Mr Gatsby Novels & Stories

I let out a sigh of relief. Webber was nothing like the image I’d constructed in my mind. I’d expected someone older, possibly balding, definitely stuffy, the kind of wealth manager who’d been handling old money since before I was born. Instead, the man who entered my room was in his forties, with dark hair cut fashionably short and glasses. He wore a tailored charcoal suit with an emerald tie that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. “Mrs. Huntington,” he said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “I can’t tell you how… unexpected this is.”

He removed his suit jacket, tossed it onto the sofa, and began rolling up his shirt sleeves. The room fell silent; even the music stopped. "It's all about enjoyment here. We're all big business people, right, Mr. Gibson?" As the words settled, a man rose from a swivel chair at the bar, holding a champagne flute. He waved it casually towards Murray. "Hello, I'm Humphrey Veblen, and I just returned from abroad. I'm new here, so please, enlighten me." Extending his hand with a refined smile, Humphrey exuded the aura of a privileged gentleman born with a silver spoon. Murray briefly made contact in greeting.

Giggling awkwardly, Stephanie glanced at the elderly man at the head of the table and gave a quick shake of her head. “Not at all, sir. Although I rarely receive such invitations, strangely enough, I’m not surprised today.” “Oh? Is that so?” the chairman replied, leaning back in his oversized leather swivel chair. His face, dignified yet marked with age, creased into a thoughtful frown. “Yes, sir,” Stephanie said with a polite nod, trying to steady her voice. The chairman, Mr. Gary Robert, was an Italian man who had spent most of his life in the United States. He was well-respected in business circles, known for his sharp mind, calm demeanor, and sense of fairness. But when necessary, he cou

Reagan spoke to her face, and Gabrielle nods once. "Yes, I will. Mr. Reagan!" Gabrielle replied, and Mr. Reagan was slightly taken aback. Gabrielle always calls him "Father in law" OR she calls him "Daddy" Somehow he could sense that she acts strange and she looks weird as well. However, the zeal to gain all the wealth and grow stronger in the city and worldwide muddied his sense of reasoning —he unhurriedly grabs her hand. "Place her hand on the safe already!" Mr. Robertson urges his friend, he also wants to see things for himself.

Gatsby always have trending news to tell, and everyone knows him to be a radio station that signals the hottest news to everyone in the clan. "Don't you run out of something to tell?" Ace asked, tucking his hands in his pants, as they walk. "As long as he's Gatsby the newscaster, he won't run out of something to say, so tell me Gatsby what news do you have to broadcast today?" Tornado asked. He's the youngest among the three, he has a blue bangs hair, which made him look like a teenager. "The boss ordered Miss. spitfire to be whipped to death" Gatsby broadcasted and Ace halted his feet immediately. "Why did the boss do that to her?" Ace asked worriedly.

I was either framed for something or someone that had influence in the government had sent them. “Gentlemen, welcome to Greyson Enterprise, how may I help you?” The older man with hints of graying hair and deep brown eyes and slight stubbles on his face smiled at me, “Mr. Greyson, I’m sure you do not know me. My name is John Kenny, I was hoping to take a moment of your time.” “I see…” I replied with hesitation, shifting my gaze to the other man by my right, who seemed much too rigid like a cyborg. “Well, of course, take a seat.”

Today, he unexpectedly appeared at the Langston Residence as a precious guest of her family. Heather did not understand the twists and turns of the events, but she was rather vigilant about it and it was reflected in the defensive approach in her eyes. “Old Master Langston,” he broke the silence and started the conversation with Robert. She was not used to the way he accurately pronounced each word that made him sound like a professional news reporter. He seemed stern to her. With a smile on his face, Robert welcomed the man and introduced him to Heather. “Heather, this is General Moriaty.”

They greeted me, and I smiled at them. We walked into the restaurant and damn! it was so beautiful, well furnished and so spacious. Mikhail was indeed a billionaire. Maybe he was not even exaggerating about being the richest...but what about Bill Gates and the other rich men. "Good afternoon Mr. Mazza, and Ms....." "Mrs. Mazza." Mikhail completed and the waitress's eyes widened. "Mrs. Mazza." She completed and coughed. "I'm so sorry Ma'am. What can I get for you both?" She asked.

Apparently, he was in his late twenties, unmarried and very handsome; something they made a point to repeat to her whenever the opportunity arose. He was also a successful businessman and a bunch of other things she had had to pretend she was enthusiastic about knowing. To her, she was just cleaning up unoccupied space with every passing day and her mission was clearly on hold, unless she could somehow manoeuvre her way to the east wing, something that was proving to be quite the mission by itself. Mrs Patterson was proving to be one tough cookie.

His gaze was cold, yet his charismatic aura silenced the crowd. Kimmy’s eyes widened. That man was not the fifty-five-year-old she had been told about. Kimmy’s heart pounded harder. She truly couldn’t understand. When she finally reached the altar, the man’s name rang clearly as the pastor introduced him. “Mr. Grayson Vanderbilt Blackwood.” Kimmy froze, her eyes growing wide. Grayson Vanderbilt Blackwood. The name was not unfamiliar. The richest young man in the capital, a billionaire known for his coldness, cruelty, and constant presence in business magazines and on television. Rumors even said he often changed partners.