Chapter 4: Survival of the Fittest
4261words
Victoria wakes up at precisely seven o'clock every morning, and her morning routine is like a carefully choreographed ballet. First comes yoga, a forty-five minute private session in a dedicated gym; then skincare, using expensive European brands; followed by makeup, which she applies perfectly even if she's just staying at home; and finally selecting the day's outfit, each one meticulously coordinated.
By the third day, I had begun to mimic her schedule. When she walked out of her bedroom at seven, I was already sitting in the living room, fully dressed with a copy of The Wall Street Journal in my hands.
"Good morning, Madam Victoria," I said politely, "The coffee is ready, it's Colombian beans, your favorite."
She paused, looking at me with a scrutinizing gaze. "How did you know I like Colombian beans?"
"I noticed that you chose Colombian beans for your coffee yesterday morning," I answered, "and you brew it a bit longer than other varieties, which I believe indicates your preference for this particular taste."
A hint of surprise flashed through Victoria's eyes, followed by an expression I couldn't fully interpret. "Very observant," she commented briefly, then walked toward the kitchen.
But I noticed she accepted the coffee I had prepared.
Richard's schedule was more regular, and also more intense. He would wake up at five-thirty every day, leave precisely at six, and rarely return home before eight in the evening. Before his departure, I would always wait in the hallway to hand him the day's newspaper and a cup of hot coffee.
"Is your meeting today about Lehman Brothers?" I asked on the fifth morning while handing him his coffee.
He took the cup and gave me a surprised look. "How did you know that?"
"Last night when you answered the phone, you mentioned '58 billion in exposure' and 'the possibility of a government bailout,'" I replied, "The Wall Street Journal's headline today is exactly about the crisis Lehman Brothers is facing."
Richard put down his coffee cup and observed me carefully. "Emma, how much did you understand?"
"Not much," I admitted honestly, "but I'm trying to learn. I want to understand your world, to understand what this crisis means for everyone."
"Why?" his question was direct.
I was silent for a few seconds, then looked up directly into his eyes. "Because I don't want to be a helpless bystander anymore. I want to control my own destiny, and in this world, money is power."
He was silent for a long time, then nodded. "When I come back tonight, we'll talk."
That afternoon, Victoria took me shopping. This wasn't ordinary shopping—we went to those high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue, places I had only seen in magazines before.
"If you want to live in New York, you need to look like you belong here." She said while browsing through Chanel's latest styles, "Appearance isn't everything, but it is the first impression, and first impressions often determine what kind of people you'll get to meet."
We spent the entire afternoon choosing clothes for me. Victoria's taste was very selective, and she rejected many styles that I thought were beautiful.
"Too young." She shook her head at a pink dress, "You need to look more mature."
"Too plain." She frowned at a simple suit, "You need to have your own style."
"Too flashy." She waved off a bright red coat, "Being too eye-catching makes people think you lack taste."
In the end, we chose several understated yet elegant outfits: a deep gray cashmere coat, two impeccably tailored suits, several high-quality dresses, and some exquisite accessories. When I saw the price tags, I could barely breathe—this afternoon's shopping had cost more than the orphanage's entire annual operating budget.
"This is too expensive," I said. "I can't let you spend so much money on me."
Victoria paused as she was about to swipe her card and turned to look at me. "Emma, what do you think charity is?"
"I... I don't understand what you mean."
"Charity isn't giving without compensation," her voice was calm, but carried a businessperson's rationality. "Charity is an investment. We're investing in you because we expect to see returns. Perhaps not financial returns, but at least some... manifestation of value."
I understood her meaning. These expensive clothes weren't gifts, but tools—tools to help me blend into their world. But at the same time, this was also a test, testing whether I could understand the nature of this exchange.
"I understand," I said, "I'll work hard to prove this was a wise investment."
A barely perceptible smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "I trust you will."
That evening, Richard kept his promise. He took me to his study—a place filled with finance books and economic reports. On the walls hung photos of him with various important figures: government officials, corporate executives, Wall Street legends.
"Emma, I want to ask you a question," he poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to me, "what do you truly want?"
I took the glass, and although the smell of alcohol made me frown, I tried to appear composed. "I want security."
