Mr. Vance's Secret Fortune

The rain in Northbridge city did not care about Caspian Vance's broken shoes. It poured down in heavy, cold sheets, soaking through the thin canvas of his sneakers until his toes felt numb. He stood on the sidewalk outside the towering glass office of Vanguard Architecture, holding a soggy cardboard box. Inside the box was everything he owned from the last two years of his life: a cheap plastic mug, a few black pens, and a rolled-up blueprint that had just been stolen from him.

Two hours ago, Caspian had a future. He was the lead intern, the guy who stayed up until three in the morning drinking stale coffee to perfect the designs for the new city waterfront project. He had poured his heart into those sketches. But this afternoon, his boss had called him into the main conference room.

Caspian had walked in expecting a promotion. Instead, he found Preston Vance sitting at the long mahogany table, wearing a tailored gray suit that cost more than Caspian made in a year. Preston was the son of a wealthy real estate mogul, a man who had never worked a hard day in his life.

"Caspian, my boy," the boss had said, smiling a fake, greasy smile. "We have decided to go with Preston's brilliant design for the waterfront project. And unfortunately, due to budget cuts, we have to let you go."

Caspian had stared at the screen. The blueprints displayed were his. Every line, every calculated curve of the roof, every single window placement was his work. Preston had simply copied the files from Caspian's computer and put his own name on the cover page.

"But sir, that is my design," Caspian had protested, his voice shaking. "I spent three months on those calculations. Preston hasn't even opened the software this week!"

Preston had just laughed, a cruel, mocking sound as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Caspian, look at yourself. Who do you think the board is going to believe? A broke intern from the slums, or a certified designer from a legacy family? Don't make a scene. Just pack your trash and leave before I call security."

Nobody in the room looked Caspian in the eye. They all knew the truth, but money talked louder than honesty in Northbridge.

Now, standing under the freezing rain, Caspian felt a deep, burning ache in his chest. It was the feeling of total helplessness. He checked his phone. His bank account showed exactly twelve dollars and fifty cents. Rent was due in two days, and his landlord was not a patient man.

"It's fine," Caspian whispered to himself, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I still have Gemma. We can figure this out."

Gemma was his girlfriend of three years. They had met in college, and Caspian had spent every spare penny he had taking her to nice dinners, buying her clothes, and trying to make her feel special. He worked extra shifts just to afford the gold-plated necklace she wanted for her birthday. She was his anchor.

He pulled out his phone with trembling, wet fingers and called her.

"Caspian?" her voice answered after four rings. She sounded distracted, the loud music of a high-end cafe playing in the background.

"Hey, Gemma," Caspian said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Are you at the Bistro on 5th? Can I meet you there? Something happened at work."

"Actually, Caspian, I'm glad you called," Gemma said. Her tone was suddenly different. It was cold, sharp, and completely devoid of the warmth he was used to. "You don't need to come find me. I'm already out with someone. And honestly, we need to talk."

A cold pit formed in Caspian's stomach, heavier than the rain soaking his jacket. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we are done, Caspian," she said flatly. "I can't do this anymore. I am tired of eating cheap noodles in your cramped apartment. I am tired of walking everywhere because you can't afford a car. I am a beautiful woman, and I deserve a man who can actually take care of me, not an intern who struggles to pay for a movie ticket."

Caspian felt like the ground was disappearing beneath his feet. "Gemma, please. I just got fired today because Preston stole my design. Just give me a few days. I will find another job, I promise."

A heavy silence stretched over the line, followed by a familiar, mocking chuckle. It wasn't Gemma's voice. It was Preston's.

"Let me take the phone, babe," Preston's voice boomed through the speaker. Caspian could hear the clinking of expensive wine glasses.

"Hey there, loser. Don't worry about Gemma. She's in good hands now. I just bought her a diamond bracelet to celebrate my new project. You know, the project you drew for me? Thanks for that, by the way."

"Preston!" Caspian yelled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone. "Put Gemma on!"

Gemma came back on the line, but there was no regret in her voice. "Don't yell at him, Caspian. Preston is a real man with a real future. He just took me to a five-star restaurant, and we are going to a VIP party tonight. Do yourself a favor and don't call me again. We are from two different worlds."

The line went dead.

