A modern man in 1930’s Americas

Charlie Lee and Greta's Journey

"Yellow people don't deserve to be with Garbo at all. I want to fight you!" a red-faced man exclaimed, his anger boiling over as he glared at Charlie Lee. The room fell silent as his challenge echoed through the elegant dining hall.

Charlie, caught mid-bite, reluctantly put down his fork. A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with calm indifference. He had always believed such incidents belonged to the pages of novels or dramatic films, not real life. Yet, here he was, thrust into yet another absurd confrontation.

He sighed, muttering under his breath, "I didn't expect to get dragged into this nonsense again today."

Greta, sitting beside him, looked alarmed as Charlie began to rise from his chair. "Charlie, he's just an overly excited fan," she whispered, pressing her hand lightly against his wrist. Her concern wasn't for Charlie but for the reckless man who had just challenged him.

She knew Charlie's strength intimately. The man had once lifted her with one hand as if she weighed nothing, and his endurance was astonishing—Greta still marveled at the memory of him working tirelessly for hours without faltering. Even more intimidating were the scars on his body: three gunshot wounds, a testament to his resilience.

"Greta, this isn't about a petty insult. It's about dignity," Charlie said seriously, his tone cold as steel. He hated being ridiculed, especially in ways that attacked his heritage. He felt obligated to teach this man an unforgettable lesson.

The fan, emboldened by his outburst and the attention of the crowd, charged at Charlie with a reckless grin, as if fueled by an intoxicating mix of adrenaline and misplaced bravado.

Charlie adjusted his cuff nonchalantly, as though preparing for nothing more than folding a flower. The fan's fist, trembling with misplaced fury, came within an inch of Charlie's face when Charlie deftly sidestepped. His knee shot up in a lightning-fast motion, colliding with the man's midsection.

Puff.

The sound of impact was followed by the fan crumpling to the floor, clutching his groin and moaning in pain.

"Apologies. I was distracted," Charlie said with mock sincerity, brushing off his sleeves. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a stack of cash—approximately a thousand dollars—and tucked it into the fan's coat. Turning to his bodyguards, he said, "Take him to the hospital. Make sure he's treated well."

As the bodyguards carried the defeated fan away, Charlie turned back to the stunned onlookers and bowed slightly. "My apologies for the disturbance. Allow me to cover tonight's dinner for everyone."

The dining hall erupted into applause.

"Thank you to our friends from China!" someone called out, and the sentiment spread.

"I think I recognize him," a man whispered. "Isn't he the wealthy Chinese businessman who founded the Academy Awards?"

"Yes, that's him! He even spoke at the first ceremony!" another added, growing animated.

"I heard he's a millionaire!"

"And incredibly handsome," a woman chimed in, her voice tinged with admiration.

"Handsome? Or is it just the money in his pocket that's attractive?" another woman teased, drawing laughter.

For Charlie, the whispers were bittersweet. At last, people were acknowledging his identity, but he couldn't help but grumble internally about how long it had taken for them to see beyond his association with Greta.

After raising a toast to the crowd, Charlie returned to his table, unaffected by the earlier altercation. Greta, too, seemed unfazed, her composure intact as she resumed eating. She was concerned for the fan's well-being but ultimately believed he was an adult responsible for his actions—and now in good hands at the hospital.

As the night wore on, Charlie received an unexpected phone call from Eisenhower. The conversation quickly soured his mood.

"The Department of Defense has rejected the proposal for national defense licenses," Eisenhower informed him grimly.

"They're concerned that allowing capital to enter the defense sector will disrupt the national system. Plus, your Aegis Bureau is seen as too powerful," he explained.

Charlie clenched his jaw. He had anticipated resistance, but hearing the final decision still stung.

"These damned fools," Eisenhower muttered before hanging up.

Charlie sighed heavily, sinking into the plush cushions of his sofa. Though disappointed, he found solace in finally receiving clarity on the matter. It was time to redirect his energy elsewhere.

The next morning, Greta awoke to find dozens of fashion sketches waiting for her.

"These are designs I made last night," Charlie explained over breakfast. "Once the patents are registered, someone will bring them to you."

Greta admired the intricate sketches, impressed by Charlie's creative talent. Despite the setbacks he faced, he always found a way to channel his frustrations into productivity.

Later that day, as Charlie prepared to return to Chicago, Greta approached him. "Are you really leaving?" she asked softly.

"If you miss me, you can always come to Chicago," Charlie said with a playful wink before stepping into his car.

From her window, Greta watched his car disappear down the street. Sitting back on the sofa, she let her thoughts wander.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted her reverie.

"Come in," Greta called out.

A well-dressed man entered, leaving a check and a business card on the table. Without a word, he departed as swiftly as he had arrived.

"One million dollars? Is this supposed to make me a mistress?" Greta murmured, staring at the check in disbelief. Her emotions churned, though she didn't immediately act on them.

Meanwhile, en route to the airport, Charlie discussed plans with his trusted associate.

"How's the Los Angeles branch coming along?" Charlie asked.

"The roads are being paved, lawns are being transported from all over the country, and the training camp is nearly complete," his associate replied confidently.

Charlie nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now tell me, do you want to run the branch, or would you rather stay with me?"

"I want to stay with you, boss," the associate answered with a grin.

Charlie chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Loyal as ever."

Upon returning to Chicago, Charlie's schedule quickly filled with meetings and updates. His ventures were progressing steadily: McDonald's franchise applications were under review, aircraft factory acquisitions were nearing completion, and negotiations with Jeep were underway.

Despite the flurry of activity, Charlie found moments of levity, joking with his team and planning future expansions. His vision extended far beyond immediate profits—he dreamed of transforming vast tracts of land into thriving resorts and tourism hubs, complete with golf courses, climbing trails, and off-road experiences.

Yet, amidst the busyness of his entrepreneurial life, Charlie's world was shaken once more.

"Boss, I'm pregnant," his assistant Aria announced one evening, her tone serious as she blocked his office door.

Charlie froze, his usual composure slipping for just a moment. Then, with a wry smile, he said, "Well, this is unexpected."