Chapter 4: Who Buys Winter Clothes in the Middle of Summer?
*[Zander's POV]
July. Thirty-six degrees Celsius outside.
And on my desk sat a weather report that made the hair on my neck stand up.
"Say that again."
My assistant stood in front of the desk and swallowed hard.
"The weather-airship team ran a high-altitude measurement in the early hours of this morning. The temperature above the cloud layer came in eleven degrees below the model's prediction."
"Eleven degrees?"
"Yes."
"Equipment malfunction?"
"That was our first thought too, so we swapped out three different sets of instruments." He slid another report across the desk. "Same result every time."
I said nothing.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunlight was blinding. Pedestrians on the street were still in short sleeves.
Truth be told, I'd sensed something was off two days ago.
In the middle of a brutal heatwave, the incoming weather data kept showing temperatures colder by the day.
In decades, this region had never seen anything like it at this time of year.
Even the airship's development had been stalled indefinitely, thanks to the unstable readings.
"Where are the people?" I asked.
My assistant's expression darkened further.
"The six who went up all came back with abnormal hypothermia symptoms. Two are still in the hospital under observation."
I looked up.
"Why am I only hearing about this now?"
"The project lead was afraid it was an operational error and wanted to re-test to confirm."
"Re-testing with people's lives?"
He shut his mouth immediately.
I pressed at my brow.
"Pause the project."
"But sir, the airship program has already absorbed—"
"I said pause it."
"...Understood."
"Everyone who took part in the high-altitude test goes on paid leave for half a month. The company covers all medical costs, and give each of them an additional fifty thousand as a hardship payment."
My assistant blinked. "Fifty thousand?"
"Too much?"
"No, no." He shook his head at once. "I'm just happy for them."
I ignored the flattery.
If this temperature curve kept dropping, the loss of a project worth over a billion would not be the worst of it.
The worst would be—
Was this city—was this world—ready?
"One more thing," I said.
He was almost at the door and stopped.
"Go buy cold-weather supplies."
He glanced back at the blazing sun outside.
I went on. "Down jackets, windbreakers, snow boots, gloves, hot-water bottles, lighters... and stock up on food and water that keeps long-term."
I could see the sentence written plainly across his face—Has the CEO lost his mind?
But all he asked was: "How much?"
"Start with enough for fifty people for three months."
This time he really did suck in a breath.
"Understood."
I nodded.
That's exactly why I'd kept him around all this time.
He might question things, but he never wasted time second-guessing orders.
Two hours later, he called back.
"Sir."
"Water and food are no problem. We can source the heating equipment too. But..."
"But what?"
"But down jackets, windbreakers—that kind of cold-weather gear—there's barely any around this time of year, and now almost all of it's been bought up!"
At first I didn't think much of it. I was juggling work and answered offhandedly. "If one store's out, go to the next."
Muffled arguing leaked through the line.
A few seconds later, my assistant came back.
"But sir... the clothing stores and supermarkets nearby—the same person bought up all the cold-weather gear. There's barely anything left."
Hm?
Every store nearby, cleared out?
I looked up at the window.
Thirty-six degrees.
Dead heat.
At a time like this, a normal person's first reaction to seeing down jackets would be to complain about how much space they take up.
On the other end of the line, an employee's voice suddenly rose.
"Ma'am, we're willing to pay above list price!"
I closed the file.
"Send me the address."
"Sir, you're coming yourself?"
"Yes."
It wasn't about a few items of clothing.
I simply wanted to know—
Who else, besides me, was preparing for a bitter winter in the middle of a summer that made everyone else complain about the heat?
...
Twenty-some minutes later, I walked into the supermarket.
A blast of air-conditioning hit me in the face.
My assistant hurried over and pointed ahead. "Over there."
Between two aisles, several of our employees had a woman surrounded.
Three shopping carts were already piled full in front of her.