Caspian slowly lowered his hand. The rain poured down on his face, mixing with the hot tears of anger and humiliation that finally broke free. He felt completely hollowed out. He had given everything to his job, and it was stolen. He had given everything to his girlfriend, and she had traded him for the very thief who ruined him.

He looked at his soggy box of belongings, then looked up at the massive Vanguard building. The world was unfair. If you were poor, you were invisible. If you were poor, people could step on you, spit on your face, and walk away laughing, and nobody would ever stop them.

"I hate this," Caspian hissed through gritted teeth, his body shaking with a mix of cold and pure rage. "I hate all of you."

He kicked a trash can on the sidewalk, sending his box of office supplies tumbling into a puddle. The cheap plastic mug shattered. The blueprint soaked up the dirty street water, turning into mush. He didn't care. None of it mattered anymore.

He turned around and began walking toward the subway station, dragging his feet. He had no job, no money, no girlfriend, and no future. He was twenty-four years old, and he was completely defeated.

As he crossed the street near the dark alleyway leading to the station, a sudden flash of bright headlights blinded him. The loud, synchronized roar of heavy engines echoed through the wet street. Caspian blinked through the rain, stepping back onto the curb.

A sleek, pitch-black luxury sedan rounded the corner, its tires gripping the wet asphalt perfectly. Then came another. And another.

Caspian watched in total shock as a line of six identical, multi-million-dollar armored vehicles pulled up to the curb, completely blocking the street. They were the kind of cars used by foreign presidents or royal families. The tinted windows were completely black, reflecting the dim streetlights of the city.

The vehicles came to a smooth stop right in front of Caspian.

Before he could even process what was happening, the doors of the five escort cars flew open. A dozen men in perfectly tailored black suits, wearing earpieces and carrying umbrellas, stepped out in perfect unison. They didn't look like regular bodyguards; they looked like highly trained military operatives.

Caspian froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wondered if he was accidentally standing in the middle of a high-profile political hit or a mafia meetup. He stepped back, intending to run down the subway stairs, but two of the suited men quickly stepped into his path, blocking the exit. They didn't look angry; their faces were completely blank.

Then, the rear door of the main, center limousine opened.

An older man with sharp, gray hair and a perfectly groomed beard stepped out. He wore a crisp, dark blue three-piece suit and carried a gold-headed walking cane. Despite the pouring rain, a bodyguard immediately held a massive umbrella over him, ensuring not a single drop of water touched his expensive fabric.

The old man looked around the dingy, dark street, his eyes finally locking onto Caspian's soaking wet, shivering frame. A look of deep respect and intense emotion washed over the old man's face.

He walked directly over the puddles, stopping exactly three feet away from Caspian. The dozen bodyguards immediately formed a protective circle around them, turning their backs to face the street, ensuring total privacy.

Caspian swallowed hard, his voice caught in his throat. "Look, if this is about the trash can I kicked, I'm sorry. I don't have any money to pay for damages."

The older man did not smile, but his eyes softened completely. He took off his leather glove, tucked his cane under his arm, and placed a hand on Caspian's wet shoulder.

Then, to Caspian's absolute horror and confusion, the wealthy old man bent his waist and bowed deeply.

"Young Master Caspian," the man said, his voice loud, clear, and trembling with authority. "We have been searching for you for five long years. My name is Arthur Pendelton, the chief legal executor for the Vance Global Estate."

Caspian stared at him, his mind completely blank. "The what? Look, my last name is Vance, but you have the wrong guy. I'm an orphan. I don't have a family, and I definitely don't have an estate. I have twelve dollars."

Arthur straightened up, pulling a sealed, waterproof leather folder from his jacket. He opened it, revealing a thick stack of legal documents and a photograph. He turned the photograph toward Caspian.

It was a picture of a younger Caspian, sitting on a bench outside his college dorm.

"There is no mistake, Young Master," Arthur said smoothly. "Your biological grandfather was Lord Charles Vance, the founder and absolute ruler of the Vance Logistics and Energy Empire. He passed away three days ago. In his final will, he named you as the sole, rightful heir to the entire family fortune."

Caspian felt his breath catch. He had grown up in a crowded, underfunded orphanage, always wondering why he was left behind. He had assumed his parents were just poor people who couldn't afford him.

