Chapter 22: The Sovereign's Loft
The Obsidian Heights was not merely a housing complex; it was a vertical fortress of vanity. In the entire South River County, these were the most expensive pieces of soil one could stand on. The average price per square meter started at two hundred thousand dollars—a figure that effectively filtered out anyone without a billionaire's pedigree.
The location was a masterpiece of natural isolation. The entire residence was surrounded by the churning waters of the River Leeds. There was only one heavily guarded land exit, while the remaining three sides of the peninsula faced the water, providing a spectacular, unobstructed view of the horizon. It was designed specifically for those who wanted to look down on the world while remaining physically separated from it.
There were only six buildings in the complex, each standing 38 stories tall. The architectural style was neo-futurist, characterized by sweeping glass curves and reinforced steel. The smallest unit was 200 square meters, while the grandest lofts exceeded a thousand. This was the gathering place of "Old Money" and "Hidden Power." The parking lot was a rotating museum of luxury; a man would be too embarrassed to drive a car worth less than five million dollars through these gates.
Ethan McCain stepped into the showroom of the South River International Residence. The air inside was chilled to a precise temperature and scented with a hint of expensive sandalwood. The lobby was vast and vaulted, but surprisingly empty. Five or six salesladies were huddled together on ivory suede sofas, their voices hushed as they gossiped and checked their manicured nails.
When Ethan entered, his shadow stretching across the polished marble floor, not one of them stood up. He was currently dressed in his "Ghost" attire—the worn-out hoodie and faded jeans he had worn before the System's arrival. To these women, who were trained to scent wealth like sharks scent blood, he didn't even register as a customer. He was a glitch in the scenery.
The Obsidian Heights had one building that had been on the market for three years, yet many units remained unsold. They were simply too expensive. The sales staff was jaded; they had seen a thousand "dreamers" walk in to gawk at the marble and walk out empty-handed. Most of the original staff had left years ago with millions in commissions. Back then, the commission was a mere fraction of a percent, but now, the management had increased it to a full 1% to motivate the staff. Yet, no one was buying.
Ethan stood there for three minutes, his Peak Mind analyzing the boredom on their faces. He didn't speak; he was observing the hierarchy. Finally, a young woman, about twenty-six years old, walked out from the staff hallway.
Jenny Ward was a newcomer with a "facecard" that could easily be rated a 95. She possessed a natural, ethereal beauty that didn't need the heavy makeup her colleagues wore. She had only secured this position because her uncle had gifted the regional boss ten thousand dollars' worth of rare tea and favors. Coming from a small rural village, Jenny had arrived with stars in her eyes, thinking she would make a fortune. Instead, she had spent a month being sidelined. Every time a halfway decent customer appeared, the "Old Guard" would shove her aside to claim the commission.
When Jenny saw Ethan—a young man in cheap clothes being ignored by her colleagues—she didn't see a pauper. She saw a human being.
"Sir, are you here to view the houses?" Jenny asked, walking toward him with a genuine, if tired, smile.
"I am," Ethan answered. His voice, calm and steady, was deep and resonant.
Jenny felt a slight shiver at the sound of his voice, but she brushed it off. "What type of unit are you interested in, sir?"
"Show me the best you have," Ethan said simply.
The senior salesladies on the sofa snickered. One of them, a woman in her thirties named Ms. James, whispered loudly enough for Ethan to hear, "The best we have? Does he think this is a toy store? He'd have to work three lifetimes just to buy the doorknob."
Jenny ignored them, her face flushing with embarrassment for Ethan. "We have several units available. Currently, we have a five-hundred-square-meter penthouse in Block 3. Would you like to start there?"
"Let's see it," Ethan replied.
For the next hour, Jenny took Ethan through the amenities of Block 3. She spoke with a rehearsed but sincere passion about the Italian marble and the smart-home integration. Ethan listened, but his Peak Mind was already rejecting it. The location was inferior; the view of the river was partially blocked by the shadow of Block 1.
When they returned to the lobby, the senior staff were still there, watching with predatory amusement.
