7.father's intervention

The week passed with a certain dullness, the same routine day after day. Alexander went to school, sat through his classes, and returned home, his small body aching from the weight of his own thoughts. The noise of the other children—their incessant chatter and laughter—was a constant hum in his ears, a dull throb that made his head feel heavy.

The shrill ring of the school bell, the hurried shuffle of feet across the classroom floor—it all seemed so distant to him. The other children, with their innocent faces and careless joy, were like shadows against the wall of his mind, never quite reaching the center of his world.

His classmates, oblivious to his inner conflict, would ask him questions about toys, games, and simple things children discussed. But to Alexander, these were just words—mundane, meaningless. "Do you want to play after school?" they'd ask, their voices high and laced with expectation. Alexander would answer with a hollow smile, the same smile he had perfected over the years of being someone he wasn't, feeling the dissonance between their words and his silence.

At home, his mother and father noticed the change, though neither spoke of it openly. Emily observed her son in silence, her worry growing as she saw how he withdrew into himself, sitting quietly for hours, as if lost in thought. Her once lively, inquisitive child had become a brooding figure in the corner, his face often unreadable, eyes distant.

Carter, ever the pragmatic one, had been more direct. "Alexander, you're too quiet lately," he had said, his voice steady but piercing as he set down his paper one evening.

It wasn't a question, but a statement—an observation that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. Alexander felt his father's gaze on him, sharp, assessing. It was a look that felt like the first move in a silent game of chess, and Alexander, ever the strategist, understood the challenge in it. His every move was being watched.

---

Later that evening, after a restless sleep, Alexander sat at his desk, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating.

He hadn't told his parents yet about his deal with Thomas, about the business plan. There was something in his father's eyes, something that made Alexander hesitate. Carter had always been the kind of man who understood business better than anyone, it was just that he loved calm slow life. He would never allow his son to enter such a deal without fully understanding the consequences.

But Alexander knew that now was the time.

"I need to tell them," he murmured to himself, his small hand gripping the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening. He had to take control of the situation, and that meant being honest—no more hiding behind calculated silence.

That evening, after they had gathered for dinner, Alexander decided it was finally time to speak. He had always been the one to hold his cards close to his chest, but now, there was a decision to be made. "Dad," he said, his voice unusually serious, cutting through the clatter of utensils against plates.

Carter, who had been focused on his meal, raised his head immediately, sensing the change in his son's tone. His eyes met Alexander's, unreadable but sharp, like a hawk spotting its prey. "Yes?" he asked, his voice low but carrying a quiet intensity.

"I made a deal with a businessman. He owns a newspaper company." Alexander spoke plainly, his face a mask of calm, betraying nothing.

Carter froze. Emily, startled, put her fork down, her eyes widening as she turned to Carter, her expression filled with silent question. Carter, however, remained still, his mind racing. He knew his son—knew him better than anyone. But this? This was unexpected. A five-year-old boy, striking a deal?

The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, each second more tense than the last. Finally, Carter broke it. "What's the name of this businessman?"

"Thomas." Alexander replied, his voice steady, unwavering.

"And what was the deal about?" Carter pressed, though his heart was already starting to race. He braced himself for what would follow.

Alexander laid it all out—about the business plan he had crafted, about share he proposed, the numbers, the strategy. He spoke with the kind of calm precision that might make even the most seasoned investors pause. Carter listened, his gaze never leaving his son's face. He studied every shift in his expression, every flicker of emotion—or lack thereof—as Alexander explained everything.

Carter's thoughts were a whirlwind, but on the outside, he remained composed. How could a child so young come up with such an intricate plan? It was more than just intelligence; it was calculated, ambitious. It was dangerous.

Finally, after a long pause, Carter spoke. "Son, there are things you've overlooked in your plan." His voice was soft, but firm, like a man trying to pull a friend back from the edge of a cliff. "You're a minor. You cannot do this alone. Predicting stocks might be impressive, but it will attract unwanted attention—attention you don't want."

Alexander nodded slowly, his face an impassive mask, but there was understanding in his eyes. "That's why I'm telling you, Dad," he replied, his voice still and calm, as if the storm inside him had long since settled. "I want you to take over the business instead of me. I'll provide the ideas, and you can handle the rest."

Carter studied him for a long moment, his mind racing with calculations of his own. He was impressed—genuinely impressed by his son's insight, his foresight. "You've already thought this through, haven't you?" he said with a slow smile, a mix of pride and concern flickering in his eyes. "Alright, I'll meet with Thomas. We'll see what we can agree on."

"Thanks, Dad." Alexander smiled faintly, a smile that was more like a quiet acknowledgment than a display of emotion. But it was enough—enough for Carter to know that his son was, in his own way, still a child. Still his child.

---

The next day, Monday, arrived, and Alexander stood near the entrance of the school library, waiting for Thomas. His small fingers drummed lightly against the doorframe, the rhythmic tapping echoing through the otherwise silent hallway. His mind was sharp, calculating every moment, every word.

"Did I come late?" The deep voice of Thomas broke through his thoughts, pulling him back into the present.

"No, I've only been here a couple of minutes," Alexander replied, his gaze flicking over to the older man. "By the way, how do you always get past the school guards? They never stop you."

Thomas chuckled, a sound that seemed too easy, too carefree for someone as deeply involved in the business world as he was. "The school principal is my cousin," he said with a grin. "Don't we look alike?"

Alexander didn't respond immediately, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Never paid attention to that," he said with a casual shrug, his tone indifferent.

"Let's go somewhere else today. There's someone I want you to meet," Alexander added, turning on his heel and walking toward the school gate. Thomas hesitated for a brief moment before following, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. Who could this mysterious person be?