"A fortune?" Caspian whispered, his voice trembling. "How much?"

Arthur gave a small, respectful nod. "The liquid assets alone total eighty billion dollars. That does not include the shipping fleets, the real estate properties across three continents, or the private military security firms. As of this moment, you are the wealthiest young man on this planet."

The world seemed to stop spinning. Caspian looked down at his broken shoes, then at the sleek black cars, and finally at the legal documents bearing his full name: Caspian Vance.

Just ten minutes ago, he was a nobody being trampled by the rich. He was a loser who couldn't even keep a girlfriend because of his empty pockets. Now, a man in a multi-million-dollar suit was bowing to him, calling him the owner of an eighty-billion-dollar empire.

"Eighty billion..." Caspian repeated, a sudden, strange spark igniting in his chest. The absolute despair he felt a moment ago suddenly transformed into something else. Something dangerous.

"However, Young Master," Arthur interrupted softly, his expression turning serious. "Your grandfather left one very specific condition in his contract before you can openly claim the throne. If you do not follow it, the entire fortune will be donated to charity, and you will return to the streets."

Caspian snapped out of his daze, his eyes narrowing. "What is the condition?"

Arthur Pendelton looked at Caspian through the falling rain. He adjusted his grip on his gold-headed cane and opened the leather folder a bit wider, shielding the crisp white pages from the wet air.

"Your grandfather was a very wise man, Young Master," Arthur said, his voice calm and steady against the sound of the storm. "He knew that sudden wealth could ruin a young man's character. He also knew that the world is full of greedy people who would pretend to love you just for your bank account. That is why he created the Vance Testing Clause."

Caspian wiped a mix of rain and sweat from his forehead. His heart was still beating wildly. "Just tell me what I have to do. I have already lost everything today. I am not afraid of a challenge."

Arthur nodded, pleased with the spark of determination in the young man's eyes. "The condition has two main parts. First, you must enter into an arranged marriage with a specific young woman chosen by your grandfather. Her name is Sylvia Sterling, the sole heiress to the Sterling Luxury Fashion House."

Caspian frowned. "An arranged marriage? In this day and age? Why her?"

"The Sterling family was once very close to your grandfather, but their business is currently facing massive financial trouble," Arthur explained.

"They are on the verge of bankruptcy. By marrying her, the Vance estate will inject enough capital to save her family's legacy. It honors an old promise."

"And what is the second part of the condition?" Caspian asked, sensing there was more.

"The second part is the hardest," Arthur said, looking Caspian dead in the eye. "You must keep your true identity and your multi-billion-dollar net worth an absolute secret from the public, from the Sterling family, and especially from your new wife, for exactly six months. To the world, you must appear as a normal, low-income man who simply got lucky by marrying into a rich family."

Caspian let out a dry, bitter laugh. "So, you want me to act like a penniless loser who lives off his wealthy wife? I just got dumped by my girlfriend for being poor, and now I have to pretend to be a broke freeloading husband?"

"Exactly," Arthur replied without a hint of humor. "For the next six months, the world will look down on you. Your in-laws will treat you like garbage. Society will call you a leech. But if you can survive those six months without breaking the contract, the entire eighty-billion-dollar empire will be unlocked, and you will be crowned the absolute ruler of the Vance Global Estate."

Caspian turned his head, looking back at the towering glass office of Vanguard Architecture in the distance. He thought about his boss's fake smile. He thought about Preston stealing his hard work and laughing in his face. He thought about Gemma, who was probably at a VIP party right now, sipping expensive champagne and mocking his empty pockets.

If he refused this contract, he would return to his tiny, cold apartment. He would be evicted in two days. He would have to beg for a low-paying job just to buy noodles. He would always be the underdog, the guy everyone stepped on.

But if he accepted this contract, he would have to endure six months of humiliation. Six months of people laughing at him. The difference was, this time, he would know the truth. He would know that he held the power to destroy them all with a single breath. It would be a game, and he would be the one holding all the cards.

A slow, dark smile crept onto Caspian's face. The helplessness he had felt on the sidewalk vanished, replaced by a cold, burning hunger for power.

"Where do I sign?" Caspian asked, his voice completely dropping its hesitant tone.

