Chapter 68: Chapter 68: The Exclusive Agent
Jason immediately stood up when Ethan exited the office suite. He looked surprised.
"Boss, I expected you to take a couple of hours in there," Jason observed, a hint of curiosity and lust in his tone.
Ethan shrugged, a genuine smile still lingering from the encounter with the Dean. "Sometimes things start slow, Jason, and then they pick up. We still have time."
Jason chuckled, instantly understanding the implication of the rushed meeting. "You’re right, Boss. What’s our next destination?"
"The bank," Ethan stated, his expression growing serious. "Time to get my access card. We need capital and liquidity."
They left the MIT campus. Jason drove them to the designated corporate bank branch—a fortress of marble and glass in the heart of the financial district.
Upon their arrival, they were immediately escorted to a private, luxurious office. Waiting for them was a stunningly beautiful, sharply dressed female executive named Ms. Lena Rossi. She wore a suit that was technically professional but seemed tailored to perfection to emphasize every curve.
Ethan walked into the office with a hard-on, still feeling the frustration accumulated from Dean Alexandria. He had controlled himself, as she never gave him a true opening, only teases.
"Mr. Blake, what an absolute pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve been personally preparing your file," Ms. Rossi greeted him, with a voice that was both polished and seductive.
Ethan took the seat she indicated. "I appreciate the efficiency, Ms. Rossi. I need full, discreet access to my accounts."
Ms. Rossi slid a tablet across the table. "We’ve been noting your account receiving large capital transfers recently, Mr. Blake, which allows us to offer you an executive premium service immediately."
Ms. Rossi continued, her voice becoming honeyed and deeply suggestive. "We offer the most exclusive deal. What exactly are you looking for in your banking service? Beyond liquidity, of course."
Ethan, unfazed by the obvious flattery, asked, "What else do you offer? What makes this ’premium’ plan truly special?"
Ms. Rossi feigned ignorance, offering standard bank promotions, while her hand remained visible above the table. But beneath the table, her real game began. Ms. Rossi slowly slid her bare leg out of her high-heeled shoe and began to gently caress Ethan’s leg with her foot.
The sensation made Ethan’s control tighten.
"We offer exclusive 24/7 assistance, Mr. Blake," Ms. Rossi purred. "I myself would personally take care of you, ensuring your desires are met at any hour, anywhere in the world. No limits."
As she said this, her foot slowly ascended his thigh, exerting a playful pressure that was unmistakable. The insinuation was not just of service, but of total submission and availability.
Ms. Rossi then pulled out a matte black card and slid it across the table, ending the under-desk game for a moment. "This is the Pinnacle Black Card. Unlimited credit, a multi-million-dollar line of credit. It is, in fact, the ultimate statement of financial power."
Ethan took the card. He felt a profound shift in reality. Just a week ago, he was struggling to pay bills. Today, he held a piece of plastic that, combined with his physical power, gave him total control. Even the bank staff groveled at his feet just to please him.
"Excellent, Ms. Rossi," Ethan said, feeling the weight of the card. "Discretion and personal assistance are exactly what I require."
Jason, standing stoically behind Ethan, allowed a slight, almost invisible smirk to cross his face.
Ms. Rossi then pulled out a sheet of paper. "If you agree to the terms, Mr. Blake, you just need to sign here."
The System immediately chimed in, its voice a nasal whine. [Haha! Now you have to charge her like Victoria! Every signature should cost her a spread of the legs!]
Ethan ignored the System, but looked intently at Ms. Rossi. He picked up the contract and began to read. The legal jargon was dense, but one clause stood out regarding her exclusive agent status.
Ethan chuckled slightly as he finished the section. He looked at Jason, who was standing a few feet away, observing the room. "Jason, would you excuse us for a moment? I’d like to discuss a few clauses privately with the lady."
Jason smiled, his eyes sharp. "Of course, Boss. If you need anything, I’ll be right outside."
Jason walked out and firmly closed the door. He took a position beside the closed door, his stance radiating intensity. Other clients and bank personnel glanced at him with curiosity, but none dared to approach due to Jason’s rigid, intimidating demeanor.
Once the door was sealed, Ethan leaned forward. "So, Ms. Rossi, if I’m reading this correctly, you personally earn a one percent commission on all my wire transfers and two percent on all my sales or major transactions, in addition to the bank’s standard account maintenance fees, correct?"
Ms. Rossi laughed, a low, throaty sound that was pure confidence. "That is the standard structure for an Executive Wealth Manager, yes, Mr. Blake."
She then went on to offer a brief explanation, detailing the financial aspects. "Our company uses a proprietary system called ’Tier-3 Quantum Ledger,’ a unique platform to minimize tax exposure and maximize short-term liquidity through automated, high-frequency micro-trades."
My commission covers the expertise and constant monitoring required to manage this fluid capital." She finished with a smile that showed too much teeth. "It’s a common rate for this level of service."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Why do this? Why does the bank pay its agents so generously?"
"Because clients at your level require agents to constantly move their money—in the stock market, through offshore holding banks, and private equity," she explained candidly. "Currently, I don’t have clients in your specific tier, Mr. Blake. I’m new, and I am highly motivated. I will give absolutely everything I have to please you and ensure your money grows, no matter what it takes."
As she finished the statement, she reached under the table, and her hand—no longer just her foot—gently but deliberately brushed the front of his pants. Her eyes met his, and the subtext of the conversation was no longer about interest rates.