The sun didn't shine on River City the next morning; it glared. For Charles, however, the light reflecting off the chrome of the luxury district felt like a spotlight.
He had spent the remainder of the night in a five-star hotel suite that cost three thousand dollars. The System had rewarded his "rest" with a 3x multiplier, effectively paying him nine thousand dollars to sleep on 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton. When he woke up, the man in the mirror was the same, yet fundamentally different. The Charisma Passive was subtle—a sharpening of the jawline, a clarity in his eyes that hadn't been there when he was grinding out twelve-hour shifts at the warehouse.
He spent the morning "leveling up." A trip to a bespoke tailor on 5th Avenue resulted in a $15,000 charcoal-wool suit.
Spin. 4x Multiplier. +$60,000.
A stop at a high-end salon for a haircut and a facial. $500.
Spin. 2x Multiplier. +$1,000.
By noon, Charles Reed looked like he had been born with a silver spoon, even though he knew the calluses on his hands from the warehouse were only just starting to fade. His bank balance was now a hovering storm of numbers, sitting comfortably at $142,000.
He knew where Sarah would be. Every Saturday, she dragged whoever she was dating to the "Aria Terrace"—the most exclusive brunch spot in the city. It was a place where people went not to eat, but to be seen.
Charles pulled up to the Aria Terrace in a chauffeured black sedan. He wasn't ready to buy the supercar yet—he wanted to savor the build-up. As the driver opened the door, Charles adjusted his cuffs, the Swiss chronograph on his wrist catching the light like a fallen star.
The hostess at the front, a woman whose job was essentially to look down on people, started to give him the "Do you have a reservation?" look. Then, her eyes trailed over his suit, his watch, and settled on his face. The Charisma Passive hit her like a physical wave. She flushed, her posture straightening instantly.
"Table for one, sir?" she asked, her voice several octaves softer than usual.
"I'm looking for some friends," Charles said smoothly. "I'll find them."
He scanned the terrace. The crowd was a sea of pastel linen and expensive sunglasses. And there they were, seated at a prime table near the railing: Sarah and Bradley.
Sarah was laughing at something Bradley was saying, her hand resting on his arm in a way she used to do with Charles. Bradley looked smug, his Maserati key fob placed prominently on the table next to his mimosa.
Charles took a deep breath. The old Charles would have been trembling. This Charles felt nothing but a cold, calculating curiosity. He walked toward them, his leather soles clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.
As he approached, Bradley was in the middle of a story. "—and so I told the CEO, if you want the merger to go through, you need to talk to my people. It's all about leverage, Sarah. Most people just don't have it."
"Leverage is a fickle thing, Bradley," Charles said, stopping at their table.
The silence that followed was heavy. Sarah turned, a polite, confused smile on her face that quickly curdled into pure, unadulterated shock. She looked at Charles's shoes, his suit, his watch, and finally his face.
"Charles?" she whispered. Her eyes scanned him, searching for the "loser" she had dumped in the rain. He wasn't there.
Bradley's brow furrowed. "Who is this, Sarah? One of your old... classmates?" He looked Charles up and down, trying to find a flaw. He noticed the watch. Bradley's eyes widened. He knew watches. He knew that specific chronograph was a $12,000 piece.
"I'm the guy who was 'between jobs' yesterday," Charles said, pulling out a chair from the neighboring table and turning it around to sit. He did it with a casualness that screamed power. "But you know how the market is. Things change in an afternoon."
"Charles, what is this?" Sarah asked, her voice trembling. "Did you... did you rob a bank? Where did you get that suit? That watch?"
"You always did have a low opinion of my potential, Sarah," Charles said, his voice devoid of anger. That was what hurt her most—the lack of bitterness. "I just decided to stop holding back. I realized that some people are meant to be the background noise of the world, and some are meant to own the speakers."
Bradley, feeling his territory being invaded, puffed out his chest. "Listen, pal. I don't know what kind of inheritance you just blew on a wardrobe, but this is a private table. Sarah and I are celebrating my new promotion."
