The ballroom glittered with laughter and music, but Michael could feel the undercurrent shifting. His performance so far—smooth words, confident bluffing—had won a few curious glances and polite nods.
But not everyone was impressed.
"Mr. Chen, was it?"
The voice came from a tall, heavyset man with a walrus mustache and a cigar clenched between his fingers. He stepped forward, the circle of businessmen parting to let him in. His name surfaced from Michael's memories—Howard Klein, an old-guard investor who scoffed at technology until it was too late.
"Yes?" Michael replied, keeping his tone calm.
Klein's eyes narrowed. "You talk a big game about the future. Internet this, logistics that. But I've been in this business for thirty years. Men like you come and go. Fancy words, no real proof." He jabbed his cigar toward Michael's chest. "Tell me, boy, what makes you think you know more than people twice your age?"
The air grew taut. Guests leaned closer. Even the jazz band's tune seemed to dim.
Michael smiled faintly. Inside, his mind whirred. He couldn't spout specifics—talking about Amazon or Google by name would sound insane. But he could hint, plant seeds.
"With respect, Mr. Klein," he said, "experience is valuable—but it can also be blinding. You've seen the world as it is. I'm looking at the world as it will be."
Murmurs rippled. Klein's face darkened. "Bold words. Empty words."
"Then let's test them," Vivian Wu's voice chimed in, smooth and amused. She had drifted back into the circle, her crimson dress shimmering like firelight. Her eyes sparkled as they locked on Michael. "You claim to see tomorrow, Mr. Chen. Predict something for us. Something tangible."
A hush fell. Even Klein smirked, folding his arms. "Yes. Let's hear this so-called vision."
Michael's pulse quickened, but he forced a casual sip of champagne. This was the knife's edge. Too vague, and he'd look like a fraud. Too specific, and he'd sound insane.
He set his glass down gently. "Fine. Within the next five years, companies that can harness digital communication—email, online networks—will explode in value. Stocks that are pennies today will be worth fortunes. Cisco. AOL. Microsoft. Watch them closely."
Gasps circled. Some faces lit with curiosity, others with skepticism.
Klein barked a laugh. "Ridiculous! Machines talking to each other? Nonsense. My money's in steel and shipping. Real businesses, not fairy tales."
Michael's smile sharpened. "And yet, Mr. Klein, even steel has to be shipped. Even goods need tracking. The world doesn't shrink with boats and trains—it shrinks with information."
The words struck like a spark in dry grass. Several men nodded slowly, murmuring.
Vivian tilted her head, studying him with fresh intensity. "A clever argument," she said. "But clever isn't the same as correct. What if you're wrong?"
Michael met her gaze, unflinching. "Then I'll fail loudly. But if I'm right…" His eyes swept the crowd. "Those who listened will change their fortunes forever."
The silence held for a beat, then broke in laughter and applause. Not mocking—impressed. Even those who doubted him seemed entertained by his audacity.
Klein scowled, muttering into his cigar, but the tide had shifted. Michael had passed the test.
Later, as the crowd thinned toward the buffet tables, Michael found himself standing by a window overlooking the city lights. His heart still raced from the exchange, but he hid it beneath a calm facade.
"You enjoy playing with fire."
He turned. Vivian stood beside him, her glass of wine catching the light. Up close, her presence was almost overwhelming—poise honed from wealth, beauty sharpened by wit.
Michael smiled. "Only if the fire's worth it."
Her lips curved. "Most people would have buckled under Klein's challenge. Instead, you made half the room want to follow your fairy tale." She leaned slightly closer. "So tell me, Mr. Chen, what are you really after?"
Michael held her gaze. For a moment, the noise of the ballroom faded, leaving only the two of them suspended in the glow of the chandeliers.
"What I'm after," he said slowly, "is a future where my family doesn't have to choose between rent and dinner. Where hard work actually pays off. And maybe, along the way, a chance to prove that vision matters more than pedigree."
Vivian studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. "You speak like a revolutionary."
"Or a lunatic," he admitted with a grin.
Her eyes sparkled. "Perhaps both. But I'll admit—you're interesting, Mr. Chen. And that's not something I say often."
Michael's chest tightened at the words, though he kept his smile steady. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Take it however you like," she said, finishing her wine. Then, with a graceful turn, she drifted back into the crowd, leaving the faintest trace of perfume in her wake.
Michael exhaled slowly, his hand tightening around his glass. Interesting. That was a start.
And starts are everything.
By the time the gala ended, Michael had collected a handful of business cards and more than a few curious looks. Some wrote him off as a bold dreamer. Others seemed intrigued enough to want another conversation.
As he stepped out into the crisp night air, the skyscrapers looming against the dark sky, he felt something ignite in his chest.
This was only his first step, but it had been the right one.
The future wasn't waiting for him to catch up. He was already chasing it down.