World's Richest Man: I Leaped Across Time

After a good night's sleep, I found myself back in the kitchen, sipping coffee.

In front of me was the open letter from Freewinds.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number.

It didn't take long before someone answered, "Good morning."

"Good morning," I replied.

"What's the purpose of your call?" the woman on the other end asked, her tone neutral.

"... Freewinds?"

"Yes, sir. I will transfer your call on to my coworker." All of a sudden, she changed her tone to a polite one. "Have a nice day."

After a few rings, another woman's voice came through, higher-pitched. "Sir, may I have your name?"

I paused for a moment. "I don't know. Should I tell you my name?"

She laughed softly. "That depends on how much you want to know, Mr. Somnus."

I froze just for a second. "I guess you know my phone number... If you already know my name, why ask?"

"To build a little trust..."

"Well, you didn't."

"Mr. Somnus," she continued smoothly, "I'm an operator at Freewinds. I'm here to answer any questions you might have and clear up any doubts."

"Alright, then." I leaned forward, still holding the phone to my ear. "Are the gatherings of this club, and the club itself, legal?"

"The Freewinds Club is a legal entity, approved by the government," she replied without hesitation.

"Then how come I can't find any information about it online?"

"The Freewinds name is just the insider term. Only when you agree to joining the club will you get to know what the public face of the club is."

"Just so you know, I'm being monitored by federal agents and the Secret Service is part of my security. If the club's legal, that shouldn't be a problem, right?" I pressed.

"Sir, our gatherings are protected by the Secret Service themselves," she answered smoothly. "There will be no issues. The government doesn't mind the meetings."

I raised an eyebrow. "The Secret Service provides security for the gatherings? Are government officials part of this club?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you tell me at least one name of a government official who's part of this club?"

"That won't be possible, Mr. Somnus," she replied calmly. "We keep the names of our members absolutely private."

I smirked, half-expecting that response. "Are there any Floridian politicians involved?"

"Yes," she answered without a pause.

I sat back, considering her words. "Interesting," I muttered.

I leaned forward, tapping the edge of the table lightly with my fingers. "Alright then, how does the signing-in process work?"

"It's nothing complicated, we will have a government official pick you up in a car and take you to a meeting where you'll officially join our club. There are just a few things you'll need to do—like make a small donation to the club. After that, you'll be able to enjoy all the benefits of membership."

"Benefits? You mean having access to the gatherings, or is there more?"

"All I can say, sir, is that there are certain advantages for high-ranking members of the club. Those benefits are part of why most members remain with us for life," she said, her tone a little mysterious.

I paused for a moment. "I'm going to postpone my decision for now."

"Of course," she said, her voice as polite as ever. "We're not forcing anyone. Take your time, Mr. Somnus."

After disconnecting, I sat there, mulling over what the woman told me.

Government officials from Florida were part of the club. If politicians were rubbing shoulders with rich, influential people, it could easily turn into a breeding ground for bribery or lobbying.

Just like the letter stated—a place where the wealthy build their networks.

This makes me think back to that incident with Tom King, President of the Florida Senate.

The way the Johnson family was somehow setting up secret meetings with him and other senators, slipping them gifts so they'd speak highly of the companies they had stakes in...

Possibly, if Arnold Johnson and Tom King were both a part of this... club. Then they could have made those connections during those meetings.

Well... I was about to find out because the meeting with Sam's father was set up for today.

In the time that I was thinking all this, Charlotte came into the kitchen wearing my white t-shirt, which only just covered her butt. Her legs looked amazing.

She made herself a cup of coffee and got closer to me.

She raised one of her legs over mine and sat on my lap, facing me. The hem of the t-shirt ran up, exposing her black panties.

I put the phone away and held her petite body.

She smiled and gave me a kiss. "Morning, babe."

"Morning."

"What were you thinking so hard about that you didn't notice me coming in?"

"I dunno," I said.

"You don't know?" Charlotte replied, "everything okay?"

I nodded, "yeah, just ... was thinking about you..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah ... just ... been thinking ... about you..."

"You said that already."

...

After a long day at the university, Sam's bodyguards led me to his car. Sam was already waiting inside.

