Chapter 6
1336 Words
At Crystal Antiques, Aiden, accompanied by his secretary, walked through the bustling office, taking in the scene. He couldn't help but chuckle silently. "A five-hundred-person company with a two-story office building. This old man calls this a small company?" he mused.
The secretary knocked crisply on the General Manager's office door. "Mr. Hale, I've brought him in."
A man in his forties, impeccably dressed and wearing glasses, sat behind a large desk. He exuded an air of refined professionalism.
Ronan Hale waved a dismissive hand at the secretary, who promptly withdrew. He rose, extending a hand to Aiden in greeting.
He then spoke up. "Mr. Tate, I'm the General Manager of this company."
Aiden offered a polite smile. "I've heard of your reputation, Mr. Hale."
Ronan chuckled, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Mr. Tate, I'd like to ask... do you happen to have a... special relationship with President Tate?"
Aiden's expression remained calm. "Perhaps we share the surname Tate, leading to a misunderstanding, Mr. Hale?"
Ronan's skepticism was evident. "Impossible. If you weren't connected, how could you have gotten into our company so easily?"
Aiden maintained his composure. "We truly have no relationship. Isn't it possible I'm here not through President Tate, but through someone else?"
Ronan's demeanor shifted subtly. He stopped smiling, his expression turning serious. He paced slowly around Aiden, his eyes assessing him. "Aiden, I don't care whose connection you used, but let me tell you, Crystal Antiques is one of the top antique companies in the industry. Anyone coasting along will eventually be eliminated."
Aiden offered a slight, almost imperceptible smile. "You seem very confident that I'm coasting along."
Ronan's voice was sharp. "Coming in through connections and immediately getting the position of Vice General Manager—if that's not coasting, what is it? Tell me, who got you this position?"
Aiden remained silent, his lips pressed together. "I can't say."
Ronan's anger flared. "Believe me, I'll tell President Tate, and you can't stay here a minute longer."
Aiden remained unfazed, settling onto the sofa. "Mr. Hale, I may be a connection, yes, but connections don't necessarily lack ability."
Ronan let out a burst of laughter, the sound echoing in the room. "Hahaha... What a ridiculous statement. I've never heard of a connection possessing any real ability."
He abruptly stopped laughing, his eyes glinting with a sudden challenge. "Let's make a bet, then. Dare you?"
Aiden raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How?"
Ronan's voice was low, laced with a hint of menace. "We'll test your ability to identify antiques. If you pass, you stay, and your position as Vice General Manager is secure. If you fail, you're out."
Aiden let out a cold snort, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Bring it on."
Mr. Hale picked up the phone, his voice crisp and authoritative. "Hello. Send Orson over here."
Orson Grayson, the company's legendary antique authentication expert, was a figure of near-mythical status. He'd been with Crystal Antiques for over a decade, boasting an impeccable track record. Legend had it he could discern a genuine antique from a forgery with a single glance. Aiden, in fact, had briefly studied under Orson as a child.
However, Aiden's innate talent was so exceptional that Orson, after only a few lessons, realized he could teach him no more and resigned as his tutor. After Orson, who else dared to claim they could teach him? Aiden had been largely self-taught for years.
Less than two minutes later, Orson hadn't arrived, but an employee entered carrying a tray bearing a small, intricately carved incense burner.
Ronan gestured toward it. "Alright, Aiden. Tell me, is this genuine or a fake?"
Aiden glanced at the burner, the word "genuine" forming on his lips, but he paused, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. He moved swiftly to the tray. "Mr. Hale, did someone from our company bring this in?"
"Of course," Ronan replied.
"And how much did it cost?" Aiden pressed.
Ronan bristled. "That's none of your concern. You just need to tell me if it's genuine or a fake."
Aiden's fingers brushed against the burner, his keen eyes noticing something amiss. He picked up a magnifying glass, examining the piece meticulously. "Mr. Hale, I believe you're mistaken."
"You mean this incense burner is fake?" Ronan asked.
Aiden corrected him carefully. "I didn't say it was a fake, but it's not genuine either."
Ronan's patience snapped. "What kind of answer is that? Aiden, don't think you can beat around the bush. Just tell me, is it real or fake?"
Aiden's response was direct. "Fake."
Ronan erupted in laughter, the sound echoing through the office. "Hahaha... I've always said it, what can a 'connected' person really do? Aiden, you should leave now before you embarrass your sponsor."
Aiden's smile was subtle, almost imperceptible. "Mr. Hale, are you certain this is the real one?"
Mr. Hale scoffed. "Of course. Even Orson authenticated it. What? Haven't you heard of Orson?"
Aiden's tone was dry. "Does Orson usually perform such a cursory authentication?"
Ronan's face hardened, his amusement replaced by irritation. "Aiden, how dare you speak of Orson like that? He's not someone you, a 'connected' person, can criticize. Who do you think you are?"
Aiden's voice was calm but firm. "So, Orson never makes mistakes?"
Ronan jabbed a finger toward Aiden's nose. "Let me tell you, Orson has been with our company for over a decade, and he's never been wrong."
Aiden's gaze was unwavering. "Okay. Then let me tell you, this time, Orson is wrong."
Ronan's laughter died in his throat, replaced by a furious scowl. "That's the most hilarious joke I've heard all year! You're just a green kid, and you dare to say that?" He pointed toward the door, his voice dripping with contempt. "Get out!"
Aiden remained seated, his expression unreadable. "What? I'm the Vice President of this company. You can't just kick me out like this?"
Ronan's voice was thick with anger. "Let me tell you, we don't need a 'connected' Vice President like you. 'Connected' people are always full of hot air."
Aiden's voice was quiet but firm. "First, I am 'connected,' but I also possess the skills. Second, I'm not blowing hot air."
Ronan's patience had completely evaporated. "Ridiculous. Aiden, are you leaving or not?"
Aiden's response was a simple, defiant "No."
"Fine," Mr. Hale snarled, grabbing the phone. "Then I'll call security." He barked into the receiver. "Hello. Send security over here."
Within minutes, two burly security guards arrived. Ronan, his face flushed with anger, pointed a finger at Aiden. "Get this...thug...out of here," he spat.
The guards moved to obey, but Aiden, with a sudden, sharp cry, cut them short. "Do you know I'm your new Vice General Manager?"
Ronan slammed his fist on the desk, his voice booming. "And do you know I'm your General Manager?"
The guards hesitated, caught between the two men. Ronan's voice rose to a roar. "Get him out of here now!"
The guards, having no choice, grabbed Aiden roughly, beginning to drag him from the office.
"Mr. Hale, you'll regret this!" Aiden shouted, his voice echoing with a quiet intensity.
Ronan roared, his face contorted with fury.
The guards hauled Aiden toward the door, but he dug his heels in, clinging stubbornly to the doorframe.
Ronan, his patience completely exhausted, stormed toward Aiden, his finger jabbing accusingly. "I warn you. Get out of here. Or I'll make you get out."
Just then, an older man, his presence commanding respect, entered the office. "What's all the commotion?" he asked.
Ronan's demeanor shifted instantly, his anger replaced by a veneer of respect. "Orson," he said, his voice deferential. Despite his position as General Manager, Ronan treated Orson with considerable deference.
However, the moment Orson saw Aiden, his face registered a profound shock. His eyes widened, his voice barely a whisper. "My God... he looks just like..."
Aiden had been Orson's most promising student, a young man of exceptional talent and uncanny resemblance to someone from Orson's past.
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