Interlude 1: The Land of the Kangaroos A/N: Hey there everyone! :D :D Here is the next update! :D :D This is going to take some time to understand as the connecting links will be established in the next few parts. As for the cliffhanger I left in the last chapter, it will pop up again in some time. :) :)
Before I receive any more flying chappals,
Happy Reading! :D :D
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A man in his late twenties got up groggily at the sound of the blaring alarm, wildly flapping his hands about to shut the device causing the unbearable nuisance. Finally finding the clock, he mechanically disabled the alarm, letting his head hit his cushion. Somehow, the cushion magically disappeared, his head hitting something hard instead.
Being slapped awake from his slumber rudely, he looked around disorientedly, wondering since when had beds come in the shape of a ninety-degree angle. It was only when he finally dared to snap open his eyes did he realize that he had fallen asleep at his study table. More particularly, upon a worn, yellow book that co-incidentally became the aforementioned pillow that had disappeared. The lamp at the study table still glowed brightly, giving the table part of its light just as the first rays of dawn encompassed the rest of the room in its glorious shadow.
Thanking his luck that he hadn't fallen off his chair in shock like he had done so countless number of times, he pushed himself out from the chair after hours of being stationary, tearing his eyes away from the eighteen-year old diary. No matter how old some wounds were, they still hurt with the same impact every time it was assaulted upon. He noticed a couple of photos sticking out from the diary just as he was about to slap it shut, freezing midway.
Gently pulled them out, he smiled sadly at the fading glee-filled faces in the polaroid.
The first photo had two children playing in a garden, the moment captured being the one where they were playing catch-catch. Flipping through it quickly, the second photo held the same two children looking ready to fight over several cones of ice-cream, the girl scowling while the boy stuck his tongue out at her. Pushing the photo behind, the third one contained the same two children standing in front of what looked like a brand-new red cycle. The girl was staring resolutely at the boy with a bemused expression upon her face while the boy stared uncomfortably at the camera.
The man chuckled as he stowed away the polaroid pictures back into their respective pages as bookmarks. Yawning, he realized that the particular diary entry he'd fallen asleep upon had yet two more pages to go, but he shut the book anyway. This was the first of many similar tales, and he knew the outcome of them all. Never faltering, never wavering.
He pushed away the diary a little harder than he intended to as he finally walked out of the room, leaving behind a piece of his past beside an even bitter one that lay in the photo frame upon the table. He walked into his room, quickly deciding upon the clothes for the day before he headed towards the shower. Five minutes later, the silence of the house was drowned away with the noise of the water-drops against the cool, marble tiles. And so was the pain.
The man was driving upon Craigend Street when he received a call. Answering it from the Bluetooth-connected button upon the side of his steering wheel, the man spoke impatiently.
"Yes, Jameson?"
"Sir, the market will open in another half an hour. What do you want us to trade in for today?"
"Try trading upon the top twenty openers in the first half and the middle ten in the second half. It should do it for the day. Also, keep an eye and see when Westpac loses it's foothold a bit during the day. The CEO of the bank has been replaced, and it's created quite a ripple in the markets, especially after the controversy regarding the money laundering. It should cause definite fluctuation, if not drastic. Play safe with that."
"What about the purchases for the day?"
"Lowest, but promising companies of the lot, Jameson! How many times must I tell you that?" growled the man into the phone irritably, sensing his subordinate stutter.
"I'm sorry, sir... it's just, after the whole Lendell-"
"You listen to me, Jameson. One greedy, two-faced betrayer was enough to cause my company enough unnecessary loss four years back-" began the man, his voice barely above a venomous hiss.
"Sir, trust me-"
"I trust no one, Jameson. Especially after the internal scam and the shit I had to clean up because of a backstabber who not only had the temerity to put his hands in my pocket and rob from me, but also lied to my face. And I can take neither of both what he did," continued the man in a dark voice, hearing a frightened gasp escape the lips of his subordinate opposite.
"Nothing will go wrong, sir, I promise!" assured the subordinate in a desperate plea, but the man only grimaced darkly.
"Any mistake in that transaction, and the next replacement of the CEO position will happen in our company on immediate notice. You get that?"
"Yes... yes... yes, sir," stuttered Jameson, clearly frightened. Rolling his eyes at a couple of trees that he drove by, the man spoke sternly.
