Lex stepped into the Maddox Main boardroom, and adjusting his cuffs. The room was sleek long table surrounded by Zhang's senior team. They were all prepaired dressed in tailored suits, their body language screaming one thing—their weren't here to be impressed. They were here to tear his ideas apart.
He welcomed the challenge.
The one person missing? Natalie Zhang.
Lex's smirk twitched. Figures.
Natalie had been interested in the concept last week, intrigued enough to set up this meeting, but she wasn't here to play middleman today.It meant that—he had to win over her father directly.
At the head of the table, Daniel Liu, Zhang's right-hand man, adjusted his tie as Lex sat at the center of it, completely at ease.
The others at the table sat in perfect stillness, waiting for the dissection to begin.
Daniel open the folder of Lex's WeWork proposal with a soft thud.
Then, he looked at Lex.
His voice was smooth, clipped, surgical.
"This valuation is absurd."
Lex didn't react.
Daniel tapped the folder. "WeWork. Thirty percent at three hundred million. Pre-revenue." He let the words hang. "You want us to back a workspace leasing company at a valuation higher than most profitable startups."
Lex leaned back slightly. "I want you to back a real estate empire."
Daniel's lips curled—not in a smirk, but in something sharper.
"An empire?" He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "This isn't an empire. This is a rental service with a marketing budget."
The words cut, but Lex didn't flinch.
"You think this is just real estate?" Lex said, his voice calm, level. "That's your first mistake."
Daniel's sharp eyes flicked up. "Enlighten me."
Lex reached for the teapot at the center of the table, lifting it with measured ease. Without a word, he poured a cup for Zhang first, then Daniel, then himself. The scent of Longjing tea curled between them.
He set the teapot down without a sound.
"You think I'm selling space," Lex said, swirling his tea. "I'm selling power."
Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Power?"
Lex met his gaze. "Startups and freelancers don't want leases—they want connections. They don't need office space—they need access. Funding. Strategy. Industry insight. That's what WeWork is. A pipeline. They don't just get a desk—they get a network. A workspace where investors, partners, and founders collide. A machine that breeds unicorns."
Daniel studied him, unmoved. "Your machine still depends on a real estate model that burns cash."
Lex smirked slightly. "Only if you don't know how to control supply. I do."
Daniel exhaled through his nose. "You're betting on a commercial real estate crash."
Lex nodded once. "It's not a bet. It's already happening."
Daniel leaned forward, his tone turning sharp. "Then tell me why landlords won't just wait it out. Why won't they let the market rebound instead of selling at a discount?"
Lex took a slow sip of his tea before answering. "Because they can't afford to wait. Most of these properties are leveraged against debt. When the crash hits, the banks won't give a damn about hope. They'll demand liquidity. Owners who can't pay will be forced to sell or default."
Daniel tilted his head slightly. "And you think you can buy fast enough before real players move in?"
Lex smirked. "I am the real player."
A faint murmur ran through Zhang's advisors, but Daniel didn't blink.
Instead, he leaned back, fingers tapping against the folder. "You're confident."
Lex sipped his tea. "I'm right."
Silence stretched.
Then Daniel spoke again, colder this time.
"You're asking for Zhang Capital's money. Which means I need to ask the real question—what happens if you're wrong?"
Lex didn't hesitate. "Then I pivot."
Daniel exhaled through his nose. "Into what?"
Lex set his cup down. "Enterprise partnerships. Direct lease agreements with Fortune 500s. We expand into hybrid work models, partner with commercial developers looking to repurpose space. If the market doesn't collapse, companies will still need flexible work solutions. We control high-demand locations before the trend peaks. Either way, WeWork wins."
Daniel studied him for a long moment.
Then, finally, he nodded slightly. "Your ability to spin a worst-case scenario into a win is impressive."
Lex smirked. "It's not a spin. It's preparation."
Another silence.
Then the door opened.
The air in the boardroom shifted instantly.
David Zhang stepped inside, his movements smooth, controlled, deliberate. He wore a tailored navy suit, no tie, the kind of effortless power dressing that made it clear—he didn't need to impress anyone.
Daniel Liu immediately went quiet, taking a back seat.
Zhang walked to his seat at the head of the table, pulling out his chair without a word. His team straightened instinctively. Lex stayed perfectly still, his posture relaxed, his smirk barely visible.
Zhang finally looked at him. "So," he said, voice calm but sharp. "You're the one making all this noise."
Lex met his gaze. "That depends. Do you like what you've heard?"
Zhang didn't answer. Instead, he tapped the WeWork proposal in front of him once.
"We'll get to this later." He pushed it aside. "First, tell me about your other investments. You've taken over Rizz, Blood Circuit, and Airbnb. None of these were your ideas. You acquired them after others failed. Why?"
Lex's smirk didn't waver. "Because they weren't bad ideas. They were just badly executed."
Zhang's fingers steepled. "Go on."
Lex leaned forward slightly. "Rizz started as a dating app. The problem? It was competing with Tinder and companies that had already dominated the market. That's why it failed."
Zhang studied him. "And what did you do?"
Lex smirked. "I changed the business."
He tapped the table lightly. "Rizz is no longer a dating app. It's a nightlife experience service. We partner with bars, lounges, and clubs—users don't just 'match' with people, they book group experiences, VIP access, and exclusive events."
