Chapter 5 - The Glass Tower
An hour later, instead of sitting in his 8:00 AM Macroeconomics lecture, Leo found himself riding in the plush leather backseat of the midnight-black Lincoln Navigator, gliding smoothly down the highway toward downtown Chicago.
Seated beside him was Victoria Sterling, while a quiet, uniformed chauffeur drove with absolute, military-grade precision.
Leo stared out the tinted window as the modest brick buildings of his neighborhood gave way to the soaring, glass-and-steel monoliths of the financial district. The car pulled up beneath the towering, forty-story glass-and-steel headquarters of Sterling-Vance Global Enterprises—one of the largest shipping, real estate, and industrial conglomerates in the country.
"Mr. Vance," Victoria said gently, breaking the silence as the car glided into the subterranean executive parking garage. "I know this is overwhelming. But try to keep an open mind. Everything you are about to see belongs to you."
Leo turned his head sharply, staring at her as if she had spoken in ancient Greek. "Belongs to me? Lady, I told you, I live in a third-floor walk-up and I had to skip lunch yesterday because I gave my last five dollars to an old man. I don't own a corporation."
"You own the holding group that owns this building," Victoria corrected calmly, opening the car door. "And the man who gave you that five-dollar bill yesterday is the one who wants to tell you why."
Leo’s breath caught in his throat. The old man from the diner. The frayed coat, the battered valise, the slate-blue eyes.
“Frank Miller.”
As the private executive elevator whisked them upward past the thirtieth, fortieth, and forty-fifth floors, Leo’s mind spun in wild, frantic circles. Billionaires didn't wander around diners in the middle of the night wearing grease-stained coats unless they were running from something—or testing someone.
The elevator chimed softly, sliding open on the penthouse level.
The top floor was breathtaking—a vast, sunlit sanctuary of polished walnut, modern art, and a curved glass wall offering a panoramic view of the entire Chicago skyline.
Standing by the window, looking out over the city, was Frank Miller.
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He was no longer wearing the oversized wool coat. He wore a custom-tailored navy suit, his silver hair neatly combed, holding a steaming porcelain mug of black coffee. He turned around as the elevator doors opened, his slate-blue eyes locking onto Leo with a deep, profound warmth.
"Welcome to your new office, grandson," Frank said quietly.
