Leo spent the next two days in a blur of real estate viewings. He walked through three different houses, each with its own pros and cons. But the last one he saw, a modest, single-story bungalow at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, was perfect.
It was unassuming from the outside, with pale yellow siding and a neat, if slightly overgrown, lawn. Inside, it was clean, spacious, and possessed a quiet, suburban charm that felt like a different universe from his cramped city apartment. It had three small bedrooms, a decent kitchen, and, most importantly, a large, two-car detached garage at the end of the driveway.
He stood in the center of the empty garage, the scent of concrete and old motor oil in the air. This was it. This would be the new world headquarters of Clarity Beverage, LLC. He could already picture it: gleaming stainless steel tables for bottling, industrial shelving stretching to the ceiling, a dedicated shipping station, and even a walk-in cooler eventually. He could practically hear his father's gruff approval.
The bathroom was blessedly unremarkable, a simple affair with a fiberglass shower and a beige sink. It had a solid door. A perfect, unassuming gateway to Narnia.
He told the rental agent he'd take it on the spot. He paid the deposit and two months' rent upfront, in cash, a move that made the agent's eyes bulge but smoothed over any need for credit checks or proof of employment. Money, he was learning, was a powerful lubricant for the friction of bureaucracy.
The move itself was a comical affair. He hired a moving truck for a single day, and the sum total of his worldly possessions barely filled a small corner of it: one lumpy sofa, a few boxes of clothes and kitchenware, his old laptop, and his disassembled ramen shelves. He felt a bit foolish having such a large truck for so little, but then came the important part of the move.
After the movers had departed, Leo spent the rest of the day single-handedly ferrying his real assets. Trip after trip, he walked from his old, empty apartment to the new house—a thirty-minute journey—his backpack and two large duffel bags filled with his cash reserves and, most crucially, his remaining inventory of Clarity. He felt like a smuggler in broad daylight, his heart pounding every time a police car drove past. By nightfall, his entire fortune and product line were safely ensconced in his new home.
The next day, Frank Costello arrived for his first day of work. He pulled up in his old, reliable pickup truck, carrying a thermos of coffee and a brand new, heavy-duty tape gun. He surveyed the empty garage with a critical eye.
"Hmph. Good bones," he declared, giving a support beam a solid thump. "We'll need to seal the concrete first. Then we'll need tables. Steel, not wood. Easier to keep clean."
Leo grinned. He hadn't just hired an employee; he'd hired a seasoned foreman. "Whatever you think is best, Head of Logistics."
They spent the next week transforming the garage. Frank, in his element, directed the operation with military precision. They bought and assembled heavy-duty metal shelving. They installed long stainless steel workbenches. Leo splurged on bright, energy-efficient LED lighting that made the space feel like a cleanroom.
Frank quickly fell into his new role. He was meticulous, organizing the bottles by bottling date and setting up a shipping station that was a model of efficiency. He learned the online order fulfillment system in an afternoon, grumbling about computers but secretly enjoying the challenge.
For the first time, Leo saw the line between Clarity the secret hustle and Clarity the legitimate business truly dissolve. His operation was no longer confined to a dark apartment and a shady backroom deal. It was here, in a clean, well-lit space, with a salaried employee and a growing list of official distributors—Mr. Kim had been joined by a high-end health food store in the city that Evelyn had recommended.
One afternoon, Leo stood in the doorway of the garage, watching his father expertly tape up a box destined for California. His dad, who had always worried about Leo's future, was now an integral part of that future.
Frank looked up and caught his eye. "What? Got something on my face?"
"No, Dad," Leo said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Just... thanks for doing this."
Frank just grunted, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Someone's gotta make sure it's done right. This isn't some warehouse, Leo. This is our company. Now stop standing around and go... do whatever it is you do in that bathroom all day. We've got a standing order for sixty bottles that isn't gonna fill itself."