The morning sun bathed Malibu in golden light as the Pacific crashed rhythmically in the distance. Inside Daniel's mansion, the air was calm. Marble floors gleamed, the vast recreation spaces stretched endlessly, and security personnel rotated their posts with disciplined precision. James, the butler, walked silently through the halls, ensuring everything ran like clockwork.
Daniel stood by the enormous window in his private office, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice, calm but absolute, cut through the line.
"Felipe… listen closely."
On the other end, Felipe's breathing was uneven — he'd clearly been darting between meetings.
"No more running around," Daniel ordered. His tone wasn't aggressive, but it carried the weight of empire. "You're not a kid in a startup anymore. You're Vice President of a conglomerate worth billions."
Felipe went quiet. Daniel continued, his voice smooth, calculated.
"You hire a CEO. A shark. Someone that eats stress for breakfast. You? You go enjoy life. You're young, handsome… rich as hell. Get a girlfriend, hit the beaches, buy a yacht if you want. You earned it."
Felipe chuckled, catching his breath. "I guess… I've been too caught up in the grind, primo."
"Exactly," Daniel replied, sipping his espresso. "Grind is for employees. We orchestrate. Delegate. We live."
Before Felipe could respond, Daniel switched the subject — sharper now.
"And the hotel?"
"All set, primo. Everything running—"
Daniel cut him off, firmer this time. "No. Listen carefully. That Golden Gate hotel? Only Café Brasil Premium. Traditional. Elegant. We serve high society there. No funk, no parties, no loud music, no bar. Just coffee, culture, refinement. The guests? Old money. They don't want that street vibe, and neither does the hotel."
Felipe paused, then exhaled. "Understood. Maximum — comedy nights. Elegant. Controlled."
"Exactly. Comedy, classy events, cultural evenings at most. That's the limit inside hotel grounds," Daniel reinforced. "The funk, the madness — we keep that in Bar Brasil only. Separate worlds, separate rules."
A slight laugh escaped Felipe. "Understood, Presidente."
Daniel's gaze drifted to the mansion's private garden, palm trees swaying under the ocean breeze. "And leave my mother out of this business. She's not chasing cars or logistics. She's at home, with friends, or shopping, or cruising the Mediterranean with her amigas. She deserves peace."
"Of course," Felipe agreed. "She's our queen, she enjoys life."
Daniel smiled faintly. "Good." He set the phone down momentarily and tapped his secured tablet.
[SYSTEM LOG: Daily login successful.]
REWARD: 68% ownership in "BlueWave Maritime Yachts," an American shipbuilding company specializing in ultra-luxury yachts. Estimated value: $2.4 billion. Full rights to flagship vessel under construction—delivery within 60 days.
A slow grin spread across Daniel's face. The timing was poetic.
"Felipe," he picked the phone back up. "About that yacht life I mentioned… consider it handled. We just acquired 68% of BlueWave Maritime. They're finishing the next generation mega yacht. It'll be ours within two months."
Felipe's laugh burst through the line. "You're ridiculous, primo. Billionaire flex every day now."
Daniel shrugged, his voice carrying that old-world, traditional charm mixed with ruthless business edge. "We don't flex, Felipe. We build, we own, we command. Now, go enjoy your life. You've got my blessing."
Later that day, Daniel leaned back into his leather chair, James approaching discreetly.
"Everything arranged, sir," the butler informed him. "Security rotations complete. Your mother's driver is ready. She's decided to accompany friends to Rodeo Drive, then brunch in Beverly Hills."
Daniel nodded, pleased. "Perfect. She deserves it."
Outside, the fleet stood gleaming: the Presidential-style armored limousine, the SUVs for security, the Cullinan ready for Maria Rosa's leisure day. Fifteen guards positioned tactically around the mansion. For his mother, five remained constant, always vigilant.
Daniel stretched, glancing at the system interface one last time. His empire expanded daily — hotels, farms, shipping, now luxury yachts. Always American-based for now, building foundations close to Café Brasil's growth.
Tomorrow, perhaps property. Or an entertainment studio. The system never failed to surprise him, and the steady, logical pace kept it grounded.
The phone buzzed again—Felipe had sent a selfie: lounging by the beach, sunglasses on, surrounded by smiling women. The caption read:
"Vice President following orders. Life's good."
Daniel smirked, shaking his head. "Took you long enough."
Outside, the ocean glittered, opportunity endless. His mother? Free, happy, enjoying her golden years. Felipe? Learning to balance power with pleasure.
Daniel? Still at the top, steady, calm, orchestrating the empire's rhythm. Tomorrow would bring more — but for today, the foundations stood unshakable.