We were heading to Miami for the meeting with his father.

As we hit the highway, the hum of the road filled the car.

For a while we talked about some down-to-earth stuff, but when we were about to drive off the highway, I took a quick look at him.

"Hey Sam, I know this is a sudden question, but how did your father gain all those connections? Even the public knows that he should have been jailed already. How can he silence government officials like that?"

He didn't answer right away. The silence dragged on.

"So, you don't know?" I pressed.

Sam sighed. "He just knows people."

"Did you ever see him speak with any government officials? Maybe on a call, or at some meeting?"

Again, silence. Then, quietly, "No. He probably has some... meetings, but nothing he wants his family to know about."

I leaned back, mulling it over as we neared Miami.

The city lights bounced off the water as we pulled into a villa near the beach.

Security checkpoints flanked the entrance, and we passed through without much trouble.

We stepped inside the house, greeted by the same massive, stunning atrium I'd seen before, stretching from the ground floor all the way to the ceiling.

"Right on time!" someone called out.

I looked over to the center of the atrium on the left side, where two couches were set on either side of a glass table.

Sitting on the couch facing us was Arnold Johnson. Next to him sat Adam, his accountant, whose hair was escaping from his head.

As a maid helped me slip off my jacket, my attention drifted back to Arnold.

Something about him felt... different.

Sure, his hair was still fully intact in contrast to Adam's balding scalp. But there was more to it. His eyes—just as sharp and unyielding as the last time we met—were the same, but his face... did he have fewer wrinkles?

Maybe a plastic surgery? He looked younger somehow. Maybe it was the lighting.

As I approached them with Sam, Arnold smiled at me with calculated charm. "Good to see you again, Mr. Somnus."

Sam stepped forward to greet his father. "Hi, Dad."

Arnold looked at him, his face softening just slightly. "Welcome, my son. Please, both of you, have a seat." He gestured to the couch with a wave of his hand.

As we sat down, Arnold's eyes flicked to a maid who had appeared silently behind us. "Anna, bring the guests some coffee."

She gave a slight bow. "Yes, sir," she replied, before disappearing quietly out of the atrium.

Arnold then turned his gaze back to me, his smile fading into something far more serious. "So... Jack," he started, his voice low but pointed. "I've heard that you're trying to ask for my help. But I think you've got it all wrong."

I felt a knot form in my stomach.

Arnold leaned forward, locking his eyes on mine. "What did you do, Jack, that my son is now in danger because of you? You need to explain yourself clearly," he said, his words icy. "Otherwise, you won't just lose any chance of getting help—you'll put yourself in even more danger."

I steadied myself before answering. "All I know right now is that I've caught the attention of an expert hacker from an organization called Zero, which... from what I understand, is based in Russia. The person leading it seems to hate me, and the reason—at least from what I can tell—is my quick rise in wealth."

Arnold's expression didn't change, but the air around us felt colder.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes still piercing mine. "I've heard people in my circles talk about you," he said, with an edge of amusement. "The luckiest investor of the century. Some say the smartest." His lips curled into a strange smile. "Jack... I hear you spouting off about Zero this, Russia that...

wealth, haters, hackers... But... the risk-reward ratio just doesn't match up, Mr. Somnus."

He turned his head to Adam, his accountant. "Speak up, Adam."

Adam straightened, meeting my eyes. "We've done some research, Mr. Somnus. On the movements of Russian oligarchs, other influential entities... and the attention they're paying to you... The risks they seem to be taking to...

let's say, stand in your way—well, they're disproportionate to your current worth."

Sam spoke up. "I am pretty sure Jack did not do anything that would warrant this."

"Quiet, Sam." Arnold said.

I took a deep breath and looked at Arnold, trying to keep my composure. "Before we continue, Mr. Johnson, I have a question for you. Do you know what Freewinds is?"

Silence.

No answer, only a slight vibration of Arnold's eyebrow.

Just then, the maid returned with our coffees.

Arnold turned to her, breaking the silence. "Anna," he said, "while you're at it, bring us a bottle of whiskey from my stash. The Macallan 18-Year-Old Sherry Oak, if you would."