Arthur smiled a small, satisfied smile. He pulled a heavy, silver fountain pen from his breast pocket and handed it to Caspian. Caspian didn't hesitate. He placed the leather folder against the side of the luxury limousine and firmly wrote his signature at the bottom of the legal document.

"Excellent," Arthur said, taking the pen and the papers back. He immediately handed Caspian a sleek, matte-black titanium card with no numbers or names printed on it. "This is your private allowance card for the next six months. Because of the secrecy rule, you cannot buy mansions or private jets yet. However, this card has a hidden monthly limit of five million dollars. It will bypass standard banking alerts so nobody can track your true wealth."

Caspian took the heavy black card, feeling its cool weight in his palm. Five million dollars a month was considered "poverty" compared to his actual inheritance, but to him, it was an unimaginable amount of money.

"A luxury apartment has already been purchased for you and Miss Sterling," Arthur continued, gesturing toward the open door of the main limousine. "Your clothes and basic belongings have been transferred there. Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, a car will pick you up to meet your new fiancée at the Grand Regency Restaurant. For now, let us get you out of the rain, Young Master."

Caspian stepped into the back of the limousine. The door shut with a heavy, solid thud, completely cutting off the sound of the pouring rain and the howling wind. The interior of the car was pure luxury. The seats were made of soft, heated leather that immediately warmed his freezing body. A small crystal glass of warm water was already waiting for him in the cup holder.

As the line of six black cars moved smoothly into the city traffic, Caspian looked out the tinted window. The city looked different now. The bright neon signs and the massive skyscrapers didn't feel intimidating anymore. They felt like things he would soon own.

Enjoy your time at the top, Preston, Caspian thought, his eyes flashing with a cold light. Enjoy my design. Enjoy Gemma. Because in six months, I am going to tear your entire world down, piece by piece.

The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the city air crisp and clear. Caspian stood in front of the bathroom mirror in his new apartment. The place was large and modern, located in a decent part of town, but it wasn't a mega-mansion, fitting his temporary status as an average guy.

He dressed in a clean but simple white button-down shirt and standard dark trousers. He deliberately avoided wearing anything that looked too expensive. To anyone passing by, he looked like a regular office worker on his way to an interview.

At exactly nine-forty, a modest silver sedan pulled up to the building. It wasn't the fleet of armored limousines from the night before, which would have ruined his cover. It was a simple, unmarked corporate car. The driver, a quiet man in a plain suit, opened the door for him without a word.

Ten minutes later, Caspian walked into the Grand Regency Restaurant. It was a five-star establishment where the city's elite gathered for business lunches. The floors were polished marble, and massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Classical piano music played softly in the background.

The hostess looked at Caspian's simple clothes with a slight air of disapproval, but when he gave his name, her expression instantly changed to surprise. "Ah, yes. Mr. Vance. Right this way, please. The Sterling family is waiting for you in the private dining room."

Caspian followed her through the main dining area, feeling the curious stares of the wealthy patrons. He didn't care. He kept his shoulders back and his chin up.

The hostess opened a large, frosted-glass door at the back of the restaurant. Inside, sitting at a round table covered in a white linen tablecloth, were three people.

An older man with thinning hair and a stressed expression sat on the left-this was Richard Sterling, the head of the family. Next to him was his wife, a sharp-featured woman covered in heavy gold jewelry, looking around the room with an arrogant pout.

But Caspian's eyes immediately locked onto the third person.

Sylvia Sterling was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Caspian had ever seen. She had long, silky dark hair that fell perfectly past her shoulders, pale skin, and striking, icy-blue eyes that looked like sharp glass. She wore a tailored emerald-green dress that showed off her elegant posture. However, her face was completely frozen in a cold, angry expression. She looked like a queen who had been forced to sit with commoners.

As Caspian walked into the room, Richard Sterling immediately stood up, trying to force a polite smile. "Ah, you must be Caspian. Come in, come in. Please, have a seat."

Caspian walked over and took the empty chair directly across from Sylvia. The moment he sat down, Sylvia's mother, Eleanor, openly scoffed, looking at Caspian's cheap watch and plain shoes.

"So, this is the grand heir old Lord Vance insisted upon?" Eleanor whispered loudly to her husband, not care if Caspian heard her. "He looks like a delivery boy. Richard, are you sure this is the only way to save our company? Putting our beautiful daughter with a nobody?"

