No one threw parties like Maximus Wallace. Not in Midtown section of Manhattan, not in the '80s, and certainly not in 1986—the year he decided to throw his most opulent bash yet: The Electric Ball.
His empire, a gleaming modernist fortress perched on the heart of New York, pulsed with color from the city lights. The entire Wallace mansion had been transformed into a time capsule—if the capsule were built from pure cocaine dreams and limitless cash. Spotlights cut through the night sky, casting beams across the manicured lawn where chrome panthers prowled, and a full-sized neon-lit replica of the Back to the Future DeLorean rotated slowly on a glass pedestal.
Limousines purred up the drive in a constant stream. Out stepped socialites, pop stars, Wall Street titans, and European royalty—each wrapped in satin, sequins, and smugness. Men in pastel Armani suits with pushed-up sleeves walked beside women whose shoulder pads looked like weapons. A few guests showed up as their favorite 80s icons—one hedge fund manager came dressed as Bowie in Labyrinth, complete with crystal ball.
Inside, Wallace had spared no expense. The ballroom was lit like a nightclub, but layered with old-world decadence: Baccarat chandeliers flickered in rhythm with pulsing synth bass, and walls of video monitors played a looping montage of MTV classics, Reagan speeches, and digital art that could cause seizures if you stared too long. A custom-built floor-to-ceiling disco ball reflected a thousand versions of every guest, each flash of light a different decade.
Maximus made his entrance around ten, descending a staircase like a crowned prince, clad in a white armani tuxedo. He didn’t speak. He just raised his champagne glass and grinned—he was already high on his own myth.
On the main dance floor, the crowd surged to the beat of a surprise set by Grace Jones, who emerged from a fog of dry ice riding a white stallion. Somewhere in the back lounges, models and moguls whispered lines of powdered ambition on mirrored tabletops. Someone lit a hundred-dollar bill just to light a cigar. There were rumors that Prince might perform later—Maximus had sent his private jet.
Maximus went to the stage and raised his hand holding the champagne—that’s when the music stops and all the people gathered in the middle to hear him talk.
“Good evening, everyone,” he paused and smiled. “I just want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight. Your presence means more than you know—not just to me, but to the journey we’ve all taken together or in parallel.” He took a deep breath before continuing.
“This isn’t just a celebration of milestones or wealth—it’s a celebration of relationships, hard work and the people who believed when belief wasn’t easy. I’ve always said success is never a solo act. Behind every deal, every risk, every breakthrough—there are people. People who inspire, challenge, support, and sometimes even question us—and that’s how it goes. Cheers to lasting connections and continued partnerships. Thank you, and enjoy the rest of the evening.” He drank the wine straight and went down on the stage. People gave him a round of applause but he didn’t appreciate it because they are all a bunch of hypocrite predator.
Maximus went to his office to be alone. Being in a crowd gave him a headache. He poured bourbon in his glass and drink it straight when Brent Williams—his right hand came in. Brent is with him since day one. When he was struggling with his business and now that he’s a Billionaire.
“What?” he asked sternly.
“Nothing. I just want to check on you. Do you need anything?” he asked.
“Get someone here now. I want to be entertained while everyone was doing their shit,” he demanded. Brent nodded and left him.
After a few minutes someone knock in the glass door and a woman in red cocktail dress went inside. He can’t see her face because of the mask and the light was dim.
“How will you entertain me?” he asked while pouring liquor in his glass.
“I-I can dance…” she answered with a hint of innocence in her beautiful but nervous voice.
“You better be good because I’ll pay you a hefty amount,” he sat on the couch and stared at the stranger in front of him.
Maximus felt a surge of electricity when the woman started dancing. From how she moved her hips and her cleavage kept on moving closer to his face. He can’t help but to grab her and the next thing he knew he was kissing her. The woman tried to push him away but he’s strong and he likes that she’s resisting.
Maximus nibbled her ear while his hand was busy with one of her temples.
“P-please, stop, Mister Wallace,” she pleaded in her weak voice. But he didn’t listen to her. In his mind he will just pay her a large sum. He just needs to release the heat inside him.
Everything happened so fast and before Maximus can process everything—the woman stormed out of his office. She even forgot her pumps. He ran to chase her—half naked and he’s zipping his pants when he saw Brent.
“Where is the woman?” he asked panting.
Brent’s eyebrow creased in confusion. “What? Who? I came here to tell you that I can’t find anyone to entertain you,” he answered.
Now, he’s also confused. If Brent is not the one who sent her, then who? How did she end up in his office? He massaged his temple and turned his back to go back in his office.
“Did something happen, Maximus?” he asked.
“No. Nothing. Just go downstairs. Make sure the party is going on smoothly,” he answered.
By 3 a.m., people were dancing barefoot in the fountains. Helicopters hovered overhead, filming for posterity, or perhaps just for Maximus’ private archive. He liked to rewatch his own parties, like some people rewatch war documentaries.
No one knew how much the night cost—rumors ranged from three to eight million. But money wasn’t the point. Power was. Image was. And in that moment, bathed in neon and synth, Maximus Wallace was the wealthiest bachelor in New york that never cared how it ended, only how brightly it burned.
