Three days later, 9:00 AM.
Queens, Office of Umbrella Biotech's First Factory.
The aroma of cheap coffee permeated the air, but to Sarah Mason's senses, the scent was more intoxicating than any top-tier champagne.
The blue light from the slightly aged Dell computer screen on the desk reflected in her almost frozen pupils.
With a crisp 'ding' notification, the Citibank corporate interface refreshed.
[Account Balance Change Notification]
[Credit Entry: USD 10,000,000.00]
[Summary: Series A Strategic Financing / Payer: Osborn Industries Group - Venture Capital Department]
[Remarks: According to the terms of the agreement, the initial funds have been unlocked]
That long string of dizzying zeros was like a shot of adrenaline injected directly into Sarah's heart.
"Ten million, a full ten million dollars."
Sarah's voice was trembling, her finger hovering over the mouse, not even daring to touch it, as if it were a beautiful bubble that would burst at the slightest contact.
"Alice, we've never seen this much money in our lives. Should we contact the private wealth manager at Chase Bank immediately? Even if we buy the most conservative Treasury bonds, the interest would be enough for us to live decently for the rest of our lives."
"Save it? Aunt Sarah, in the game of capital, static currency is just waste paper."
Alice sat on the sofa by the window, not even looking up at the number that could drive an ordinary person crazy.
A laptop was perched on her lap; the screen didn't show a bank account, but rather a dense global supply chain procurement list and a complex heat map of New York City's commercial districts.
"Money only generates energy when it flows—even when it burns."
Alice closed her laptop, stood up, and walked to the massive map of New York on the wall.
Picking up a red marker, she drew two circles on the map.
One circle was on the Upper East Side, a paradise for the wealthy; the other circle, however, encompassed every Walmart and pharmacy across the country.
"Listen, Sarah. Although the t-1 essence has a unit price of 500 dollars, its production is extremely low due to the difficulty of extracting the specific active enzymes. It's not meant to make money; it's our business card, the stepping stone to knock on the doors of Manhattan penthouses and mingle with the elite."
The marker tapped heavily against the map.
"But the true foundation that can support the edifice of Umbrella Corporation, the one that can provide us with a continuous stream of cash flow, is that 20-dollar First Generation Hive Hand Cream."
"High quality and low price with immediate results—that is the nuclear weapon we are going to drop on the mass market."
Alice turned around and placed a fifty-page document titled 'Q3 Expansion and Marketing Strategy' on the desk, jolting Sarah out of her interest-filled fantasies.
"Of this ten million, I want to take out eight million. Five million will go towards expanding the fully automated filling production lines, and the remaining three million will be poured entirely into marketing and channel distribution."
"Our goal is to get onto the shelves of every Walmart, CVS, and Sephora in New York, the U.S., and eventually the World."
Sarah took a deep breath, trying to keep up with her niece's frantic pace, but practical concerns made her frown: "But Alice, entering the mass consumer market means we need massive exposure. P&G and L'Oréal occupy all the prime advertising spots, and current TV ad rates are astronomical. We are a brand-new label with no foundation; those arrogant distributors won't even look at us."
"True, if we take the conventional route, we'll be crushed by the giants. That's why we need an amplifier—one that is currently severely undervalued, but whose voice will spread throughout the World in the future."
A mysterious and confident smile played at the corners of Alice's mouth.
She pulled a high-definition printed photo from her bag and slid it gently across the smooth tabletop to Sarah.
The photo showed a young girl holding an acoustic guitar, her blonde hair in 'ramen' curls.
She wore slightly rustic cowboy boots, and her gaze was somewhat stubborn yet carried the unique innocence of a country girl.
"Who is this?" Sarah asked, picking up the photo in confusion. "She looks like a country girl who just got off a bus from Nashville. We're going to use her? An obscure country singer?"
"Taylor Swift." Alice spoke the name with a tone of someone who controlled the future.
At this time, Taylor was just a newcomer who had just released her first self-titled album.
In the eyes of the mainstream pop scene, she was nothing more than a nobody with a guitar, whining about her adolescent diary—not even a second-tier star.
"We are going to sign her as the global lifetime brand spokesperson for Umbrella Corporation's Hive series hand cream."
"Global? Lifetime?" Sarah's eyes widened. "Alice, she hasn't even made it out of Tennessee yet. This is too risky."
"This is buying at the bottom, Aunt Sarah. Trust my vision." Alice walked to the window and looked at the busy street outside, her gaze seemingly piercing through the river of time to see that future empress standing at the pinnacle of the World, ruling global pop culture.
"Right now, she is a super blue-chip stock undervalued by everyone. She happens to have a small bar concert in New York these next few days; I've already had my assistant make an appointment with her mother."
The same afternoon.
Downtown Manhattan, Blue Note Jazz Cafe.
This was a cafe with excellent privacy; dim lighting and low saxophone music created a languid atmosphere.
When Alice entered the private booth with a refreshed Sarah, the mother and daughter did not show the expected eagerness.
The young Taylor sat in the corner holding her guitar, looking slightly awkward as she scribbled and drew.
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