Jason Carter's sudden windfall left everyone in stunned silence.
Quinn's father, Celven, and her aunt, Clara, both sat in the living room of their suburban home, sighing deeply. It was hard to calm their minds — after all, who could stay composed after watching over five hundred million dollars slip right through their fingers?
The Quinn family owned a modest car dealership, but business had been mediocre for years. Their side investments in small ventures weren't doing any better. Though they weren't facing bankruptcy yet, the decline was steady — and painful. Naturally, the idea of that lost fortune gnawed at them even more.
Celven glanced at his daughter, Quinn, and a complicated thought flickered across his face. Could there still be something between her and Jason Carter?
Like most fathers, Celven had felt an instinctive hostility toward the young man his daughter once liked — especially after hearing that Jason had made her cry. But now, knowing that this same young man had earned half a billion dollars in a single morning, his feelings were… conflicted.
Clara broke the silence. "That guy, Ryan Hall, isn't someone you can mess with. Losing that kind of money — he's not going to take it quietly."
Quinn frowned. "But isn't the antique market supposed to be about discernment? You win some, you lose some. When Jason bought that rug, Ryan was all smiles. If Jason had lost money, Ryan wouldn't have given him a dime back. So now that Jason struck gold, Ryan can only blame himself for not recognizing what he had."
Celven nodded slowly. "You're right. That's how it usually works — unwritten rules. But the problem is, the profit difference this time is just too extreme. Most people would swallow their pride and move on, but Ryan Hall? He's unpredictable. He doesn't always play by the rules."
Quinn bit her lip, then immediately grabbed her phone. She sent Jason a quick message, warning him to be careful. Even though Jason had been distant with her — and even though he was with some one else now — she couldn't help but worry. She wanted him to be safe, and maybe, in her own way, repay the kindness he'd once shown her.
Celven watched but didn't stop her. He pulled out his own phone and texted an old acquaintance from the local Antiques Association, asking him to keep an eye on Ryan Hall's movements.
"If Ryan tries anything," Celven muttered, "at least we'll know, and Quinn can let Jason know in advance."
Ryan Hall — a burly, bald middle-aged man — was just regaining consciousness.
He'd fainted the moment he realized the truth: the vintage rug he'd sold that morning for $380,000 had been authenticated at over $500 million in value.
The color drained from his face. His pulse raced. He slammed his fist on the table, rage bubbling in his chest.
"Get me that kid's information," Ryan growled, his voice hoarse. "I don't care how — just do it in three minutes. Now."
A man sitting across from him, another collector in his fifties, frowned. "Ryan, come on. Everyone knows how this game works. If someone spots a treasure, they earned it. That's the rule. Breaking that code will ruin your name in the whole antique circle."
Ryan glared at him. "Easy for you to say — you didn't just lose half a billion! Don't preach to me about rules."
The other collectors exchanged uneasy looks. They knew Ryan's temper — and his connections. None of them wanted to get dragged into his mess. One by one, they fell silent, pretending not to hear.
Still, they quietly made mental notes: Stay away from Ryan Hall from now on.
Moments later, Ryan's assistant handed him a folder. Inside were a few sheets of paper — Jason Carter's personal details.
Ryan scanned them — and then laughed.
He had assumed Jason must come from old money, maybe even some Manhattan business dynasty, given the way he carried himself and the secretary at his side.
But the report told a different story: Jason's parents were from a small rural town, and their wealth came only from a land demolition payout years ago.
Ryan's grin widened, his eyes glinting with menace.
"So that's it," he said softly. "No real background. Just a lucky kid from nowhere…"
He crushed the paper in his fist. "Let's see how lucky he really is."
Information about ordinary people in America was easy to find — quick background checks, public data, open-source records. But when someone's social status rose high enough, their trail grew cold. The people who could access that information were usually smart enough to keep quiet.
So when Ryan Hall saw Jason Carter's name pop up on his screen, he grinned with satisfaction.