Maximus POV.“Sir, there’s someone waiting for you in your office,” his secretary told him when he got out of the elevator. It looks like she’s waiting for him because she’s standing beside the lift.“Who is it? Didn’t I tell you not to accept anyone without an appointment? You’re not doing your job, Anna,” he said sternly.“I-I’m sorry, Sir. T-this won’t happen again—”“Of course, it won’t because you are fired,” he cut her off. The woman suddenly turned pale and her eyes widened.“B-but…”“Go to your table, Anna. We will deal with you later,” Brent said and motioned her to go away. After that they went inside the office. Wallace Empire Corp was located in Midtown Manhattan. Nestled between Central Park and towering financial landmarks. The eighty stories floor-to-ceiling glass walls mirrors the NYC skyline that looks stunning during sunset and stormy nights. It spans the entire 80th floor with 360 degree views of Manhattan. The only thing that made him in a good mood whenever he’s h
Maximus POV.Brent and Maximus drove for almost an hour to the biggest casino in New York—not for gambling but to talk to someone important. He got out of his Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire-Droptail—it’s just one of the most expensive cars that he had in his collection. The valet quickly run to greet him and to get the key. Brent also got out and handed the key to the valet and they enter the casino together.“Are you playing?” Brent asked while roaming his sight around.“No, we are here to talk to Mr. Jones,” he answered without looking at him. Wherever they look there are slots machines and people grinning because they won and some who almost cried because they lost. Maximus can’t understand why people went to this kind of place for leisure. They won’t even be fulfilled because they are spending money for nothing.“Where should we look for him?” Brent wondered.“Mr. Jones, loves card games,” he answered briefly while resting his hands on his back.“Then we should go straight to the secon
Maximus POV.The business conference was boring Maximus to death. The person he’s wanting to talk hasn’t arrived yet and it’s been an hour since the conference started. He sat in the corner where it’s dark and no one will notice his presence. He’s near the banquet service area. He just grabbed the whiskey that the servers have added there and he can’t remember how much he consumed already.“Maximus, I think Mr. Jones will not come tonight,” Brent said when he approached him.He heaved out a heavy sigh. “Get the car. I know where we’ll find him,” he commanded and drank the last drop of whiskey left in his glass. Brent just nodded and left.He stood up to leave but he felt like the place was spinning. He was about to lose his balance when a child suddenly come to him and cling to his legs. “Mister, are you okay?” the little guy asked and helped him get back on his seat.He was taken aback when he saw his eyes. It’s dark and his vision is a bit blurry but he can see him with the help of
Winona’s POV.“What? You are jobless now?” Wanda exclaimed. She told Marti that she just lost her job in the diner and she didn’t expect her mom to be there. She just went home and she can smell the liquor coming from her. “How would you support Mason now—and me?” she grumbled and walked towards their direction.“I’m looking for a new job now, mom,” she sighed.“You better find a new job.” Wanda violently stroked her cheek causing her to turn her face away from her direction.“For God’s sake, you are drunk again, Wanda. Just go to your room and sleep. Stop pestering your daughter,” Marti stated and gently pushed Wanda away.“Bitch!” she hissed at her before walking away like nothing happened while Marti just rolled her eyes.Winona fix her hair and heaved out a heavy sigh. Marti caressed her back to—maybe lessen the pain she’s feeling. Her mom despised her no apparent reason. She just grew up and got used to her temper. But sometimes she can’t help but to question if she’s really her
FIVE YEARS LATER…Winona’s POV.Winona, quickly run to the door when she heard a knock. It’s Martina or Marti—her son’s babysitter.“Thank God, you’re here, Marti. I need to run to the diner because we have lots of customers today,” she said while fixing her long and jet black, curly hair into a ponytail. She grabbed her old sling bag and kissed her son on the forehead before going out of the door.“Tell Mr. Olivarez to increase your salary or else you will leave him. You are too much for him,” Marti said. She picked up Mason and carried him.“I can’t tell him that because I can’t afford to lose a job right now—now that Mason will go to daycare and your salary. Plus the rent and utility bills,” she answered. “I’m leaving. I will try to come home early to help you with the cleaning job,” she added and closed the door behind her.She walked downstairs and as unlucky as her she bumped into her landlord, Mr. Rodriguez. “Your rent is due yesterday, Winona. I expect you to pay me today,” he
No one threw parties like Maximus Wallace. Not in Midtown section of Manhattan, not in the '80s, and certainly not in 1986—the year he decided to throw his most opulent bash yet: The Electric Ball.His empire, a gleaming modernist fortress perched on the heart of New York, pulsed with color from the city lights. The entire Wallace mansion had been transformed into a time capsule—if the capsule were built from pure cocaine dreams and limitless cash. Spotlights cut through the night sky, casting beams across the manicured lawn where chrome panthers prowled, and a full-sized neon-lit replica of the Back to the Future DeLorean rotated slowly on a glass pedestal.Limousines purred up the drive in a constant stream. Out stepped socialites, pop stars, Wall Street titans, and European royalty—each wrapped in satin, sequins, and smugness. Men in pastel Armani suits with pushed-up sleeves walked beside women whose shoulder pads looked like weapons. A few guests showed up as their favorite 80s i