Approximately a ride from his mansion to his workplace would take around fifty minutes.
Aron had bought the mansion in a secluded area, far removed from the noise of civilization.
The market value of the estate was estimated at over two hundred million dollars, but for him, the price was secondary. What he truly valued was peace and quiet.
The decision came after relentless harassment from paparazzi and the suffocating scrutiny of the public.
Their constant presence gnawed at his nerves, so he chose isolation.
In fact, he had purchased and built similar mansions in other parts of the world, all for the same reason, to escape prying eyes.
Of course, seclusion came with its own downsides. The distance between his home and his workplace was inconvenient.
But Aron never complained. With the speed of his Cars, the ride to work was cut down to just fifteen minutes. The benefits of privacy outweighed the minor cost of distance.
The Pagani roared into the company parking lot. Its sleek door swung upward, and Aron stepped out. He looked immaculate, and neat, exuding effortless confidence. His presence drew attention the moment he stood before the towering building.
The signboard was bold, impossible to miss:
Capra Capital Corporation (C.C.C.)
Aron walked through the glass doors into the lobby. At the personal checkpoint, he swiped his identification card.
The security guard manning the station stiffened. His eyes glowed with something close to fanaticism, as if he had just seen an angel descend from heaven.
Words threatened to slip from his lips, but he swallowed them back, forcing himself into silence.
Aron noticed the man’s reverence but wasn’t surprised.
He was used to such behavior. Almost every worker in the corporation regarded him with the same feverish respect, as if they were staring at a living legend.
And in truth, he was. His feats in the trade world had elevated him to near-mythical status.
Not that Aron worried about anyone crossing a line. None of his coworkers would dare harass him. Doing so would cost them their job.
He retracted his card from the machine and moved toward the general elevator. Inside, a group of women was already present. Aron stepped in and pressed the button for his floor, quietly settling into a corner.
At first, the women continued their idle chatter. But once their eyes landed on him, their expressions froze in shock. One woman, mid-sip of water, choked as liquid sprayed down her blouse.
"Isn’t he the Trade King?" one of them whispered, her voice trembling.
"He’s so handsome..." another muttered, her eyes sparkling like stars.
"Do you think he would ever take me as his mistress?"
"I don’t care. Even if it were just a single night... I’d give away fifty years of my life for that chance."
Aron remained still, his gaze fixed on the glowing floor indicator above the door.
He acted as though he hadn’t heard a single word, though every syllable reached his ears. All he wanted was for the elevator to move faster.
The way they looked at him, hungry and starstruck, was a little suffocating.
Still, years of trading had honed his discipline. He had mastered the art of controlling his emotions. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, his expression never faltered.
Though the women spoke as if whispering, they made no effort to hide their words. It was obvious they wanted him to hear.
Normally, Aron would have taken his private elevator, one reserved solely for him.
But that elevator required walking several dozen steps farther, and today, he was in a hurry. His wife had prepared a surprise for him, and he did not intend to keep her waiting for long.
So instead, he chose the closer, public elevator.
The elevator stopped at several floors along the way, yet none of the women stepped out.
Each time the doors opened, they glanced at one another, shook their heads, and stayed inside. Their attention never wavered from Aron.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached his floor. Aron hurriedly stepped out without a word.
The women kept their silence too, though their burning stares clung to him until the doors shut.
Rules had been set in place to protect Aron’s safety and peace, and they knew better than to act rashly.
He lifted his hand and offered them a small wave before striding forward.
Walking through the office corridors, he expected to be greeted with cheers and celebration.
But to his surprise, the atmosphere was different. The usual reverence in his colleagues’ gazes was gone.
Instead, strange looks followed him. Their eyes lingered, watching his every step with something he couldn’t quite place.
A feeling of déjà vu crept over him. His instincts, sharpened by years of trading, urged caution.
Yet outwardly, his face remained unreadable, his emotions perfectly masked.
Ignoring the strange stares, he continued toward his office. He wanted to pick up his trading journal before heading to meet the founder and head of the corporation for the official promotion.
But when he pushed open the door, his heart sank.
His office was packed, crowded with officials in matching uniforms. On their jackets, bold letters were stitched in sharp contrast: SEC (Securities and Exchange Commission).
The moment he entered, their eyes snapped toward him with Recognition, and in seconds, they moved in.
"Mr. Aron, you are officially under arrest for using your position to profit illegally from sensitive corporate information."
Aron froze, his expression shifting only slightly. "Illegal... Corporate..." he repeated, confused.
"You have the right to remain silent."
Even as they closed in, Aron remained calm. He understood what they were accusing him of: insider trading.
But he was confident. He had never once engaged in such a trade. His system was airtight and wasn’t worried, as no one had the access to set him up.
Even the founder of the corporation didn’t have the access needed to place trades from his terminal without his personal password.
As the officials restrained him, Aron was escorted out of the office.
Along the way, he caught sight of a familiar face. His rival stood in the crowd, watching with a mix of pity and mockery.
They had both been competing for the executive seat, and now, the man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Aron glanced at him briefly before looking away. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Let’s take him through the back," one officer muttered. "The reporters are already swarming the front entrance."
"No," a higher-ranking officer said flatly. "Take him through the front."
The lower-ranked official hesitated. "Sir, we’re only bringing him in for investigation. We can’t be sure..."
"Don’t make me repeat myself."
The words were calm, but heavy with authority. The subordinate immediately lowered his head and obeyed.
As Aron walked in handcuffs, he glanced at the man who had given the order. There was something familiar in his features.
"You..." Aron’s eyes narrowed. "Are you Damian’s brother?"
The officer’s expression flickered with surprise at the question. But after a pause, he gave a faint smile. "We’re cousins."
"Oh, I see." Aron’s voice was calm, almost knowing, as though a piece of the puzzle had clicked into place, because Damian was the name of his rival they were both candidate’s of the executive seat.
The crowd outside had already sensed the storm.
"Hey! Isn’t that the Trade King?" one reporter shouted. The words spread like wildfire, pulling the attention of dozens more.
"He’s in cuffs!" another cried out.
The reporters surged forward, cameras flashing like machine-guns.
They fought to capture every angle of Aron being cuffed and dragged by the officers.
"Why is the Trade King being arrested?"
"Why is he being treated like some sort of dangerous criminal?"
"Can you tell us what’s going on?"
"Mr. Aron is under investigation," Damian’s cousin answered curtly, before stepping onto the bus with Aron in tow.
He offered no further explanation. The doors shut, and the vehicle sped away.
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The reporters swarmed, snapping pictures of the departing bus until it vanished from sight.
"Who would have thought?" one journalist laughed. "Instead of a promotion, we get a scandal this juicy."
"This will be a gold mine. Everyone loves scandals. And this isn’t just anyone, it’s the Trade King, about to be promoted as the youngest executive in the largest trading corporation in the world. This will explode."
Already, the reporters were dialing their companies, voices buzzing with excitement. They rushed off, eager to be the first to break the story.