent the evening on the beach with family and then I watched a movie with my sister.

...

The next morning, I got up early and went to the lobby to order myself a non-alcoholic beverage—a blend of mango, pineapple, and coconut.

Then I left the hotel to get some fresh air and go for a short morning run.

As I ran down the perfectly straight sidewalk in Miami, I ran into a trio of girls

One of them was Alice.

The other two looked to be around her age, a bit older than me.

"Hey, Jack!" Alice noticed me first and waved.

Her friends eyed me, curious who I was to warrant cutting into their conversation.