"Security?"
"Yes." I put down my glass, "I've never truly felt secure in my life. In the trailer park, I worried every day that Lake would kill me. In the orphanage, I was always afraid of being abandoned. Now, even in this beautiful place, I still know this arrangement is 'temporary'."
Richard listened in silence.
"The security I want isn't from other people's pity or sympathy," I continued, "but from my own strength. I want enough money, enough status, enough influence so that no one can easily abandon or hurt me."
"That comes at a great cost," he said.
"I know." I looked into his eyes, "I've already paid it."
His expression grew serious. "What do you mean?"
I instinctively wanted to avoid the question, but then realized this might be a crucial moment. Richard isn't the type to be moved by emotional stories; he appreciates pragmatism and results-oriented thinking more.
"Mr. Michael originally established a trust fund for me," I said, "but before his death, he decided to revoke this arrangement."
"Why?"
I remained silent for a long time, carefully considering how to respond. Some truths are too dangerous to be spoken aloud. "I think... perhaps it was due to the pressure of the economic crisis. The orphanage needed funds to maintain operations, and I was about to come of age, no longer his direct responsibility."
Richard's gaze grew sharper, clearly detecting that I wasn't telling the whole truth. "Emma, in the business world, withholding information is sometimes necessary, but lying to allies is foolish."
His words gave me a strange sense of security. This direct and rational way of communicating reminded me of Michael, but Richard was calmer, more... dangerous.
"You are right." I put down my glass and looked straight into his eyes, "The truth is, Mr. Michael began to be...wary of me. Perhaps because I appeared too dependent on him, or perhaps because he sensed that I was not just a child who needed care. But the specific reason, he did not tell me."
"So what did you learn?"
"I learned an important lesson: excessive dependence makes people feel burdened." I raised my glass and drank it all at once, "If you want to get something, the best way is to make the other person feel that giving to you is their choice, not an obligation."
He observed me quietly, as if reassessing something. I noticed that there was something in his eyes that I had never seen in Michael's - not sympathy, but a kind of calm analysis, like evaluating a valuable piece of art.
"And Michael's death... do you think it was an accident?"
This question made my heart race, but I maintained a facade of calm. "Heart attacks are usually sudden." I paused, "But sometimes I wonder, if he hadn't been under so much pressure, if he could have handled complicated situations more... calmly, perhaps the outcome would have been different."
"Are you blaming him?"
"No," I shook my head, "I'm understanding him. Michael was a good man, but he let his emotions affect his judgment. He taught me many things, including how not to repeat his mistakes."
Richard poured another glass of whiskey, this time he poured one for me too. This small gesture gave me a certain satisfaction of being acknowledged, just like when Michael first allowed me into his office.
"Emma, I want to tell you something about Wall Street." His voice was deep and magnetic, reminding me of Michael's tone during late-night conversations. "This isn't a charity, nor is it a school. This is a battlefield where everyone fights for survival. The weak will be eliminated, and the strong will gain everything. But the strong don't rely on brute force—they rely on wisdom, strategy, and the ability to control their emotions."
I found myself deeply drawn to his words. Richard possessed a quality that Michael never had—absolute confidence and control. In his presence, I felt both awe and security, and this complex emotion troubled me.
"I want to learn how to be strong," I said. "I want you to teach me."
"That takes time, and opportunity." He paused, his gaze becoming profound. "But if you truly want to learn, I can teach you. However, my teaching method differs from Michael's. He teaches you kindness and morality; I teach you survival and victory."
I felt a tightness in my chest. This feeling of being chosen by a powerful and dangerous man reminded me of the thrill I felt six years ago when Michael first showed special interest in me. But Richard made me feel something more intense, more... adult.
"I'm willing to learn," I said, my voice slightly unsteady, "whatever you wish to teach me."
"Next week, my company will host a cocktail party to introduce new investment opportunities to some important clients." A flash of something like pride crossed his eyes, "I've decided to bring you along. This will be your first lesson—learning to disguise yourself as a sheep among wolves, while secretly observing each wolf's weakness."
"Will those people try to test me?"