"No." She was clutching the last few heavy down jackets, her tone flat. "I got to these first."
An employee kept his patience. "Ma'am, we're happy to buy them off you at double the price."
"Not for sale."
"Triple."
"Not for sale."
"Five times."
The woman finally looked up. "Do you not understand plain Mandarin?"
Her features were fine, her figure striking, but her bearing was that of a deer darting through the woods—quiet, gentle.
My assistant murmured beside me. "She was willing to spare us a few at first. Then one of the staff said, 'Our CEO has money to burn,' and she wouldn't part with a single one."
I walked over.
The employees parted at once.
"Sir."
The woman caught the word and froze mid-motion.
She turned.
And visibly stiffened.
It wasn't the surprise of an ordinary person meeting someone from the business news.
It was more like—
She'd seen me before. Somewhere else.
"Do you know me?" I asked.
She stared at me for two seconds.
The next moment, a few men's windbreakers were shoved into my arms.
I looked down at them.
A faint fragrance clung to the fabric, like a field of roses somehow growing on a snow-capped mountain.
It was her scent...
She seemed to realize how abrupt her own movement had been and cleared her throat softly.
"Of course I know you. Zander Rupert—you're on the financial news every day."
"Then these?"
"For you."
I raised an eyebrow.
Five times the price and she wouldn't sell; now she was giving them away for free?
She cleared her throat again. "I didn't know it was you buying these. If I had... I'd have set aside more for you."
I said nothing.
Then I heard her speak again. "Mr. Rupert... why are you buying so many clothes?"
Had she figured out my intent? Unlikely...
The weather shift was happening above the cloud layer. Not even the forecast had reported it. How would an ordinary person know?
I kept my expression neutral and turned it back on her. "Why are you buying so many?"
This time, she was the one who went silent.
We stared at each other across three carts packed with winter clothes.
Neither of us told the truth.
Neither of us fooled the other.
Interesting.
My mind drifted back to what my assistant had said—she'd all but wiped out the winter stock of every store nearby.
"Phoenixa Baker." My assistant tipped his head toward me and spoke under his breath. "That's the name on the purchase records."
Her head snapped toward him. "You looked me up?"
"Just the purchase records," I said.
She was plainly none too pleased. "Mr. Rupert, the way your people shop really is a rich man's style."
She paused, and her expression changed. Suddenly she was serious. "Mr. Rupert, thank you."
I frowned. "For what?"
Something shifted behind her eyes.
As if she were recalling something distant and cold.
"...For everything your company has done to help people who were falling into financial ruin."
That reason was thin.
I didn't call her out on it.
I glanced down at the windbreakers in my arms, then back at the winter clothes still in her cart.
"Name your price."
She froze.
"What?"
"The rest of the winter stock in this store. I'll take all of it."
I pulled out a card and held it to her.
"Any price you want."
The woman who'd been perfectly civil to me a moment ago went cold.
She glanced at the card.
Didn't take it.
"Mr. Rupert."
"Yes?"
"Do you think everything can be bought with money?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Most things."
"Then today you've run into the minority."
She pulled her cart toward her.
"The few pieces I gave you just now—I'm not taking money for those."
"As for the rest, not a single one is for sale."
My eyes narrowed.
She'd already steered the cart around me.
A few steps away, she stopped and looked back.
"Mr. Rupert."
"If you really think the weather is off—"
She hesitated.
"Don't just buy clothes."
Then she pushed her three carts away.
My assistant stood beside me, utterly lost.
"Sir, what did she mean by that?"
I watched her go and didn't answer.
After a few seconds, I said, "Raise the original procurement order tenfold."
He stared. "Tenfold?"
"Also, pull up information on long-term, self-sufficient shelter facilities."
I looked down at the windbreakers in my arms.
Phoenixa Baker.
A woman who'd wiped out the winter stock in the height of summer, who valued down jackets above money, and who looked like she'd known me long before today.
What exactly did she know?