"Eleanor, watch your mouth!" Richard hissed, sweating slightly as he glanced toward the door, checking if Arthur Pendelton was nearby. "A deal is a deal. The Vance estate will wire the funding the moment the marriage certificate is signed."

Sylvia didn't say a word. She just stared at Caspian, her blue eyes drilling into him with pure coldness. She tapped her manicured fingernails against her water glass, the sound sharp and rhythmic in the tense room.

"Let's not waste time with small talk," Sylvia said suddenly. Her voice was smooth, clear, and as cold as ice. She reached into her designer handbag, pulled out a document, and slid it across the table, stopping it right in front of Caspian's plate.

Caspian looked down. Written in bold letters at the top was: MARRIAGE CONTRACT AND COHABITATION AGREEMENT.

"I don't know what kind of luck you used to get Lord Vance to pick you for this," Sylvia said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "But let's be entirely clear, Caspian. This marriage is nothing but a business transaction to save my family's firm. You and I are from two entirely different worlds."

Caspian picked up the document, flipping through the pages calmly. "I'm listening."

"The rules are simple," Sylvia stated firmly. "We will live in the same apartment to satisfy the legal requirements, but we will sleep in separate bedrooms. You will not touch me. You will not interfere in my personal life or my business. And most importantly, you will tell everyone that you are just an average office clerk. I will not have my friends knowing I married a man with no status."

Caspian looked up from the paper, his expression completely unreadable. He could see the hidden pain and stress behind her cold eyes-she was a proud woman who felt like she was being sold to save her family. He didn't blame her for being angry, but he also wasn't going to let anyone look down on him ever again.

"One year," Sylvia added, her voice sharp. "We stay married for one year to secure the funding. After that, we get a quiet divorce, you take a small cash settlement for your time, and we go our separate ways. Do we have an understanding, or do you want to walk back out to whatever hole you crawled out of?"

Caspian didn't get angry. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a plain black pen, and signed his name on her contract, sliding it back to her.

"One year," Caspian said softly, looking directly into her icy blue eyes. "I can handle that."

The ride to the new apartment was completely silent. Caspian sat in the passenger seat of Sylvia's sleek white sports car, keeping his eyes fixed on the city streets outside. Sylvia drove fast and aggressive, her knuckles tight and white on the leather steering wheel. She did not look at him once. She treated him like he was a piece of unwanted luggage she was forced to carry around.

They finally pulled into the underground parking garage of a high-rise building named The Grand Horizon. Caspian knew this building. It was located in the upscale district of Northbridge, a place where successful corporate managers and minor celebrities lived. It wasn't a place for the ultra-wealthy, but it was lightyears ahead of the cramped, moldy studio apartment Caspian had lived in just two days ago.

Sylvia turned off the engine, grabbed her designer purse, and stepped out without waiting for him. Caspian opened his door, grabbed his simple canvas duffel bag from the back seat, and followed her to the private elevator.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, Caspian found himself standing in a massive, open-concept penthouse. The floors were polished light wood, and a huge wall of floor-to-ceiling glass offered a stunning view of the city skyline. The kitchen featured dark marble countertops and high-end stainless-steel appliances.

"Don't get too comfortable," Sylvia said coldly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island. She turned around and faced him, her icy blue eyes narrowing as she looked at his cheap duffel bag. "As I said at the restaurant, this place was arranged by the Vance estate attorneys so we could live together under the contract. But this is not a real home, and we are not a real couple."

Caspian set his bag down on the floor. His face remained completely calm. After being yelled at by Preston and dumped by Gemma, Sylvia's cold words barely registered as an insult. Compared to his ex-girlfriend's screeching, Sylvia's coldness was almost refreshing. It was professional.

"I remember the rules, Sylvia," Caspian said smoothly. "Separate bedrooms. No touching. No interfering in each other's lives."

"Good. Memory is a useful trait for an office clerk," Sylvia shot back, a slight edge of sarcasm in her voice. She walked down a wide hallway and pointed to a door on the left.

"That is your room. It has its own bathroom. My quarters are at the absolute opposite end of the hall. Do not come near my room, do not knock on my door unless the building is literally on fire, and do not touch anything in the kitchen that belongs to me."

"Understood," Caspian replied.