"No background, huh? Perfect," he muttered. "If I pull something on him, what's he gonna do — sue me?"
Ryan leaned back in his leather chair, cigar smoke swirling around his head as he began to plan. The rug deal was already sealed; Jason had legally bought it. There was no way to make him "return" it willingly.
But Ryan knew how people worked — especially the newly rich. Jason wasn't some billionaire tycoon; his net worth, maybe a few tens of millions, was nothing compared to the priceless antique he'd stumbled into. A guy like that wouldn't hold onto a half-billion-dollar artifact for long.
He'd sell it — had to. And when that happened, there would be plenty of room to play.
Ryan started mapping it out.
He could bribe an appraiser, someone from a top auction house, to issue a fake certificate — easy enough. Swap out the real item for a forgery in the process. Or stage a fake sale — pretend to buy it, have his men intercept the real piece during delivery, and leave Jason holding a worthless copy.
If all else failed, he could stage a robbery. Send a few guys to "negotiate," rough Jason up, and take the piece by force.
After all, Jason Carter had no real connections, no protection. By the time he tried to fight back, the item would already be long gone.
Within days, the story would fade — and the treasure worth hundreds of millions would be back in Ryan's hands.
Ryan wasted no time. He called in favors — forgers, crooked buyers, appraisers, even hired a couple of muscle-bound thugs to be on standby. By evening, every piece of the scheme was set.
Finally, he reached out to an appraiser from the Grandworth Auction House, one of the most respected institutions. Together they discussed pricing, timing, and how best to approach Jason.
To tailor the plan, Ryan sent over Jason Carter's identity file.
But after the appraiser opened it, there was a long silence.
Ryan waited, tapping his finger impatiently. He sent another message — no reply. Then another — still nothing. When he tried again, he got a system notification: You're no longer friends with this contact.
Ryan frowned. "What the hell?"
The deal had been going perfectly. Why the sudden ghosting?
On the other end of that conversation, the appraiser from Grandworth Auction House was pacing nervously in his office, his palms slick with cold sweat.
He knew exactly who Jason Carter was. He'd been there, front row, the night Jason had spent hundreds of millions at the Grandworth auction, shocking everyone in the room.
At the time, many had quietly looked into Jason — and the appraiser had seen the internal reports. The name "Jason Carter" wasn't ordinary. Beneath his calm demeanor, his connections were terrifyingly deep.
And now that same maniac, Ryan Hall, wanted him to help scam that Jason Carter?
The appraiser's blood ran cold.
That's not a man you trick, he thought, his pulse pounding. That's a sleeping tiger — touch him, and you're finished.
He immediately deleted Ryan Hall from his contacts, but even that didn't calm his nerves. They'd discussed the plan in detail — if Jason somehow found out, what if he thought he was involved?
That would be the end of him.
After pacing for a few minutes, he made a decision — the only decision that might save him. He'd betray Ryan Hall and come clean to Jason Carter's circle.
The appraiser didn't have Jason's direct contact info, but he knew where to start. Word was, Jason often spent time at the Liberty Motors Alliance Club, a luxury auto and collector's society. So he reached out to someone there, anonymously tipping them off about Ryan's plot.
It didn't take long for word to spread — from Liberty Motors to the Elite Club, then across half the city's collector circles.
Soon, even Mike and Lewis, two well-known heirs in the upper-tier social scene, caught wind of it.
And it didn't stop there. Someone even informed District Chief Ivan Hughes, head of the Westbrook District.
Did the case involve him directly? Not at all. But Ivan had every reason to care. Jason Carter's name carried weight, and Ivan knew one thing — if Jason ever held a grudge against him, his career would be over overnight.
So when Ivan heard Ryan Hall's name tied to Jason Carter, he saw opportunity — a chance to curry favor, to show he was on Jason's side before trouble even started.
A single move could change everything.
And the city — its clubs, its collectors, its quiet power brokers — began to buzz with tension.
There are 140 chapters ahead in my Patreon. If you are interested can check it out.
patreon.com/B_A_3439