"Of course they will." His smile held a dangerous charm, "They'll try to judge your worth, probe your boundaries, look for your weaknesses. But if you perform well enough..."
"If I perform well, you'll continue to teach me?"
"I will consider making you my true student." His gaze became serious, "But remember, Emma, the teacher-student relationship is sacred. You need absolute loyalty and trust."
His words reminded me of something similar Michael had once said, but back then I was too young to understand the complexity of such a relationship. Now I understand, and this understanding both excites and frightens me.
Over the next few days, Victoria began teaching me something she called "social skills." This included how to shake hands (firmly but not too forcefully), how to maintain eye contact (confident but not threatening), how to find suitable topics in conversation (avoiding overly personal or politically sensitive content), and most importantly—how to make others feel comfortable without revealing your true thoughts.
"Remember, Emma," she said while adjusting my posture, "at these occasions, everyone is playing a role. The key is to find the right role and play it well enough."
"What is an appropriate role?" I asked.
"For you, it should be a clever but humble young woman, with an interesting background but not threatening to anyone. You need to make them feel you're worth paying attention to, but also make them feel you're safe."
"Safe?"
"Won't take their positions, won't reveal their secrets, won't become a threat to them." Her smile was perfect, but her eyes carried a calculation that I was beginning to understand, "On Wall Street, the most dangerous people are often those who appear most harmless."
I made a mental note of this.
The night before the cocktail party, I lay on that expensive bed, gazing at the exquisite decorative pattern on the ceiling. Three weeks ago, I was still a girl from an orphanage, with my biggest dream being to have a stable future. Now, I was about to attend a gathering of Wall Street elites, beginning my true path of transformation.
I remembered Michael's words: "Elena will definitely like you." I gently stroked the pearl necklace on my neck, imagining how his late wife would view me now. Would she be proud of me? Or would she be afraid of who I was about to become?
But none of that matters anymore. What matters is tomorrow's performance, and the opportunities this performance will bring me.
I took out a small mirror from the bedside table drawer and practiced smiling at it. Not that sweet girlish smile, nor a fake social smile, but a new expression—confident, clever, slightly mysterious, attractive enough but not threatening.
"Tomorrow," I whispered to myself in the mirror, "Emma Modest will die, and a completely new person will be born."
Outside the window, Manhattan's neon lights flickered, never ceasing like the heartbeat of this city. In those lights, I saw my own future—not a future given to me by others, but one I would create with my own hands.
The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual. I needed time to prepare, to ensure every detail was flawless. This wasn't just a social gathering; this was my entrance exam, my chance to prove my worth.
I chose the deep blue suit that Victoria had selected for me, paired with simple yet elegant pearl earrings. My makeup was refined but not excessive, my hairstyle elegant but not rigid. When I stood before the mirror, I no longer saw the girl from the orphanage, but a young woman who belonged in this world.
"You look great," Victoria appeared behind me, her eyes showing something close to approval for the first time. "Remember everything we practiced."
"I will." I turned to face her, "Madam Victoria, I want to thank you. Not just for the clothes and training, but for... the opportunity."
She nodded slightly. "Don't disappoint us, Emma. On Wall Street, second chances are a luxury."
When Richard came downstairs, I noticed he was dressed more formally than usual today. This wasn't just an ordinary business gathering, but an important occasion.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," I answered, but my heart was racing.
On the way to the reception, Richard briefed me on some people and topics I needed to know about.
"The most important client tonight is James Webb, the founder of Webb Fund, who manages over ten billion dollars in assets. His wife Sarah is an art collector with a special interest in young artists."
"And Mark Stanford, he's the CEO of Stanford Energy Company, looking for new investment opportunities. He recently got divorced, so avoid discussing family topics."
"Finally, there's Anna Reynolds, a senior reporter for Fortune magazine and one of the most influential media figures on Wall Street. She's smart and also dangerous. Don't try to deceive her, but don't reveal too much personal information either."
I carefully memorized each name and related information. These people weren't just potential business partners, but key to my entry into this world. If I could make a good impression on them, my future would have more possibilities.
