Maturity

"How the fuck am I actually supposed to help her?" I muttered into the quiet emptiness of the loft.

I was pacing a rut into the hardwood floor of the living room. My brain was completely redlining, desperately trying to engineer a solution to Claudia's suffocating financial trap.

Should I just call Nikolay and ask him to hand her a check? He would do it in a heartbeat. No. Absolutely not. That’s incredibly cheap, and it would completely degrade her pride. She would feel like a charity case. Fuck that, Daeron. Think harder.

I stopped pacing, staring blankly at the kitchen island, desperately searching for inspiration.

Wait. I can call Dad. I can ask him to arrange an entry-level job for her at the firm. She has the fundamental accounting skills for it, right?

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over my dad's contact name. But logic quickly killed the impulse.

Would she even accept a handout like that? And what about the toxic workplace politics? The second her new coworkers found out she bypassed the interview process because of the owner's son, they would resent her. They would make her life a living hell. Besides, a standard entry-level paycheck wouldn't even be enough to make a dent in her father's massive debt. Fuck.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and resumed my restless pacing. My steps naturally halted when I reached the edge of the living room, my eyes locking onto the glass doors.

I need some fresh air to clear my head.

The freezing December wind hit me like a physical slap as I slid the glass door open. I stepped out onto the balcony, taking a deep, icy breath before lighting a clove cigarette. The familiar, harsh burn in my lungs grounded me. I collapsed onto the freezing floor cushions, pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders.

What the hell should I do?

The city lights bloomed beautifully below me, glowing softly against the dark winter night. I looked out over the sprawling Chicago skyline. The city never actually slept. Even at this ungodly hour, there were dozens of small businesses running, keeping the heart of the city beating.

Wait. Why am I trying to find her a job? Why don't I just create a business for her?

I leaned forward, my elbows resting heavily on my knees. "Holy shit. That’s actually a great idea. But what kind of business?" I mumbled.

My eyes locked onto a small, glowing storefront across the snowy street.

Maybe I could open an independent coffee shop for her? She’s practically running our café single-handedly anyway. She knows exactly how the logistics, inventory, and daily operations work.

I took a slow, calculated drag of my cigarette.

No. Bad idea. Brick-and-mortar stores require a massive amount of upfront capital, and it takes months of permitting just to open the doors. It wouldn't generate the immediate, liquid cash flow she desperately needs to pay for her mother's medication right now.

As I puffed a thick cloud of smoke into the freezing wind, a much sharper, smarter realization hit me.

Why am I trying to monetize her physical labor? Her body is already failing. I need to create a business based entirely on her mental capabilities.

I rubbed my temples, the gears of my business major finally clicking into the right alignment.

Claudia was brilliant. She was incredibly observant, highly empathetic, and possessed a razor-sharp wit. She was naturally gifted at making stressed-out people feel completely comfortable.

A service-type business.

But what kind of service? I mentally reviewed her major. Finance. She was literally paying UIC to study complex tax laws, corporate accounting, and financial modeling. And I knew for a fact she was an incredible teacher, considering she had just successfully tutored me through my final exams.

I paused, the cherry of my cigarette burning bright red in the dark.

Wait. She has the meticulous, analytical mind of an investigator, but the warm empathy of a counselor. Maybe... a Tax and Accounting Consultant?

I puffed another cloud of smoke, my heart starting to race with adrenaline.

But an official consulting firm requires a certified CPA license to operate.

I yanked my phone out, my thumbs flying across the screen as I frantically searched the Illinois state licensing requirements.

Fuck! It takes years of logged corporate hours to get a CPA license.

I let out a massive, frustrated sigh, dropping my head back against the glass. I was hitting a brick wall. But right as I was about to give up, my brain bypassed the corporate route and found the perfect loophole.

She doesn't need to be a corporate CPA. Why not set her up as a Freelance Bookkeeper and independent tax preparer? Small, local businesses and independent contractors desperately need people to balance their books, and they don't care about a fancy license as long as the math is perfect! YES! THIS IS IT!

I jumped to my feet, aggressively crushing the cherry of my cigarette into the glass ashtray. I rushed back inside the warm loft, making a beeline straight for my desk. I flipped my laptop open, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"I need to map out this business model right now."

My fingers flew across the keyboard, completely energized by this new sense of purpose.

I systematically mapped out the core structure of the freelance agency, detailing our approach from a managerial and marketability standpoint. However, I made a very conscious choice to leave the technical execution and financial structuring sections completely blank. Claudia was the accounting genius, not me. I wanted to give her the space to fill in those gaps herself. If I handed her a completed project, she would feel like I was her boss giving her charity. I needed her to feel like an equal, foundational partner in this business.

