Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 121: Company Launch! (4): Grant’s Dilemma

Meanwhile, some distance away in one of the wealthier residential streets in Los Alverez, the Hayes Mansion stood like a monument to ambition, perched on a sprawling estate just outside the city's bustling core.

It was a big building, almost similar to Darren's in size, although a bit more grand with a facade that blended old-world aesthetics with modern opulence.

Ivory stone walls climbing three stories, manicured gardens stretched out in every direction, their hedges sculpted into precise geometric patterns, while fountains murmured softly, their waters catching the glow of discreetly placed lanterns.

Past the multiple black SUV's and a particular beautiful red sports car, inside the mansion was where the main business was going on.

In the living room, a cavernous space with mahogany paneling and a fireplace large enough to roast an ox, ten men in expensive suits gathered in a loose semicircle.

Their attire screamed wealth, some wore tailored Brioni jackets, cashmere, goldenweave, Hermès ties, and cufflinks that glinted silver, some gold.

These men were all surrounding one man who sat on the long couch, staring down at the paper on the table.

Grant Hayes, the young heir to the Golden Hay Empire, his boyish face taut with strain.

Today, like always, his light brown hair was neatly combed, his suit pristine, but also like other days, his eyes were tired.

They were wide and uncertain, darting between the men as if searching for an anchor.

These were his father's men: advisors, partners, and employees who'd served Albert Hayes and the Hayes family for decades.

Among them was Gillian Henderson, a young 24 year old with a shark's smile, who had also inherited his father's string of casinos and clubs, Diablo Del Río.

His family, the Hendersons had been a longtime ally of the Hayes family and, ostensibly, he was Grant's friend.

There clearly had been a long enough conversation in the room as the air was now very thick with the scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey, glasses clinking softly as the men leaned in, their voices smooth and practiced.

"Grant," began Vector Callahan, a silver-haired advisor with a voice like polished oak, "we've been over the numbers. The Golden Hayes is too vast for one man to steer alone. Splitting the branches into separate entities — hotels under one leadership, casinos another, theme parks a third — streamlines operations. It's decentralization done right. Each sector gets laser-focused management, optimized for profit."

"Exactly," chimed in Roland Fisk, a portly partner with a Rolex that caught the firelight. "Think of it as portfolio diversification on a corporate scale. You're not losing control, not at all. See, you're empowering specialists to maximize ROI. The hotels alone could see a 15% EBITDA bump in two years with dedicated oversight. And then what about the casinos? They'll be even higher, given the gaming market's trajectory."

Grant shifted in his seat, fingers drumming on the armrest. His mind churned, picturing his father's face— stern, certain, never wavering. "But… It's always been one company. One vision," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

Callahan nodded, as if granting a child's point. "And it still will be, in spirit. But the market's changed, Grant. Conglomerates are unwieldy, too many moving parts. See, we have the chance to challenge for the position of an Empire Company if we do things right here. The Bordeaux Corporation is losing their grip so we must act now."

Another added. "By allocating leadership to each branch, you're future-proofing the empire. MWMO's ready to back this, you know. Their restructuring model's airtight— projected synergies could net you an extra $2 billion in valuation by 2012."

"MWMO's the gold standard," added Leonard Tate, a gaunt man with a lawyer's precision. "Their track record with restructurings is unmatched. Look at the Sinclair Group— post-split, their market cap doubled in 18 months. You'd retain oversight as chairman, Grant. You're not stepping away; you're elevating the whole operation."

Gillian Henderson leaned forward, swirling his whiskey with a casual grin. "Come on, Grant, buddy. This takes the weight off your shoulders. You're juggling a dozen balls at once. Let some of these guys catch a few. You'll sleep better, trust me."

Grant's gaze dropped to the papers on the coffee table, a contract thick with legalese.

'Is this... the right move?'

His chest tightened. He knew he was supposed to trust these men, they worked for his father after all.

