Eloise had ultimately handed the money over to Cassandra.
Only recently, after witnessing her daughter's astonishing rate of improvement, had she finally been convinced.
Ilvermorny confiscated students' wands during holidays, enforcing the ban on underage magic. But for pure blood families, such restrictions were little more than decoration. Borrowing an elder's wand was enough to slip past supervision.
Mother and daughter shared a tacit understanding. Neither mentioned Tom's affairs in New York to Andro. Cassandra genuinely feared the two might clash, and that her father, playing dirty, would report everything to MACUSA.
Eloise harbored similar concerns, though her thoughts ran deeper. She knew her daughter's temperament better than anyone. No matter how Cassandra tried to deny it, her personality was practically identical to her father's.
And yet now, she had changed so dramatically. She was becoming like a normal girl.
All because of that Riddle.
Letting them spend more time together was not a bad thing. At the very least, her daughter had gained her first real friend.
"If you run into problems later, write to me. Keep this safe. In a month or two, you'll understand why."
At Central Park in Manhattan, Cassandra was drenched in sweat after another practical duel with Tom.
Before she could fully recover, Tom pressed a folded slip of paper into her hand.
She did not even glance at it.
Instead, she looked up sharply. "You're leaving? Didn't you say you'd stay until the end of the month?"
"I said I'd remain in North America until the end of July," Tom corrected calmly. "The next few days I'll be heading to the Arizona sanctuary. I won't have time to continue sparring with you."
Cassandra frowned.
She had only just begun to savor the thrill of rapid progress, and now her teacher was leaving.
But she had no grounds to alter his schedule. Their agreement had been clear. While he was in New York, he would spare some time to guide her.
"Remember to write back," Tom reminded.
The girl tucked away the note, her spirits low, and walked out of the park step by step.
Her mood was foul.
Was it because she had not paid enough?
If she had more money, could she rent more of Riddle's time? Not just as a sparring partner, not just as a teacher, but even...
Anything she wanted?
Cassandra, who had always regarded money as dirt, suddenly understood the weight of Galleons.
A fierce thought took root in her heart.
I need to make money.
Before returning to Newt's house, Tom stopped by Gringotts once more. He delivered the first batch of five thousand bank cards and one hundred card readers to Falmouth.
The original plan remained unchanged. Begin in Britain, then gradually expand across Europe. However, the current quantity was still insufficient, especially the card readers. They could barely satisfy scattered shops in Diagon Alley and the surrounding areas of London.
Naturally, the goblins were not satisfied with such limited supply. They were eager to expand.
Tom, however, made a promise. Before September, he would provide another thirty thousand bank cards and two thousand machines. After that, every month would see the same amount, perhaps even more.
Recently, he had developed several alchemical automatons capable of handling most of the manufacturing process. All that remained for him was the final step, embedding a special mental imprint along with anti piracy trigger traps.
Production had officially entered semi automation.
The global wizarding population was only a few million at most. Factoring in the time required for promotion, his output capacity was already sufficient.
The goblins came to the same conclusion.
And in an attempt to trick Tom, they proposed a wager.
If Tom failed to deliver the promised quantity next month, the profit split would shift to fifty fifty.
But if he succeeded, the purchase price for bank cards and card readers would increase by five percent.
In any case, the goblins refused to believe that his monthly production could possibly skyrocket to that extent.
"Tom, when are we leaving?"
Early in the morning, Fleur descended to the first floor dining room, dressed in a pale blue silk dress, fully prepared.
"After breakfast," Tom replied, taking a sip of milk. He unfolded the North American edition of the Daily Prophet and casually scanned the headlines.
Then his brows lifted slightly.
"British Ministry Employee Wins Grand Prize"
The newspaper featured a photograph of the nine members of the Weasley family standing before a massive pyramid, waving enthusiastically at the camera.
Ginny had told him about the news days ago. Only today did he see it in print.
The Weasleys were truly interesting. Despite their tight finances, they had won seven hundred Galleons and immediately spent every last coin on travel.
Ron was grinning broadly in the photo. There was no rat perched on his shoulder. Instead, it had been replaced by an owl.
Ginny had mentioned that Sirius Black had gifted it to Ron as compensation. The moment Ron received the owl, he completely forgot about his old rat.
"What are you reading?" Fleur leaned closer, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
"Planning a trip to Egypt?"
"Perhaps. I hear there's plenty of gold inside the pyramids. You know how broke I've been lately."
"That's a myth," Fleur laughed. "All the high purity gold was stolen long ago. What remains are raw ore full of impurities and counterfeit pieces. Father once bought a chunk as a souvenir, only to discover it was manufactured in the East. He was furious."
"In that case, forget it. I'd hate for you to get sunburned."
Chuckling, Tom tossed the newspaper aside.
He was simply pleased about the coming school term.
Peter Pettigrew was likely sprouting grass atop his grave by now. Sirius Black had been freed. The Ministry no longer had any reason to station Dementors at Hogwarts.
Tom had never encountered one personally and did not fear them. But like any sane person avoiding dog filth on the pavement, it was better to steer clear than invite unnecessary trouble.
What he did not know was this.
Azkaban.
Lockhart gripped the newspaper in his hands so tightly that it crumpled. It was already a month old. Only after the attack involving Peter Pettigrew had the Ministry begun distributing outdated papers to prisoners for entertainment.
"The Youngest First Class Order of Merlin Recipient in History"
"An Absolute Genius, Tom Riddle!"