The reception was held at a top hotel in downtown Manhattan. When we entered the venue, I was stunned by the sight before me. Crystal chandeliers sparkled brightly, men and women dressed in designer clothing conversed elegantly, and the air was filled with the scent of champagne and expensive perfume. This was the taste of power, the sound of wealth.
"Remember," Richard whispered in my ear, "you're the adopted daughter of Michael Branford, considering a career in finance. You're smart, ambitious, but also humble."
I nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped into this glittering world.
The first person to approach us was James Webb. He was a man in his sixties, with graying hair but a vigorous spirit, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"Richard!" he extended his hand, "Good to see you. I hear things are bad at Lehman?"
"Yes, the situation isn't looking good," Richard shook his hand, "James, I'd like to introduce a special guest. This is Emma Modest, my brother Michael's..."
"Adopted daughter." I picked up where he left off, extending my hand to Mr. Webb, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Webb. I often read about you in The Wall Street Journal."
Weber gripped my hand, his handshake was firm, while simultaneously observing me carefully with those sharp eyes. "You're very young. Are you interested in finance?"
"Very interested," I replied, "especially against the backdrop of this economic crisis. I believe crises often also mean opportunities; the key is having enough wisdom to identify them."
A flash of surprise crossed his eyes. "Interesting perspective. What kind of opportunities do you think the current crisis will bring?"
This was a test. I knew he wanted to evaluate my knowledge level and thinking ability. I recalled all the financial news and Richard's explanations I had read over these weeks.
"I believe the greatest opportunity lies in redefining value," I said, "When the market panics, many quality assets become severely undervalued. For investors with sufficient cash and risk tolerance, this is a rare acquisition opportunity."
Weber nodded, obviously somewhat satisfied with my answer. "You mentioned 'capacity to bear,' which is very important. Many people only see the cheap price but ignore the risks."
"Yes," I continued, "the most dangerous thing now isn't high prices, but insufficient liquidity. Without adequate cash flow, even the best investments can turn into disasters."
At this moment, his wife Sarah walked over. She was an elegant woman wearing an expensive dress and a rather impressive diamond necklace around her neck.
"Who is this young lady?" she asked, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp.
"Sarah, this is Emma Modest," Weber introduced. "She just offered some insightful perspectives on the current financial crisis."
"Is that so?" Sarah smiled at me, "Emma, how old are you?"
"Eighteen, ma'am," I answered.
"Having such a profound understanding of finance at just eighteen is quite remarkable." Her tone sounded like praise, but I sensed a probe behind it, "Where did you learn all this?"
"Mainly through reading and observation," I answered honestly, "I've found that the best education often comes from the real world, not textbooks."
"The real world is indeed the best teacher." She nodded and said, "But sometimes it's also the cruelest teacher."
Just then, Anna Reynolds walked over. I immediately recognized her—a woman in her forties, with short hair, sharp eyes, and an air of sensitivity and alertness unique to journalists.
"Richard, I heard Goldman Sachs is considering some radical restructuring plans?" She went straight to the point, but her gaze lingered on me for a few seconds.
"Anna, you know I can't disclose internal company information." Richard replied, though his tone was friendly.
"Of course not." She smiled, then turned to me, "But you can introduce this young lady. She looks...interesting."
I sensed some danger. This woman's professional instinct told her there was a story behind me. I needed to respond carefully.
"I am Emma Modest," I said proactively, "the adopted daughter of Richard's late brother."
"Michael Branford," Anna said thoughtfully, "I remember him. He managed that orphanage, right? Passed away a few weeks ago."
"Yes." My voice carried an appropriate measure of sadness, "He was a very kind man."
"I'm sure he was." Anna's gaze grew sharper, "So now you're living with the Branford family?"
"Mr. Richard and Mrs. Victoria have very generously provided me with temporary accommodation," I replied, "until I can live independently."
"Do you have any plans?"
"I'm considering applying to university, possibly business school," I said. "I'm interested in finance and business."
Anna nodded, but I could tell she had more questions to ask. Fortunately, someone called her over to discuss another topic, so she had to leave for now.
"You handled that well," Richard whispered to me after she left. "But be careful with Anna. She's clever and persistent. If she thinks there's a story behind you, she won't give up easily."