Once the managerial framework was solid, I hit the next major roadblock: Client acquisition. We needed a starting roster of clients. I checked the clock on my laptop. It was just past 1:00 AM. Knowing the Russian Brotherhood, their night was just getting started. I grabbed my phone and called Nikolay.

"What’s up, Derro! You want to come by and drink?!" Nikolay’s booming, joyful voice echoed through the speaker. The heavy bass of music and the loud laughter of Boris and Andrew echoed in the background.

"Yo, Brotha! Not tonight. I actually need your help with something."

The shift was instantaneous. The music died. The laughter stopped. Nikolay's voice dropped into a cold, lethal register. "What happened? Who do we need to find?"

"Whoa, nothing like that, Brotha! It’s not an emergency," I quickly reassured him, touched by how fast they were ready to go to war for me. "I just need a favor. Can you help me put together a list of small, local business owners in the city that you guys might know?"

"Hm? For what, Derro? Are you looking for a new job?"

"No. I want to start a business."

A confused silence hung on the line. "A business?"

"Yeah. It’s a freelance agency setup. Independent tax preparation and accounting consulting."

"Since when do you know a single fucking thing about tax and finance, Derro?" Nikolay asked bluntly.

"The technical side isn't for me, Brotha. I’m just building the business model and the marketing strategy for my coworker at the café. She’s brilliant at this kind of stuff."

"She?" The line went absolutely dead for two full seconds.

And then the apartment completely exploded. "Oh…. OH!!!!!!"

A massive, chaotic roar of cheering, clapping, and loud Russian cursing erupted through my phone speaker. I winced, pulling the phone away from my ear with a laugh.

Suddenly, the phone was snatched. A deep, rumbling voice filled the speaker. "You need to introduce this girl to us immediately, Brotha! I want to shake her hand!" Boris demanded, sounding incredibly proud.

"What the heck are you guys doing?" I laughed, shaking my head at the screen.

The phone shuffled again, and Andrew's calm, highly analytical voice cut through the background cheering. "Don’t worry about these idiots, Brotha. I will handle the contact list. You're looking for mom-and-pop scales, right? Small cafés, local restaurants, general stores, and independent services?"

"That’s exactly it. That's perfect."

"Understood. I’ll cross-reference our network and send you a secure file as soon as I can." Andrew paused for a second, his tone softening with genuine warmth. "And hey... good job, Brotha. We're proud of you."

Click. He hung up before I could thank him. I tossed my phone onto the desk, a massive, genuine smile stretching across my face.

While I waited for Andrew's intelligence gathering, I went back to refining the pitch deck, making sure the business model was perfectly legible so Claudia could easily understand her earning potential.

An hour later, my email pinged. Andrew had already delivered. He didn't just send a list of names; he sent a highly detailed, color-coded spreadsheet. It included the names of 24 business owners, their specific industry types, and their estimated revenue scales. He even included a dedicated notes column, detailing exactly which owners owed the Brotherhood favors, who was easy to work with, and who was notoriously cheap.

Damn. This is absolute gold.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen. As a backup plan, I knew I could leverage my father's corporate connections to land some high-end clients. But I firmly pushed that idea away, keeping it strictly as a last resort. We needed to build this from the ground up, on Claudia's merits, without the shadow of my family's wealth tainting it.

I saved the files, shut the laptop, and stretched my exhausted muscles. I walked over to my bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a profound sense of satisfaction.

For the first time in over a year, I wasn't dreading waking up. I absolutely couldn't wait for tomorrow.

**

6:00 AM.

The second my eyes opened the next morning, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and texted Claudia, asking to meet up immediately.

An entire agonizing hour passed. No reply. Is she actually sleeping in for once? I dialed her number. The line rang out to voicemail three times in a row. A few minutes later, my phone finally buzzed in my hand. It was her.

"Hey, Clau! Did you just wake up?" I asked, relieved.

The harsh, whistling sound of the Chicago wind and heavy traffic bled through the speaker. "No, I’m actually walking back to my dorm right now."

"Walking back? Where the hell have you been?"

"Just finishing up an early morning house-cleaning gig. Anyway, what’s up?"

My stomach violently dropped. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She’s out doing manual labor in the freezing snow at six in the morning?! I have to make this business work today!

"Can we meet up soon? I have something incredibly important to discuss with you."

The crunching sound of her boots in the snow stopped. "What happened?" Her voice instantly dropped an octave, tight with anxiety and sheer exhaustion.

"No, no! It’s not a bad thing! It’s great news, actually."

"Okay...? About what?"

"Please, I just need to show you in person."

She paused, letting out a long, ragged exhale that broke my heart. "Can we just meet up later tonight? I picked up an extra shift at the café today to cover someone. Maybe after we close?"

