Chapter 2
“If you can produce results, I won’t care about anything else. Just don’t give up.” Rose poured vast sums into places where his own desires aligned with a company’s goals, and in the end, he proved his choices right by becoming the youngest person ever to appear in the Forbes Top 50 list of the world’s richest people.
Rose was always like this, and his luck was this exact kind. No one understood it, and Rose himself never intended it, but some tidal wave of fortune always seemed to surge in around him.
As a child, Rose made modest stock trades and investments with the allowance he charmed out of adults. At six, he hired a capable trader. At seven, he hired his own tax specialist. At thirteen, he hired a financial officer and an asset management advisor, one after the other. And at nineteen, he founded Doodle Investment, an investment firm created to manage his vastly swollen fortune.
In short, Doodle Investment was a corporate investment firm established solely to manage Rose’s personal assets. That was why, to this day, Doodle Investment still had only one client: Maximillian Rosenberg.
Doodle Investment.
Dynamic, Opportunity, Oriented, Development, Leading, Equity. Dynamic, opportunity-oriented development, in keeping with the rapid changes of our society…
The founding philosophy and deeper meaning attached to the company name, which Brian and the rest of Doodle Investment’s staff had agonized over through all-nighters while tearing their hair out to make a stupid name look less stupid, were known to everyone except Rose himself.
In any case, the important point was that Rose had chosen the name “Doodle.”
When he came up with it, Rose had been searching phrases like “company names everyone will think are funny” on a famous search engine. He liked Doodle even more because it sounded similar to the search engine company he was using.
“Oh, right. Greenpeace got in touch. They’re launching a new campaign.”
“Again…?”
Brian was aghast. The environmental groups Brian privately called “lunatics” or “loan sharks” had a terrible habit of bypassing him and contacting Rose directly. That damn social media was the problem.
“It’s a campaign to protect the pink dolphins of the Amazon River. The slogan is, ‘We’re sorry, from humanity to the pink dolphins, our eternal friends.’ It’s deeply moving.”
Put simply, it meant they wanted a campaign donation.
“How much should I send?”
“Send a million dollars.”
Brian paused, trying to remember how much they had sent last time for the “Save the Penguins, Protect the Home They’ll Return To” campaign, then spoke.
“…If you’re sending that much, why not do an interview about the environment while you’re at it? Motorix Primo’s executives would love it.”
Motorix Primo and Wellington Industries, both global automakers, were locked in a bidding war to acquire the classic car brand Citroën. Motorix Primo had made a small request of Rose, who was both a major shareholder and a celebrity: they wanted him to be seen driving a Citroën.
Citroën, called the most beautiful car in history and armed with a dazzling, unconventional design, was a car that suited Rose well. If that image of Rose were paired with the positive news that he had once again donated a fortune to Greenpeace for the sake of environmental protection…
“Why should I do something that makes them happy?”
“Because Motorix Primo only entered the fight to acquire Citroën because of you, Boss.”
“Did they?”
“They did.”
Rose had decided to acquire Citroën, with Motorix Primo serving as his front. To be precise, it wasn’t that Rose needed the Citroën brand. He simply wanted to ruin something Wellington was putting effort into. Of course, he had also tossed Motorix Primo the justification that acquiring a premium brand like Citroën would raise the company’s value.
“But, Brian Levin. For a while, I’m going to be very, extremely, exceptionally, terribly busy.”
“…Understood. I’ll turn them all down at my level.”
Rose was a man who personally embodied the noblesse oblige of this era. Good deeds like his could not be hidden by something as trivial as refusing an interview. A few days later, through an entirely coincidental turn of events, people all across America would learn the amount written on the check Rose had sent to Greenpeace. Since he had no intention of publicizing it on purpose, he would announce that he would not be doing a separate interview. That way, he would not receive complaint emails from Motorix Primo or Greenpeace.
Having completed an entire scenario in his head, Brian Levin began drafting the email to Greenpeace with a satisfied look on his face.
They were on the road from the airport to the heart of Manhattan, where Rose’s penthouse was located. The jet-black sedan gliding smoothly along the avenue was Motorix Primo’s new model, the Signiti R9R, unveiled a few days earlier at a motor show Rose had attended.
The Signiti, an electric vehicle boasting powerful battery performance and an excellent ride, was famous for its sleek, sports-car-like design and was Rose’s favorite car brand. Especially because it was an electric vehicle that did not belch exhaust.
It happened when the specs for Motorix Primo’s ambitious Signiti R9 were announced.
“I’ll have to request a custom order as a major shareholder.” Rose spoke while sprawled out on the sofa.
“The seat should be fitted to my height. While we’re at it, I’d like one that reclines completely flat. The front and rear seats don’t need to be perfectly partitioned off, but it would be nice if they were. I’d like a screen mounted on the ceiling, as long as it doesn’t interfere with driving. Oh, and blackout curtains. Killer sound goes without saying.”
“Understood.”
So far, so relatively ordinary, Brian thought, nodding as he answered. But Rose’s order continued.
“Oh, could they add a microwave too, so we can heat up popcorn in the car? It’s all electricity anyway. Electric car, microwave, same thing.”
Brian remained speechless.
“And make the body bulletproof. I want it to hold up even if that bastard Wellington fires a missile at it. You know he’s friendly with that Russian maniac, right?”
Resigned, Brian answered faithfully, as his duty required.
“I’ll do my best to convey your wishes, Boss…”
Not all of Rose’s demands could be met, but as many as possible were incorporated, and a fairly convincing premium-spec car was born.
From the thoroughly capitalist perspective that a car this extraordinary could not possibly be produced only once, Motorix Primo released three hundred limited-edition R9Rs called the Rose Premium Edition. Every car was numbered in gold leaf, and the numbering was embossed inside the vehicle in Rose’s own handwriting. The car Rose was riding in bore the number one.
All three hundred units of the Rose Premium Edition had already sold out for the simple reason that Rose had ordered it and drove one himself.
That was exactly why, over the past few days, Rose had been forced to attend Motorix Primo’s new car launch in Germany and pose for several photos beside the car while dressed in a fine tailored suit.
Of course, for those photos, Rose had boarded a plane for the first time in a year. This was a man who almost never left New York, someone mocked with the nickname the Closet Ghost of Broadway.
“Anyway, planes don’t give you any personal space.”
Rose, a man who refused to buy a private jet for the sake of the environment, grumbled. Brian wanted to argue that first class provided more than enough personal space, but he swallowed it down.
Rose’s complaints about this trip continued without pause.
“And another thing, the reporters are a problem too. I told them not to use flash, and not one of them listened. I think my skin is completely ruined. Starting tomorrow, I’m getting skincare treatments regularly again. Oh, and I need to work out. I haven’t done it for four whole days. If Kevin finds out, he’ll try to kill me. So I’m going to be very busy for a while. Got it?”
Brian quickly pulled out his work phone and rapidly typed out a series of messages.
—Dear Lily, did you get a good few days of rest? You can come back to work starting tomorrow. I’ll tell you in advance, but you’d better cancel your vacation plans. You’re going to be busy for a while…
—Lily: I knew this would happen :(
—Kevin, it’s Brian. The Boss is back. This trip was rather demanding. So please do not mention anything about his schedule over the past few days, and come in to work starting tomorrow.
—Kevin: What? Our Boss couldn’t work out properly for several days? You mean that beautiful body has started losing muscle. Understood, starting tomorrow, a special routine…