Chapter 63
(Early June 2007 – Los Angeles & New York City)
---
Monday – Brentwood – 9:04 a.m.
Jake Harper didn't move when the alarm went off.
Or the second time.
Or the third.
No classes. No exams. No Caltech breathing down his neck.
The sunlight crawled across the ceiling. Stillness filled the room, too loud to ignore.
Eventually, Jake sat up, grabbed his laptop from the floor, and cracked it open.
First headline:
> "13-YEAR-OLD DOCTOR: Jake Harper Becomes Youngest Ph.D. in U.S. History" – Wall Street Journal
Second:
> "Too Smart, Too Soon? Experts Debate Pressure on Genius Prodigy" – New York Times
Third:
> "Boy Billionaire Adds 'Dr.' to His Name" – TIME
He didn't bother clicking.
He already knew how the story went.
Jake closed the laptop and sat there, feeling the world spin without him.
---
10:13 a.m. – Kitchen
Judith was pouring coffee when Jake shuffled in, hoodie half-zipped, pajama pants dragging on the floor.
She clocked him immediately. "You okay?"
Jake filled a glass with water and shrugged.
"I'm officially a national Rorschach test."
Judith arched an eyebrow. "It was bound to happen. You're the youngest Ph.D. ever. People were always gonna have opinions."
Jake dropped into a chair, heavy.
"Yeah. Some think it's amazing. Others are just waiting for me to self-destruct—like I'm some walking IPO."
She smirked over her coffee cup. "Are you?"
Jake tilted his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.
"Honestly? I'm getting there."
---
11:30 a.m. – FaceWorld HQ – Executive Office
Callum shut the door behind him, a folder in one hand and a grim look on his face.
"You look like hell, Jake."
Jake didn't argue.
Callum dropped the folder on his desk with a loud thunk.
"And our legal team? They're drowning. We're buried in licensing issues, regulatory crap, IP disputes—you name it."
Jake flipped the folder open.
On top sat a business card:
> Pearson Hardman
Jake's hand froze mid-turn.
"You said... Pearson Hardman?"
Callum nodded. "Yeah. You know them?"
Jake masked his reaction under a bored blink.
Pearson Hardman. Jessica Pearson. Harvey Specter. Suits. That was supposed to be fiction...
He closed the folder and stood up.
"Book me a flight to New York."
---
Tuesday – New York City – 4:18 p.m. – Pearson Hardman
The high-rise loomed like a monolith, glass and steel scraping the sky.
Jake stood at the curb for a long moment, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie pulled up against the breeze.
Inside, a receptionist met him with a smile just sharp enough to cut glass.
"Mr. Harper, welcome. They're expecting you."
Elevator ride to the 47th floor.
Mirrored walls. Leather and glass and quiet, expensive air.
Jessica Pearson was waiting for him when the doors opened—power wrapped in elegance.
"Dr. Harper," she said, voice smooth as polished steel. "Welcome to Pearson Hardman."
Next came Daniel Hardman, his charm a little too perfect.
"You've made quite the splash," he said, offering a handshake.
Jake shook it, his grip steady.
"Trying to make it stick."
Then Harvey Specter strolled in, hands in his pockets, smirking like he owned the whole damn city.
"You don't need lawyers," Harvey said. "You need killers in suits. That's us."
Jake couldn't help it.
He grinned.
Still a badass.
---
Conference Room – Contract Discussion
Jessica laid out the deal.
Licensing. Compliance. Litigation. Full-spectrum protection for FaceWorld.
Jake didn't just nod along. He tore through the fine print, firing off questions like rounds from a machine gun.
Jessica answered every one without flinching.
Harvey leaned back, smirked, and said, "Defense is boring. You want to win? You go on the attack."
Jake leaned back too, the beginnings of a real smile tugging at his mouth.
"I'm in," he said. "Send it over."
---
One Hour Later – Rooftop Terrace
The sky was a violent orange as the sun dipped behind the skyscrapers.
Jake stood alone on the rooftop, the signed contract in his bag, the city buzzing far below.
The headlines flashed through his mind:
> "Is He Too Young to Lead?"
"Can He Handle the Pressure?"
"Harper Signs With NYC's Top Legal Titans"
He pulled out his FacePhone and typed:
> Jake:
"Pearson Hardman is on board. I'm off-grid for a week. Don't burn anything down."
Then, with a small exhale, Jake powered the phone off and pocketed it.
For the first time in a long time, the noise went silent.
And it felt... good.