Their logic was ironclad, their numbers dazzling. But it felt like carving up his father's soul. "Sagomoto Wealth Offices," he mumbled, almost to himself. "They had a good idea. Consolidate, not split. Why didn't we agree to a deal with them?"

The men exchanged glances, a flicker of impatience passing between them.

Callahan cleared his throat. "You're still on about that? Grant, Sagomoto Offices is small-time. Their plan was a pipe dream. It was too conservative, no scalability. MWMO's got the muscle to align with our vision. They're the ones who'll execute."

"But it's not our vision," Grant said, his voice sharpening. "It's mine. My father's."

Silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable. The men looked at one another again, their expressions coded.

Grant stood abruptly, slipping his hand nervously into his pockets. "Uhmm... I need air... for a moment," he muttered, striding toward the French doors that led to the porch.

Once he got outside, he took in a deep breath of the day's air, the vast estate stretching before him like a kingdom he barely understood.

He gazed at all of it, at the rolling lawns, the distant sways of trees, the cars, the gate, the fountain.

Everything his father had built beyond just this — hotels that touched the sky, casinos pulsing with life, parks where families laughed — was his now.

The pressure was... suffocating.

"Dad," Grant whispered, the word dissolving into the dark. "I wish you were here."

After a while, when he got no response, he exhaled defeatedly. "I really need someone to talk to."

Then, his head lowered and got a glimpse of the paper in his chest pocket. Grant pulled it out.

It was an invitation to the Steele Investments launch party, one he received days ago. He knew he would be busy today so he couldn't come.

But now… Grant thought about it.

He glanced at the letter, then at his Bentley parked nearby. Then back at the letter, then the car.

Inside, the men were regrouping. Callahan leaned toward Gillian, his voice low. "He's stalling. You're close to him so push harder. We need his signature."

Gillian waved a hand, all easy confidence. "Relax, relax. He adores me. It's just a matter of ti—"

The sound engine roaring to life caught him off.

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Gillian's eyes narrowed, then widened. "No, no. Grant?" He bolted for the door, the others scrambling behind.

They spilled onto the porch.

"Grant! Grant! What are you doing?" Gillian yelled.

But the billionaire heir drove down the driveway, and left the mansion, the invitation crumpled in his hand.

Minutes later, he pulled into the Steele Complex, only admiring the glass dome for a moment.

At this point, the launch party was in full swing, and he slipped inside just as the crowd's attention shifted back to the stage.

Darren had just said something witty and inviting to welcome Cheyenne Lamb Bordeaux after her dramatic entrance moments earlier.

Grant lingered near the back, his suit slightly rumpled, but his eyes were completely plastered to the stage as the man speaking was the exact person he'd come here to see.

"And as I was saying..." Darren continued with his speech, his voice carrying through the atrium, clear and steady, every word laced with conviction.

"My gift is what I intend to pioneer this company with. Steele Investments isn't only about making wealth," he said, his eyes scanning the room, connecting with faces one by one. "It's about belief. Belief in a future where one respects their own conviction, their own gut over someone else's. Where others can follow trends and create theirs from it."

He paused, letting the words settle. "Today, I introduce to you Rachel Teschmacher, Kara DeAndre, Sandy Meyers, Simon Wilkes, Marilyn Standard, Amelia Forrest, Jonathan Vance, Daisy Chen, Kaito Sagomoto, Andy Nashville, Edward Blane, and Miranda Sloane. The OG team of Steele Investments."

Each of them smiled or raised a glass when they were called.

"We're launching more than a company. We're launching a promise. A promise to take the unknown and make it ours. To turn volatility into opportunity. And you're all invited to witness it."

The room erupted in applause, glasses raised, faces lit with admiration and cheers.

Grant watched it all, unknowingly smiling. He clutched the invitation in his pocket, while his eyes remained fixed on Darren Steele.

"I really need to talk to that guy."