Sylvia checked her watch, her expression turning stressed and anxious. "I have to return to the Sterling design studio. My company is launching a new luxury clothing line next month, and because of our financial situation, everything is a mess. I don't have time to play babysitter to a house husband. If you need food, order a pizza. Just make sure you clean up after yourself."

Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel and walked straight out of the penthouse, the heavy front door clicking shut behind her.

Caspian stood alone in the quiet luxury of the penthouse. He let out a long breath and walked over to the massive glass window. He pulled out the matte-black titanium allowance card Arthur had given him the night before.

Five million dollars a month.

He had more money in his pocket right now than Sylvia's entire family business needed to survive, yet she thought he was a penniless nobody. The irony brought a small, cold smile to his lips. He didn't mind hiding the truth. It gave him a strange sense of peace. For the first time in his life, he didn't have to worry about rent, food, or survival. He could just watch the game play out.

He walked into his assigned bedroom. It was large and clean, featuring a king-sized bed with crisp white sheets and a private balcony overlooking the city park. On the bed sat a small, unmarked cardboard box.

Caspian opened it. Inside was a brand-new, top-of-the-line smartphone, a slim laptop, and a small black leather wallet containing a driver's license with his name on it, along with a few standard-looking banking cards. At the bottom of the box was a folded note written in elegant cursive.

Young Master Caspian,

The items inside are fully encrypted and secure. The banking cards are connected to a standard, average account that will show a modest salary to anyone who tries to look, keeping your secret safe. The black titanium card remains your primary source of unlimited funds. I have also placed a standard corporate job under your name at a local logistics firm, just in case your new wife demands proof of your employment.

I am always watching from the shadows.

- Arthur Pendelton

Caspian tossed the note into the trash and picked up the new phone. He set it up quickly, transferring his old contacts. The moment the phone connected to the network, it began to vibrate violently with missed calls and text messages.

He opened the messages. They were all from his old co-workers at Vanguard Architecture, and a few were from Gemma.

"Caspian, is it true? Did Preston really take your project?" one co-worker had texted.

"Bro, everyone in the office is talking. Preston is telling everyone you got fired for stealing company data. You need to defend yourself!" another wrote.

Then came Gemma's messages from earlier that morning.

"Don't bother calling me or coming to my apartment to beg, Caspian. I am moving my things out today. Preston is taking me shopping at the luxury district this afternoon. Stay out of my life."

Caspian looked at the words on the screen. He didn't feel the sharp sting of heartbreak anymore. Instead, he felt a cold, calculated desire for justice. Preston hadn't just stolen his design; he was actively destroying Caspian's professional reputation in the city so he could never find another job.

"You think you won, Preston," Caspian murmured, his eyes turning hard as flint. "You think you can erase me."

He unlocked the laptop, opened a secure browser, and entered a private access code Arthur had provided. Within seconds, a secure terminal connected directly to the main database of Vance Global Holdings appeared on the screen.

Caspian's fingers flew across the keyboard. He might have been an architectural intern, but he was brilliant with data and research. He looked up Vanguard Architecture. It turned out that Vanguard was currently trying to secure a massive ten-million-dollar investment loan from a major local bank called Northbridge Financial to fund the very waterfront project Preston had stolen.

Caspian dug deeper. Who owned Northbridge Financial?

A dry chuckle escaped his throat as he read the screen. Northbridge Financial was a subsidiary company completely owned by a larger investment firm. And that investment firm was a tiny, invisible leaf on the massive corporate tree of Vance Global Holdings.

Caspian picked up his new secure phone and dialed a private number. It rang once before Arthur's voice came through. "Yes, Young Master?"

"Arthur," Caspian said, his voice flat and authoritative. "Vanguard Architecture is applying for a ten-million-dollar loan through Northbridge Financial for the new waterfront project. They are using my stolen blueprints to secure it."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of typing. "I see it on my screen now, Young Master. The loan approval is currently sitting on the regional manager's desk, waiting for a final signature tomorrow morning."

"Freeze it," Caspian commanded calmly. "Do not reject it yet. Just hold it. Let them think they are going to get it. I want Preston and my old boss to celebrate first. Let them throw a party. And Arthur?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Find out exactly which luxury boutiques Preston is taking his new girlfriend to this afternoon. I think I want to do some shopping myself."