Leo savored his lobster, every buttery bite a small act of defiance. He polished off two glasses of expensive red wine, paid the hefty bill in cash—leaving a generous tip for the sympathetic waiter—and walked out into the cool night air feeling not rejected, but enlightened.
Jessica, for all her brutal condescension, had handed him a gift: a perfect checklist for legitimacy.
No website. No business registration. No social media presence.
She'd meant it as an indictment. Leo saw it as a to-do list.
His business with Mr. Kim was booming. It was a comfortable, cash-based arrangement that had already made him more money than he'd ever seen. But it was shady. It relied on a single point of sale, a single distributor. It was a secret, and secrets were vulnerable. If Mr. Kim retired, got sick, or simply decided to stop selling Clarity, Leo's entire enterprise would evaporate overnight.
He wanted more. He didn't just want to be "the kid who sells water to the bodega." He wanted to be the CEO of Clarity.
The next day, instead of his usual R&D trip to the Sanctum, he took his laptop (an old, slow model he'd bought refurbished years ago) to a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. Fueled by a large mocha and a newfound sense of corporate purpose, he plunged into the world of small business administration.
He spent hours navigating labyrinthine government websites. He learned about LLCs, sole proprietorships, tax identification numbers, and business bank accounts. It was dense, boring, and utterly exhilarating. Every form he filled out, every box he ticked, felt like laying another brick in the foundation of his new life. He officially registered "Clarity Beverage, LLC," using his apartment as the business address. For the first time, his company existed outside his own head and Mr. Kim's cash register.
Next, he tackled the website. He found a simple, user-friendly template service that allowed him to build a professional-looking site for a small monthly fee. He wrote the copy himself, carefully choosing words that sounded premium and mysterious without being outright lies.
"Sourced from a remote, pristine, and inaccessible natural aquifer, Clarity offers an unparalleled hydration experience. Untouched by modern pollutants and bottled at the source to preserve its unique mineral profile and life-affirming properties. This is more than water. This is Clarity."
He took pictures of his elegantly labeled bottles with his phone. He opened the door at night to his bathroom, put the bottle in a beautiful glowing place and took a picture. The result was magical and professional. He even set up a simple e-commerce function, allowing people to order cases of Clarity directly. He had no idea if anyone would ever use it, but the possibility was intoxicating. He also put a count of how many he had in stock, to be more organized.
By the end of the day, Clarity Beverage, LLC was a real, registered company with a functioning website. Leo felt a sense of pride that dwarfed even the joy of quitting his job. He had built this.
But there was one final, uncomfortable piece of business to attend to. He had to talk to Mr. Kim.
He went to the corner mart late in the evening, after the dinner rush. Mr. Kim was behind the counter as always, tallying the day's receipts. He looked up when Leo walked in, a small, expectant smile on his face.
"Leo," he said. "Good. I was just about to call you. I'm out of the 12-packs. The construction crew from the new condo site buys six a day."
Leo's stomach twisted. This was going to be harder than he thought. "Mr. Kim, we need to talk."
The smile on Mr. Kim's face vanished, replaced by his usual shrewd suspicion. "Talk about what? You want more money per bottle? Business is good, Leo. Don't get greedy."
"No, it's not that," Leo said, taking a deep breath. "You've been great, Mr. Kim. You gave me my start. I… I will never forget that. But I need to grow the business. I want to make it official. I just registered the company. I built a website. I'm going to start selling online."
Mr. Kim was silent for a long moment, his eyes boring into Leo. He absorbed the information, his expression unreadable. Leo braced himself for an explosion, for accusations of betrayal.
Instead, Mr. Kim let out a long, slow sigh and sank back onto his stool, looking suddenly older than he had just a minute ago.
"So," he said, his voice flat. "This is it. The golden goose is flying away."
"It's not like that!" Leo insisted. "I still want you to be a distributor. My first official one! We can set up a proper contract, invoices, everything by the book. But I can't keep doing… this. Cash in a back room. It's not sustainable. I want to build a real company."
Mr. Kim was quiet for a while, staring at the gleaming rows of Clarity bottles in his cold case. He had built a small, dedicated clientele for this water. It had been good for his business, adding a surprising new revenue stream. He had started to feel a flicker of paternal pride in the boy's strange venture. He knew this day would come, he just hadn't expected it so soon.
"A real company," Mr. Kim repeated softly. He looked at Leo, seeing not just the broke kid from a few weeks ago, but the determined young man standing before him now. He saw the ambition in his eyes. It was the same ambition he had felt when he first opened this store forty years ago.
A slow, sad smile touched his lips. "You did good, kid," he said, his voice raspy. "You're right. This isn't sustainable. A real business needs to be a real business."
He stood up and extended a hand across the counter. It was the first time they had ever shaken hands.
"You bring me this contract," he said, his grip surprisingly firm. "We'll do it your way. By the book." Then he gave Leo a sharp, knowing look. "But I expect a very, very good wholesale price, Mr. CEO."
Leo grinned, a wave of relief washing over him. "You'll get the best price, Mr. Kim. Founder's price."
"Good," Mr. Kim grunted, releasing his hand. "Now, I still need two more of those 12-packs for Frank's crew tomorrow. Contract or no contract, business is still business."