"Mr. McCain, are you satisfied with the unit?" Jenny asked as she poured him a cup of tea.
"Not really," Ethan said, setting the tea aside. "The location of Block 3 is for subordinates. I want Block 1. The top floor."
The lobby went silent. Ms. James let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Block 1? The Sovereign Loft? Kid, do you even know the price? That unit spans the 37th and 38th floors. It's 1,300 square meters of custom-designed luxury. It's nearly four hundred million dollars. You couldn't even afford the air in the elevator."
Jenny looked at Ethan, her eyes pleading. "Mr. McCain, Ms. James is… blunt, but she's right about the cost. It's our most expensive unit. Perhaps we should look at something more manageable?"
"Jenny," Ethan said, his gaze locking onto hers. "Get the keys."
Hearing Ethan's words and feeling the cold, absolute authority in his eyes, Jenny's hesitation snapped. She stood up, her heart pounding, and went to the front desk.
"Jenny, if you take that boy up there and he scratches the floor, it's your job," Ms. James warned. "Look at him! He's wearing a hoodie that looks like it came from a dumpster."
"I'll be careful, Ms. James," Jenny said, her voice trembling but firm.
As they walked toward Block 1, Ethan's mind was calculating. A $400,000,000 purchase would net him 4 System Points, pushing him closer to the Level 2 breakthrough.
The moment they stepped into the Sovereign Loft on the 37th floor, even Ethan was momentarily impressed. The foyer was a cathedral of light. The French windows were three meters high, offering a 270-degree view of South River County and the Leeds River below.
"This glass is ten-centimeter-thick bulletproof composite," Jenny explained. "There is an indoor swimming pool on the second level, filtered with medical-grade germ-free water."
Ethan walked to the window. From this height, the people looked like ants. The bullying, the hunger, the "Ghost" life—it all felt like a dream from a different person's soul.
"I'll take it," Ethan said.
Jenny froze. "I... I beg your pardon?"
"I'm taking the unit," Ethan repeated. "Full payment. Today."
"Mr. McCain... the total price with taxes and fees is three hundred and ninety-eight million dollars," she whispered, her hands shaking.
"Is there a problem with my credit?" Ethan asked with a hint of amusement.
"No! I just... I need to get the manager."
When they returned to the showroom, Ms. James stood up with a mop. "Back already? Now, Jenny, get to work. Start with the footprints your 'billionaire' friend left on the marble."
Ethan ignored her. "Bring me the contract."
The manager walked out with a skeptical expression and handed Ethan the tablet. Ethan's fingers moved with the speed of a Peak Mind. He entered the account details for the Black Global Holdings offshore front, which he had gotten Elena to arrange, as he could no longer keep paying with just fingerprints for such massive sums.
[TRANSACTION INITIATED: $398,000,000.00]
[PROCESSING...]
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE. SUCCESS.]
The quiet ding of the tablet felt like a thunderclap. The manager's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Payment... payment received in full," he stammered. "Mr. McCain... I apologize for the wait. Please, come into the private office."
The salesladies were frozen. Ms. James dropped the mop. Jenny's commission was $3.98 million. In a single afternoon, the "rural girl" had earned more than all of them combined in the last five years. Ms. James felt like she was going to vomit. If she had just stood up, that money would be hers.
Ethan didn't offer a "face slap" with words. His existence was the slap. He took the keys and looked at Jenny. "You're a good worker, Jenny. Stay that way."
As Ethan walked out, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Mr. Smith, a lecturer known to be on Julian's payroll:
"McCain, your absence from today's prerequisite seminar has been noted. Given your 'medical shock,' the department is reviewing your scholarship eligibility. Be in my office by 8:00 AM tomorrow, or consider yourself expelled. Don't think your little stunt at the hotel changed your status in this city."
Ethan smiled. This was clearly Julian's comeback after his thugs failed. But Ethan had work to do. He needed to establish Black Global Holdings and find his "dreamers." Most importantly, he needed a car for tomorrow that would make the asphalt melt.
He looked at his internal interface as he drove back toward the university, a cold smile on his lips as he finalized his next plan.