In the following hour, I was introduced to more people. There were bankers, fund managers, corporate executives, government officials. Each conversation was like a mini interview, with everyone assessing my value and potential.
But I discovered an interesting phenomenon: these people, though seemingly friendly on the surface, were actually guarding against each other. They shared information, but withheld key details; they expressed friendship, but were ready to betray at any moment; they talked about cooperation, but were calculating benefits in their minds.
This is what Victoria called "role-playing." Everyone is acting, and the key is to act better than others.
As the party was coming to an end, Richard pulled me aside.
"How was it?" he asked, "How do you feel?"
"Very enlightening," I replied, "I think I'm beginning to understand how this world works."
"Which is?"
I thought for a moment, then said: "This isn't a game about money, although money is important. It's a game about information, relationships, and timing. Having the right information, at the right time, and building relationships with the right people is more important than having a lot of capital."
Something appeared in Richard's eyes that I had never seen before—not surprise, but something close to approval.
"Good," he said, "Tomorrow we'll talk in detail about your future plans. I think the word 'temporary' might need to be redefined."
When we returned to the apartment, I felt an excitement like never before. I not only passed the test, but more importantly, I found my direction. This world doesn't operate on sympathy or luck, but on wisdom, strategy, and firm resolve.
And these, I possess them all.
That night, I stood once again before the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the Manhattan skyline. But this time, I was no longer a spectator, but a participant in this game.
I remembered what Richard had said: "On Wall Street, the weak are eliminated, and the strong gain everything."
I had decided to become one of the strong.
But just then, my phone rang. The number displayed on the screen made my blood freeze instantly—it was from St. Anthony's Children's Home.
"Hello?" I answered the phone, trying to make my voice sound calm.
"Emma, it's me, Susanna." Ms. West's voice sounded tense, "I need to talk to you. About some... things regarding Mr. Michael."
My heart began to race. "What is it, Ms. West?"
"It's not convenient to discuss over the phone. But..." she paused, "detectives came to the orphanage today, they're reinvestigating Mr. Michael's cause of death. Someone reported some... discrepancies to them."
"Discrepancies?" My voice was somewhat unsteady.
"They want to talk to you, Emma. As the last person who saw Mr. Michael, they have some questions that need clarification." Susanna's voice became more serious, "I suggest you come back as soon as possible, preferably with a lawyer."
I hung up the phone, my hand trembling. In the mirror, I saw my own pale face. Someone had become suspicious. Someone had begun to uncover the truth.
Worse still, if the police reopened the investigation into Michael's death, would Richard and Victoria still be willing to take in a girl suspected of murder?
I needed time to think, needed to formulate a plan. But first, I needed to make sure Richard was on my side.
I gently stroked the pearl necklace on my neck, remembering Michael's words: "Elena will definitely like you."
Now, I need to make Richard believe this too. I need to make him feel that protecting me is not just a moral obligation, but also a wise investment.
Crisis has come, but crisis is also opportunity. The key is to be smart enough, ruthless enough to seize it.
I picked up the phone and dialed Richard's mobile. He needs to know about this, but I need to be careful about how much to tell him.
"Mr. Richard," I said when he answered the phone, "I need your advice. I just received a call that concerns me..."
On the other end of the phone, I heard his silence, then a soft sigh.
"Emma," his voice was calm, "I think we need to talk face to face. First thing tomorrow morning, come to my office."
"Alright." I answered, but my mind was already calculating how tomorrow's conversation should proceed.
After hanging up the phone, I stared out at the city again. After tonight, everything might change. I might lose this beautiful world I had just touched, becoming a homeless suspect once more.
Or, if I'm clever enough, this crisis might make the relationship between Richard and me even closer. A teacher-student relationship, an alliance, or even... something deeper.
I recalled what he said tonight: "The teacher-student relationship is sacred. You need absolute loyalty and trust."
Yes, loyalty and trust. But in the game of Wall Street, these words have different meanings. Tomorrow, I will prove to Richard that I am not only worthy of his trust, but also worth his taking risks for me.
Even if it means someone else might pay the price for my ambition.
I closed my eyes and silently repeated those words in my heart: "I am my own master."
Tomorrow, the real test will begin.