"Good, now get back to the market. We need to hit the jackpot today."
"But sir, if I need you to-"
"You won't be needing me for anything today, Jameson. Besides, my phone is going to remain unavailable. I have a lecture at ten at the University of Sydney and I want no disturbance. In case you do need council on what's to be done, David is always going to be available."
"Alright, sir," spoke Jameson from the other end, his tone resigned.
"And you have the day off tomorrow, as your missus made clearly to me at the office last evening. Have a good time," ended the man blankly even though Jameson did not miss the awkward graciousness that had entered into his tone.
The man, however, didn't wait to hear the speech of thanks from Jameson as he reached the toll point at Cross City Tunnel. Quickly taking a detour from Neild Avenue, he passed off most of the roads swiftly, thanking his stars that the traffic was at a minimum at eight in the morning. He had barely reached the next street when he received another call, this time from his assistant, Mr. David.
"Yes, what is it, David?"
"It's a woman. She says that it's urgent that she talks to you," said David helplessly while the man scowled.
"Well, what did I tell you about not contacting me regarding things like this today?"
"Sir, I made it very clear to her, but she wasn't ready to take no for an answer. Said it's of crucial importance," ended the man in a stoic voice. The man sighed as he questioned further.
"Did she say where she was calling from?"
"No."
"Did the woman leave a name?"
"No, she wasn't ready to leave one with me. She just said that she was well acquainted with you."
"What kind of a professional call is this?" asked the man irritably, distinctly hearing his assistant drop something on the other end, which he assumed to be a pen.
"I don't think it was professional, sir. Atleast she refused to cite any reason for wanting to talk with you."
"When did you receive the call?"
"Last evening, but you strictly were on a no-phone call protocol so I sought it unwise to inform you about it," said David sincerely and the man sighed.
"You did well. And in case of this woman, tell her that I cannot get into any conversation with her for the next one week since I'll be out of town for the duration. Unless it's something professional, I won't be looking into it."
"Alright, sir."
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes, sir. Your tickets have arrived and Mr. Finch has collected them from me."
"Okay," responded the man with the slightest of enthusiasm evident in his voice suddenly. "Have a good day."
"You too, sir. Have a safe journey," added David quickly, befoe his boss could cut the line abruptly like always. He was in luck. He heard his boss sigh for the second time before the latter spoke again.
"One more thing - please do overlook what Jameson transacts in. As much as I admire his skill and finesse, he lacks the vision in risky trading."
"Don't worry, sir, I'll keep a good eye on him and will send you the daily reports."
Keeping the line for what he hoped would be the last time in the next few hours, he speeded up as his car now crossed Cleveland Street. He touched the intersection to Butlin Avenue next, the street's calm atmosphere unconsciously bringing a smile upon the man's face. Quickly stopping by the Parma Cucino for an espresso and a sandwich, the man found himself back at the steering wheel, passing smoothly through the Abercrombie Precinct, this time headed straight towards the institution.
Five minutes later, the man let out a sigh as he crossed Codrington Street, the chique structure of the Sydney Business School crossing his line of vision instantly. Parking his car in the next street, he smiled unconsciously as he stepped upon the premises with a fond smile, hoping to enlighten the lives of another batch of several thousand students. This year would mark his third year of working as a career councilor for the esteemed institution.
"...and that's why, just remember - time is money. Every minute, every second of how you use and manipulate it counts. It could be the one second where you've got checkmate, or that one moment where you unleash a series of falling dominoes. What matters is the way you can manage to bring your instinct and skills together, turning time into an accomplice rather than a nemesis."
The man smiled at the boy who had put forth the question - to what extent was time and money interlinked when it came to business? The boy looked stunned momentarily at the response he had received before bursting into a bout of applause, the audience following his lead thunderously. The man gave a small bow and got off the podium while the presenter took over control of the mike once again, concluding the three-hour long seminar-cum-guest lecture.
The man stood behind as he gazed at a crowd of above 3500 post-graduation students looking at him eagerly, the look of awe and respect never leaving their faces. But then again, being the youngest billionaire of the decade did mean a lot to the aspiring youth these days. And if one was reputedly known as the 'Mathematician of the Stock Market' at the ASX, it had to have some fruitful results.