I rubbed my temples, suppressing a frustrated sigh. She was literally working herself to death. "Do you have at least thirty minutes of spare time during your lunch break?" I asked, letting a firm, uncompromising tone bleed into my voice.

"…Alright. I think I can make time for that."

"Good. Call me the second you’re free. I’ll drive over and pick you up."

"Alright. See you later, Daeron."

Click.

I threw my phone onto the mattress. Fuck! I need to get her out of this cycle right now! I marched straight to my desk, opened my laptop, and spent the next four hours aggressively tightening the business model and formatting Andrew's lead list.

At lunchtime, Claudia texted me to meet her at a quiet, independent coffee shop near the edge of campus. When I arrived, I guided us to the most secluded corner booth in the back so I could present the strategy without prying eyes.

"So, what is this mysterious ‘great news’ about, Daeron?" she asked, wrapping both of her freezing hands around a steaming mug of tea.

I smirked confidently, unzipping my backpack and pulling out my laptop. "I’m going to show you our way out."

Her eyebrows furrowed in deep confusion. Her exhausted, dark eyes stayed locked on my face as I flipped the screen open and booted up the presentation.

"Look at this." I spun the laptop around so the screen faced her. Her eyes immediately darted to the bold header of the business model. "We are going to start this freelance agency together."

I spent the next twenty minutes walking her through the entire concept. I explained the managerial structure, the overhead costs (which were basically zero), and the massive marketability of offering localized, independent accounting. I showed her exactly how this could generate serious, liquid cash without destroying her physical body.

"The technical sections are completely empty," she noted, her sharp eyes scanning the blank slides. "I assume you left the actual tax and accounting mechanics for me to build?"

I nodded. "You’re the undeniable expert in that field. I don't know shit about the actual math. I need you to be the brain of the operation."

She started nervously chewing on her thumbnail, a habit I hadn't seen before. "But, Daeron... this kind of freelance consulting is tough. It takes months to find that crucial first client. Especially since we don’t have a portfolio or a reputation yet."

I grinned, leaning forward across the table. "That’s exactly where I come in. My job is to hunt down the prospects, pitch the service, and secure the contracts."

"Your only job is to focus on executing the math once I get the signatures." I clicked out of the presentation and opened Andrew's spreadsheet. "Take a look at this."

Her eyes went wide, reflecting the glow of the screen. A subtle, genuinely impressed smile broke across her face. "Wow... this is incredibly detailed. Where did you get this?"

"I asked my brothers to tap into their network. Small-scale local businesses are the absolute perfect starting target for us."

"Your brothers?"

"I assume you know Nikolay, Boris, and Andrew, right? The Draufgängers?"

"Not personally, but I know Andrew. He's the quiet party guy who always hangs around, right?"

"Yes, you could definitely say that."

She smiled softly, looking up from the screen to meet my eyes. "You stayed up and made all of this last night?"

"Yes! Clau, this is a massive opportunity for us! And we have to launch it as soon as possible!"

"Christmas is literally only a few days away, Daeron," she reminded me, a hint of realistic hesitation in her voice.

"Exactly! The New Year is about to hit! Everyone's financial quarters are resetting, which means tax season is right around the corner. It is the absolute best window of opportunity for this. We need to brainstorm your technical side immediately so we can launch right after the holiday."

"Alright," she nodded slowly, her mind already racing with the accounting possibilities.

"And... you need to quit all your other physical jobs by the end of the week, so we can focus 100% on this."

"Whoa, whoa, wait. That’s an insane risk!" Panic instantly flared in her eyes, her protective instincts over her family kicking in. "What if we fail? What if I can't pay for—"

"Trust me." I cut her off gently, reaching across the table and holding her panicked gaze with absolute, unwavering confidence. "I am a Business major, Clau. I don't launch a startup without a worst-case scenario contingency plan already mapped out. If the freelance market dries up, I already have a list of mid-level corporate firms we can pivot your skills to. You won't fall. Please. Just trust me."

She stared at me for a long, heavy moment. She was terrified of letting go of her only lifelines, but she finally let out a long, surrendering breath. "Alright. I trust you."

"Great!!" I slapped the wooden table in excitement. "Let’s brainstorm the technicals together. You pick the time and place!"

"Well... I don’t have any schedule or plans for Christmas."

"Then let’s spend Christmas together! We can hole up in my loft and build the agency on Christmas Day!"

She smiled, the crushing weight of the world finally lifting off her shoulders. Her dark eyes looked deeply into mine. "Thank you, Daeron. For making all of this."

"Don’t thank me yet. We still need to execute the mission, soldier!"

She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound that warmed the entire coffee shop. "Aye, aye, Cap’n."