Suits: A Lawyer Surviving TV Chaos

That evening, as guests arrived at the hotel for the party, laughing and embracing their respective bosses, Rachel who stood by as a companion, grew increasingly stunned. 

TripAdvisor, MS, LinkedIn… 

All founders of rising internet startups! 

Just thinking about their personal fortunes totaling hundreds of millions and the billion-dollar market capitalizations of their companies made Rachel break out in a cold sweat. 

*He was still reminding me to find clients this morning…* 

Strangely, every man brought a female companion or girlfriend, yet after greeting Martin, the men immediately headed upstairs to a private suite, leaving the women behind to sip drinks and chat idly. 

This was nothing like a typical business networking event. 

Finally, the founder of the most dominant unicorn company arrived. 

"Martin! This time, I'm dragging you out of goddamn New York for sure!" 

Mark Zuckerberg threw his arms around Martin in a bear hug, pounding his back twice with clenched fists. 

"Grow up, Mark," Martin retorted, returning the gesture. "You should've realized five years ago—I'm the man you'll never have!" 

After they separated, Martin noticed Priscilla Chan standing nearby with a smirk, and his expression turned awkward. 

"Priscilla! You're as radiant as ever! Dump Mark and marry me!" 

For the sake of his future happiness, Martin boldly hugged Priscilla and even kissed the corner of her lips in front of Zuckerberg. 

Heterosocial cheek kisses often revealed the closeness of a relationship. 

The nearer the lips met during the gesture, the more intimate the bond. 

Given the proximity of Martin and Priscilla's kiss, they were clearly best friends. 

Rachel glanced at Zuckerberg, expecting a reaction, but he seemed utterly unfazed. 

After parting, Priscilla eyed Martin and sighed. "Thank that pretty face of yours. If it weren't for that, you'd be castrated by now." 

"Listen, Yuna and I—" 

Priscilla's eyes widened. "Yuna? *Fuck!* You're involved with *Yuna* too?" 

Martin froze. "Wait—you're not mad about Yuna?" 

"Of course not! It's *Fiona*—" 

Priscilla massaged her temples. "Martin, be honest. How many of my friends have you slept with? Or have they *all* fallen for you?" 

"Uh…" Martin chuckled awkwardly, pulling Rachel—dressed in a black gown—between them. "Priscilla, this is my secretary, Rachel Zane." 

To Rachel, he added, "My Harvard classmate. Mark's muse, Priscilla Chan." 

Rachel exhaled inwardly. *Finally, something familiar.* 

"Ms. Chan, I'm Rachel. Apologies for the rushed preparations today…" 

The socially adept Rachel quickly warmed up to the approachable Priscilla. 

Martin wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and turned to Zuckerberg. "Let's stick to tradition—meeting first, partying after." 

The two men walked off arm-in-arm toward the suite. 

Now it was Rachel's turn to panic. 

*All these women are here. What do I do?* 

*Mingle? Give a toast?* 

Priscilla, noticing Rachel's unease, linked arms with her. "Don't worry. They'll be back soon. Let's chat somewhere quiet." 

They settled on a sofa, where a waiter promptly brought champagne. 

As Rachel sipped her drink, pondering conversation topics, Priscilla spoke first. 

"Confused, aren't you?" Priscilla smiled at Rachel's puzzled look. "I mean, it's a party, yet they ditch their dates to hole up in secret meetings…" 

"Honestly, I've never fully grasped Martin's logic," Rachel admitted wryly. "He didn't explain anything today—just said he was throwing a 'party' with your 'Mutual Aid Society'…" 

"Everyone in that room is part of the Mutual Aid Society," Priscilla said, sipping her champagne. "Martin founded it at Harvard. All members are internet startup founders—you recognized them." 

Rachel nodded. "Harvard loves nurturing leadership like that…" 

Priscilla shook her head. "Martin doesn't have 'leadership.'" 

*No leadership?* A man who could summon a dozen rising tycoons nationwide with one call—*that's* no leadership? 

Rachel frowned. 

"Do you know how the Society began?" 

Rachel shook her head. 

Priscilla studied her carefully before explaining. 

"Every company in the Society either survived thanks to Martin's help or was *started* because he convinced them to—like Facebook and LinkedIn." 

"*What the—*" Rachel barely stifled a curse. 

Priscilla seemed pleased by her shock. 

"Another secret: Martin owns 1% non-dilutable equity in every company until they go public." 

*Thirteen booming internet firms, combined market cap near $70 billion… 1% is around $700 million !* 

Rachel felt lightheaded. 

"He donated all shares to a charity called HOPE, which I run. The charity profit funds primary education in developing nations, mainly China and India now." 

 The bombshells left Rachel dazed, staring blankly. 

"Priscilla… why tell me this?" 

After a long pause, Rachel finally spoke. "This is Martin's privacy, and I'm just his secretary…" 

Priscilla smiled. "The Society's had over a dozen gatherings. You're the first woman he's brought. That means he's hiding nothing from you—except his love life. The man only does flings, never commitments." 

In the suite, Martin handed out pre-drafted legal agreements. 

"These are personal retainers, not corporate—company boards complicate things. Fees are standard, scaled to your net worth…" 

Before he finished, everyone signed. 

Martin nearly wept. *Years of effort—worth it.* 

Collecting the contracts, he raised a glass. "To humanity's future. Cheers!" 

"To humanity's future!" 

Glasses clinked. 

"As usual, I'll brief next year's outlook. Brace yourselves—it's grim." 

The room sobered instantly, all eyes on Martin. 

"Merrill Lynch is dumping mortgage CDS bonds. Rumor has it that they're not hedging—they're liquidating entirely." 

"Other banks are doing the same. My gut says the last fool holding the bag is going to get fucked…" The room tensed. MS's founder raised a hand. "You're predicting a housing crash?" 

Martin nodded. "Highly likely. And it won't stop at real estate. Invest cautiously—focus on cheap entertainment: movies, TV, games. Avoid physical industries." 

*Cheap entertainment…* 

Though Martin didn't spell it out, the implication was clear: rising demand for affordable fun signaled falling luxury spending—a harbinger of plummeting incomes and economic downturn. 

A chilling realization settled over the room.