And if the fact that he was the proud author of a couple of general research papers and two economic research papers on the taxation policies and stock market analysis respectively that was generously made known to the youth, their imagination was bound to get stagnant at being plainly awestruck. He may have been an insignificant being when he was addressed as Ranveer Vaghela, but being known as RV stood out as an antonym to everything he was as his former self. Sometimes, two letters made much more of an impact than a string of fourteen letter broken into two halves.
The presenter called a soft dismissal just as RV snapped out from his train of thoughts. He watched the crowd scampering away, the mutterings growing louder and louder while the students seemed as vibrant as they were during the seminar. In these five years, he had mastered the art of keeping several thousand students engaged in his seminar without letting anyone so much as bat an eyelid.
It was an art rarely mastered.
Shaking his head as he smiled solemnly, RV caught some of the students lingering about, taking last looks at him as though he was some kind of an antique show piece at a museum. The students caught his eye and quickly fled from the auditorium, heavily flustered at being caught so embarrassingly. One boy, however, stayed behind. RV noticed quickly that it was the same boy who had just questioned him.
The boy made his way quickly upon the stage where the rest of the faculty had engaged RV into a very animated conversation about the current scenario of the Australian economy in the world. The boy quietly cleared his throat and RV turned behind, looking curious, though not entirely surprised.
"Yes?"
"Sir, if you could spare two minutes of your time?"
RV nodded and courteously shook hands with all the esteemed faculty members on board before they all made way from the stage, handing over the bouquet of flowers back to the man as a reminder of his token of appreciation. The man nodded his head and got off the podium so that he and the boy could have a clearer discussion.
"You have exactly two minutes, given that I'm on a tight schedule." The boy nodded seriously just as RV turned to time him upon his watch.
"I wanted your autograph, sir."
"Autograph?" asked RV, surprised at this unexpected request.
"Yes, upon this copy," said the boy in an embarrassed tone as he handed forth a copy of Caffeinated Love by Ian Hake-Parish. RV accepted the book graciously and gave him a small smile.
"How did you know that I've written this?"
"My father is the editor-in-chief at Silverstone Publications," said the boy plainly and Ranveer smiled.
"Then you must be the reason why this novel was published in the first place," said RV in a gratified tone. The manuscript had been rejected by 34 publishing houses before Silverstone Publications took the novel in because the editor-in-chief's son had genuinely liked the book and saw scope in it. This story dated nearly four years ago from the present day.
"Well, you could say so," replied the boy sheepishly. RV smiled at him, something he rarely ever did.
"I thought that I'd sent your father an autographed copy of the same for you."
"I received the copy, but I, uh... I gifted it to my girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?" asked RV blankly, and the boy clarified hastily.
"Don't worry, I haven't leaked out your true identity. And yes, we entered into a relationship just last month. And it was her birthday three weeks ago, and she loves this novel a lot, so well... I thought this to be a befitting gift. She loved it," ended the boy, slightly breathless. RV gave the boy a curious look, questioning further.
"From how long have the two of you known each other?"
"We've known each other since kindergarten school, and well... it was meant to be."
"Childhood love come true. You truly are lucky," said RV, a distant look now clouding upon his handsome features. His brown eyes burned furiously in a moment's woth of passionate pain.
"Yes. I truly am lucky to be with the girl of my dreams and who I so dearly love. And she does too."
RV shook his head, bemused. Extracting the Mont Blanc from his coat pocket, he uncapped the pen at the same time the boy opened the dedication page. RV flourished the pseudonym of Ian Hake-Parish upon the crisp paper of the 422-page long novel in his characteristically long and slant handwriting, sighed. Handing over the book back to the boy, he patted the latter's shoulder.
"Good luck, Steve, and I hope that this tale has a happy ending," whispered RV before making his way towards the exit door.
"Um, sir? If you wouldn't mind me asking you one last question?" RV stopped dead in his tracks and turned behind, nodding his head in assent.
"What connects a businessman to an author in the fields of time and money, sir?" RV looked at Steve for several minutes, devoid of an answer before he finally chose to reply passively.
"Love, my friend. Love."
Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D
Next chapter:
Interlude 2
Edited by LadyMeringue - 8 years ago
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