Chapter 56: William Has Learned Russian
"You… you can actually write music?"
For a moment, curiosity outweighed the shock of the financial windfall. Katya circled behind the desk, picked up the manuscript, and—drawing on her solid artistic foundation—began softly humming from the score:
"I don't want a lot for Christmas…
There is just one thing I need…"
Even sung a cappella, the melody was bright, infectious—immediately uplifting.
William raised a brow, leaning back in his chair as he studied her. "Not bad. You can read staff notation?"
"Don't underestimate me!"
Katya shot back, lifting her chin with a flash of pride. "In high school I was in a real band—lead singer and guitarist."
She waved the manuscript like she'd discovered buried treasure. "This song… William, it's ridiculously catchy. If you handed this to a professional producer, record labels would tear each other apart fighting over it.
But…"
She paused, then shrugged. "You probably don't have those connections. Better to sell the songwriting rights outright to a singer and take a clean payout."
William chuckled at her "tear each other apart" assessment.
"What are you laughing at? I'm serious. This is a hit."
"I know it's good," William said calmly, twirling his pen. "But I've already decided to give it away. To repay a favor."
"To repay a favor?"
Katya's eyes narrowed into a thin, dangerous line. "Let me guess—repaying one of your 'old flames'?"
Clearly, she was thinking of his frequent visits to the recording studio lately—and how he'd leveraged Mariah Carey's connections to solve the film's post-production scoring issues.
In this industry, networking often blurred into something more ambiguous.
Katya slapped the manuscript back onto the desk, her tone tinged with unmistakable acidity. "William, that pretty face of yours really isn't going to waste. Good looks, now musical genius too… I bet half those actresses won't survive your 'gifted songwriter' romantic routine."
The air practically curdled with jealousy.
William spread his hands helplessly. Since recovering his past-life memories, his mind had been consumed with expansion—film, finance, capital leverage. If he was being honest, romance ranked very low on his list of priorities.
Strictly speaking, in this timeline he'd only maintained a mutually beneficial, stress-relieving relationship with Nicole Kidman.
Yet somehow, in Katya's narrative, he'd become a serial heartbreaker casting nets everywhere.
"Put away those wild imaginations," William said, tapping the desk lightly. "This is just strategic reciprocity. What—doesn't that nearly ten million dollars in your precious investment account buy me a little credibility with my chief financial officer?"
Unconsciously, Katya had already stepped into the role of steward of his empire.
Every major ledger, every capital flow—passed through her hands.
As he watched her flushed face—colored not just by argument but something deeper—William's gaze grew thoughtful.
In a country ruled by capital, handing someone this central a position required more than trust.
If Katya ever took a partner…
If she were infiltrated by another interest group…
That vulnerability could explode like a buried charge.
William knew the safest path was to make her truly one of his own.
But he also understood something else—
Binding someone through emotion alone was never enough.
Human variables could not be calculated.
William reminded himself silently that for any major legal documents in the future, he would spare no expense in hiring a top-tier legal team to scrutinize every clause.
In America, lawyers might be greedy—but clearly priced contracts were far more reliable than something as intangible as loyalty.
"Heh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
Katya rewarded William's earlier explanation with yet another dramatic eye roll.
But once the teasing passed, her expression sharpened. The levity vanished from her face, replaced by a seriousness he had rarely seen.
"Let's talk business. Shouldn't we start planning our exit from the Tokyo Exchange?"
Her tone carried an urgency that hadn't been there before.
"The profit curve is already outrageous. If we don't pull out soon and the wind shifts, we could be devoured whole."
As his financial steward, Katya could already smell it—the distant, metallic scent of an approaching financial tsunami drifting across the Pacific.
William rubbed the pen between his fingers thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded.
"I know. The timing is getting close. Let's set the exit point… just before Christmas."
The first half of that sentence made Katya's shoulders loosen in relief.
The second half hit her like a lightning strike.
"Before Christmas? William, are you insane? That's more than a month away!"
She strode forward, planting both hands on the desk. Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with sheer intensity.
"The Nikkei is already at a pathological high!
"If the index drops even five percent, with the leverage we're running, you'll be margin-called instantly. You could lose everything—every last cent!
"Listen to me. You've made enough. If you walk away now, you're a Wall Street prodigy. If you push further, you're just another body buried under the crash!"
Faced with her earnest, almost desperate warning, William simply shook his head.
He couldn't explain to her that the fortress of speculation in his memory would not collapse until the very last day of 1989.
If not for the faint worry that his own butterfly effect might trigger the crisis early, he would have waited until the final second before the New Year's bell tolled.
"I know what I'm doing, Katya."
His voice was calm, but laced with authority.
"The pre-Christmas frenzy is usually the last wave of gains. As long as we exit before that peak breaks, we'll have enough capital to pry open the gates of Hollywood itself."
After he finished, silence settled over the narrow office.
They stood on opposite sides of the desk, locked in a quiet standoff.
William's gaze was steady, deep—like a landowner surveying a harvest he already considered his.
Katya's breathing, by contrast, had grown uneven.
A full minute passed in suffocating stillness.
Then—
"Сука! Блядь!"
Katya finally snapped.
The sharp Russian curse burst out of her like a gunshot, followed by a rapid-fire tirade in her native tongue.
"You arrogant British idiot!
"When you lose even your underwear in the Tokyo Exchange, don't you dare come crawling to me!
"Believe it or not, I'll sell you off to Siberia myself—make you kneel in the snow and sing 'Katyusha' until you freeze solid!"