Charles looked at Bradley as if he were an interesting species of insect. "A promotion. Congratulations. Junior partner at Miller & Associates, right?"
Bradley blinked. "How did you—"
"I did some reading this morning," Charles lied. The System had actually provided a brief 'Insight' overlay on Bradley when he focused on him.
[Target: Bradley Vance]
[Financial Status: Leveraged to the hilt. Maserati is a lease. Credit card debt: $45,000.]
Charles leaned in. "The thing about Miller & Associates is that they're currently looking for a lead investor for their new real estate fund. They need about five million by the end of the month or the firm is going into restructuring. If I were you, Bradley, I'd worry less about your promotion and more about whether your firm will exist in ninety days."
Bradley went pale. It was a trade secret, something only the partners knew. "You... you're bluffing."
Charles turned to Sarah. "I came here to thank you, actually. If you hadn't walked away last night, I might have kept trying to build a life that was too small for me. You were the anchor keeping me in the harbor. Now that you've cut the rope, I'm finding the ocean is much more my style."
A waiter approached, looking hesitant. "Sir, I'm sorry, but this table is reserved for—"
"The bill for this entire section," Charles interrupted, not looking away from Sarah. "Bring it to me."
The waiter paused. "Sir? There are twelve tables here. Including the champagne orders, it's likely over eight thousand dollars."
Charles pulled out a black metallic card—a high-limit card he had secured that morning by showing the bank his "liquid assets." He flicked it onto the waiter's tray. "And add a twenty percent tip. For everyone."
Sarah watched, her mouth slightly open. She remembered Charles counting quarters for a laundromat. She remembered him apologizing because he could only afford the "value menu" on their anniversary. Seeing him throw away eight thousand dollars like it was a used napkin was breaking her brain.
[DING!]
[Large Scale Purchase Detected: $9,600 (Hospitality)]
[Commencing Spin...]
[Multiplier Result: 4x!]
[Calculation: $9,600 x 4 = $38,400]
[Processing Rebate...]
Charles felt the vibration of his phone. Another thirty-eight thousand added to the war chest. He was actually making nearly thirty thousand dollars by paying for Bradley's brunch. The irony was delicious.
"Enjoy your meal, Sarah," Charles said, standing up. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. The Charisma Passive made her breath hitch, a flash of the old attraction—and a new, desperate greed—igniting in her eyes. "It's the last thing I'm ever giving you."
"Charles, wait!" she called out as he turned away. "Maybe we should... we should talk. I was just stressed last night, I didn't mean—"
Charles didn't even look back. He walked out of the Aria Terrace, the whispers of the elite following him like a wake.
As he reached his car, the System chimed again.
[Quest Completed: 'Best Served Cold']
[Reward: 500 Experience Points]
[Bonus: The 'Predator's Eye' – You can now see the 'Net Worth' and 'Primary Desire' of any person you look at for more than five seconds.]
Charles climbed into the back of the sedan. He felt a strange sense of closure, but also a growing hunger. Sarah was a small prize. River City was a small pond.
"Driver," Charles said.
"Yes, Mr. Reed?"
"Take me to the River City Auto Gallery. It's time I stopped renting my presence."
"Of course, sir."
Charles looked out the window. His 'Predator's Eye' flickered to life, scanning the people on the sidewalk.
Net Worth: $40,000. Desire: A vacation.
Net Worth: $1.2M. Desire: Social validation.
Net Worth: $15,000. Desire: To be noticed.
Then, his eyes caught someone standing by a fountain. A woman in a sharp, white power suit, silver hair tied in a ruthless ponytail. She was looking at a tablet, her brow furrowed in frustration.
[Target: Elena Vance (No relation to Bradley)]
[Net Worth: $450 Million]
[Primary Desire: A miracle to save her family's shipping empire.]
Charles tapped the glass. Four hundred and fifty million. Now that was a multiplier he wanted to play with.
"Actually, stop the car," Charles commanded. "I think I've just found my first real investment."