Zhang raised an eyebrow. "And the numbers?"
Lex folded his hands. "Valuation jumped from $2 million to $100 million in less than a month. Transaction-based revenue, high retention, and a scalable model."
Zhang's lips pressed together slightly. "So you pivoted from dating to paid nightlife experiences."
Lex nodded. "And made it profitable."
Zhang tapped the table again, shifting. "Interesting. And the game?"
Lex exhaled. "Blood Circuit wasn't just a game—it was a missed franchise opportunity. The original dev team built an underground fight club-style game with an incredible world, but they had no marketing, no partnerships, and no industry power to turn it into a real brand."
Zhang tilted his head. "And you do?"
Lex smirked. "I do now."
He leaned forward. "Within one week of relaunching, we hit 500,000 players. Not just casuals—pro gamers, streamers, and esports influencers. It's now a viral title."
Zhang watched him. "And your plan?"
Lex's voice was smooth. "Turn it into a movie."
Daniel frowned. "A movie?"
Lex nodded. "The game has strong characters, a deep world, and a built-in audience. I already have studios interested in licensing the IP." He shrugged. "Merch, movies, sequels—this isn't just a game, it's a franchise."
Zhang's eyes narrowed slightly—not in doubt, but in calculation.
Lex could tell he was interested.
Zhang finally spoke. "And Airbnb?"
Lex straightened. "The real estate market is unstable. Houses aren't selling. Agents are sitting on vacant properties. Instead of waiting for buyers, I'm giving them a new way to monetize those homes."
Zhang's fingers drummed against the table. "You're targeting real estate agents?"
Lex nodded. "Most home rental platforms focus on homeowners. I'm targeting agents with unsold listings. They make money, the owner makes money; I take a cut. Everyone wins."
Zhang leaned back slightly, considering.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"You already have the money, Latham." His voice was smooth, almost bored. "Natalie told me you're sitting on 15 seats for Airbnb. She has 3. The original founders have 1 each."
Lex's expression didn't change.
Zhang tapped the table lightly. "If you already have control, why not just focus? You're spreading yourself thin. Real estate. Gaming. Nightlife. Film. Which one do you actually care about?"
Lex smiled slightly.
"I see one thing, Mr. Zhang."
Zhang tilted his head. "And what's that?"
Lex's voice was steady.
"Opportunity."
Zhang's fingers stopped drumming.
Lex leaned forward. "Everyone in this room sees separate industries—but I see one connected empire. Entertainment, real estate, technology—they don't exist in isolation. They feed each other."
He gestured casually. "The people who play Blood Circuit are the people who use Rizz. The same urban professionals who need flexible workspaces at WeWork. The same people who want short-term housing through Airbnb."
Zhang watched him carefully.
Lex's voice didn't waver.
"I'm not running multiple businesses. I'm building an ecosystem."
A long silence.
Zhang's fingers remained steepled, his expression unreadable. Daniel's sharp eyes flicked between them, waiting for a shift, a crack, any hesitation.
Lex gave them none.
Finally, Zhang exhaled. "Three hundred million. Thirty percent."
Lex didn't move. His black eyes remained steady, unbothered.
"Natalie got the friend price," Lex said smoothly. "The price is firm."
Zhang arched an eyebrow, amused. "So this is about loyalty?"
Lex smirked slightly. "This is about vision. You asked why I don't just focus on one thing—why I don't just put all my energy into one play. But that's not how you build something that lasts."
Zhang leaned back, watching. "Go on."
Lex exhaled, speaking calm, measured, certain.
"I could do this without your money. I have enough capital, enough leverage, enough control to make this happen alone." He tilted his head slightly. "But it'll be a hell of a lot easier with you."
Zhang didn't blink. "And why is that?"
Lex leaned forward slightly. "Because this isn't just about funding. It's about connection."
He let the words settle before continuing.
"WeWork isn't just about renting desks. It's about startup founders, investors, industry leaders—powerful people—colliding in a space where deals happen organically. I'm not just creating an office space; I'm building a pipeline of the next billion-dollar companies."
Zhang's advisors exchanged looks, but Zhang himself remained silent. Listening. Calculating.
Lex continued.
"And then there's real estate," he said, voice smooth. "A market that's about to collapse in slow motion. You asked why I'm confident?"
He smirked slightly.
"My last name is Lexington Maddox Latham."
Zhang's fingers finally stopped drumming.
Lex tilted his head. "I grew up in boardrooms and penthouses. I know this market better than anyone in this room because my family built it. I don't guess—I know how real estate cycles move, where the pressure points are, where the liquidity is drying up. I know when to move, when to hold, and when to strike."
He met Zhang's gaze. Unshaken. Unapologetic.
"And right now?" Lex leaned back, exhaling slowly. "This is the moment to strike."
Another silence.
Then, finally—Zhang smirked.
Daniel didn't say a word.
Zhang exhaled, nodding once. "Three hundred million. Thirty percent."
He extended his hand.
Lex took it. A firm, deliberate shake.
The room exhaled.
Daniel, despite his cutthroat questioning, gave a small smirk. "You're good, Latham."
Lex chuckled, standing as they shook hands.
Deals like this weren't won in the room. They were won three moves ago, before the other side even knew the game had started. Zhang thought he was testing—but Lex was testing his knight.