“That Car Is Junk!” — CEO Laughs at a Single Dad Janitor’s Mustang, Then He Starts a $2B Engine
The morning sun clawed its way through the overcast Seattle sky, casting a grey, unforgiving light over the city.
Dean Masterson sat in the driver’s seat of the Mustang, parked in a deserted industrial lot near the docks.
He had barely slept.
His mind was a chaotic spreadsheet of dwindling numbers.
He had exactly two hundred and fourteen dollars in his checking account.
Chloe’s asthma medication refill was due in five days, and without the Apex corporate insurance, the out-of-pocket cost was three thousand, two hundred dollars.
Time wasn’t just money anymore; it was oxygen.
Dean pulled his cracked smartphone from his pocket.
He brought up the photo he had snapped of the VIP guest list from the Apex shareholder gala.
His finger scrolled past the names of tech moguls and real estate tycoons until it stopped on the man who had laughed at his car: **Richard Belmont.**
Belmont was a titan in the venture capital world.
His firm, Belmont & Hayes Capital, controlled over eighty billion dollars in assets, specializing in aggressive, high-risk tech acquisitions.
He was ruthless, brilliant, and most importantly, he had firsthand knowledge of Vivian Carmichael’s failing “Project Vanguard.” He knew the market was desperate for a savior.
Dean started the Mustang.
The electromagnetic core whirred to life, silent and deadly.
He didn’t have time to navigate the slow, bureaucratic channels of the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
He needed a shark.
Forty minutes later, the rusted 1969 Boss 429 pulled up to the pristine, circular driveway of the Belmont & Hayes skyscraper in downtown Seattle.
The head valet, a young man in a crisp red vest, stepped forward, his face twisting in immediate disgust.
“Sir, delivery vehicles are around back. You can’t park this… thing here.”
“I’m not a delivery driver,” Dean said, stepping out of the car.
He wore his only clean piece of clothing: a faded grey button-down shirt and a pair of dark slacks.
He tossed the keys to the valet.
“Park it. And don’t scratch the rust.”
Before the valet could protest, Dean walked through the revolving glass doors.
The lobby was a cathedral of wealth, all polished granite and brushed steel.
Dean marched straight to the reception desk.
“I need to see Richard Belmont,” Dean said to the receptionist.
She didn’t even look up from her monitor.
“Do you have an appointment, Mr…?”
“Masterson. Dean Masterson. And no, I don’t. But tell him the janitor from Sub-Level 4 at Apex Innovations is here, and I brought the dinosaur.”
The receptionist finally looked up, her eyes scanning Dean’s cheap clothes.
She was about to call security when a voice boomed from the mezzanine balcony above.
“Wait.”
Richard Belmont stood at the glass railing, holding a cup of coffee.
He was impeccably dressed in a navy Brioni suit, his silver hair perfectly coiffed.
He stared down at Dean, his eyes narrowing in recognition.
He had been on his way to the elevators, but the mention of Apex Innovations had stopped him.
“Send him up, Sarah,” Belmont called down.
“Let’s see what the help has to say.”