The deal was done. The signatures were on paper, the ink still fresh.
My parents' house—my last tie to them—was gone. On record, I was now thirty million dollars richer.
But the money wasn't in my hands yet.
The bank would take a week, maybe longer. Time I didn't have.
I can't wait a week. I have too many plans to start, and every single day matters.
So I looked down at the folder of official documents in my hand, and a dangerous thought crossed my mind.
If the money wasn't here yet… then I'd just take it from somewhere else.
That's how I ended up walking into a loan shark's den.
---
The building smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Men in loud shirts and gaudy gold chains leaned against the walls, watching me with lazy grins.
A man with slicked-back hair looked up from behind a desk. "Well, well. What brings you here, kid? Looking for a little pocket change?"
I placed the folder on the desk and slid it forward. "I want a loan. Ten million. This as collateral."
He opened it, scanned the papers, and his eyebrows shot up. "A thirty-million-dollar house?"
The room went quiet for a moment—then erupted in laughter.
> "This guy's insane!" one of them cackled.
"Sellin' a mansion for scraps? Either he's desperate or stupid."
"More like both," another snorted.
The boss leaned back in his chair, grinning wide. "Ten million. One month. If you don't pay it back, the house is ours. Fair enough?"
It was daylight robbery. Everyone in the room knew it.
I smiled faintly. "Deal."
For a second, even the boss looked surprised. Then the whole room burst into laughter again.
> "He agreed!"
"What an idiot—sign the papers before he changes his mind!"
I signed calmly, ignoring their mocking.
Laugh all you want. In a month, none of you will be here to collect. But I will be alive.
Minutes later, I walked out with a heavy briefcase full of cash.
Ten million dollars. Dirty money. But money nonetheless.
---
I didn't waste a second.
Next stop: the jewelry district.
The gold shop was quiet, the cool air a relief from the sun outside. A young woman at the counter greeted me with a polite smile.
"Welcome, sir. How may I help you today?"
I set the briefcase on the counter and met her eyes. "Gold."
She blinked. "Yes, of course. Rings? Chains? We have—"
"One kilogram," I interrupted. "Gold biscuits. Pure."
Her smile froze. "O-One… kilogram, sir?"
"Yes." I tapped the briefcase. "Cash."
Her lips parted slightly. For a moment, she just stared at me, then hurriedly excused herself and ran to the back.
---
A few minutes later, the manager appeared—a thin man in a sharp suit, adjusting his glasses nervously.
"Good afternoon, sir. My colleague tells me you're interested in purchasing one kilogram of pure gold?"
"That's right."
He coughed into his fist. "Sir… that is not a small purchase. May I ask the reason?"
I smiled faintly. "Insurance. Better than paper money, don't you think?"
He hesitated, then nodded quickly. "Of course. At today's rate, that would be approximately seventy thousand dollars. For cash payments, we add certain fees—"
I snapped open the briefcase. Stacks of crisp bills stared back at him.
The young woman gasped softly, her eyes wide.
The manager swallowed hard, his voice unsteady. "Y-Yes… right away, sir. Please wait a moment."
---
As they rushed to prepare my order, I leaned against the counter, watching them whisper behind the glass partitions.
The girl glanced at me again, curiosity plain on her face. To her, I probably looked like some reckless rich man, maybe even a criminal.
But none of them knew the truth.
Gold didn't rot. Gold didn't vanish. Gold didn't burn in fire, drown in floods, or get eaten by zombies.
And once I put it into the pot… one bar would become a hundred.
---
The manager returned, holding a sealed package with gloved hands. Inside lay a gleaming biscuit of gold, solid and heavy.
He placed it on the counter carefully, as though it were holy.
I picked it up, feeling its weight. Real. Eternal.
"Perfect," I murmured.
The girl whispered, almost to herself, "He's… serious."
Yes. Deadly serious.
The gold biscuit gleamed in my hand, heavy and eternal. The staff still whispered behind the counter, staring at me like I was insane.
I smiled faintly, then slipped it into my jacket pocket. At least, that's what they thought.
In reality, the moment it touched the fabric, I willed it into my inventory. Safe. Untouchable. Hidden.
The pocket was empty, but my treasure was secure.
---
Outside, I hailed a taxi. A worn yellow cab screeched to a stop, and I climbed in.
"Where to, boss?" the driver asked, adjusting his rearview mirror.
"The auto district. Sports car showroom."
The driver raised his brows and gave a small whistle. "Sports cars, huh? That's fancy. Planning to impress someone?"
I chuckled. "Something like that. What about you? Business good?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "Ah, barely scraping by. Too much traffic, too much competition. And food prices are climbing every week. My wife keeps nagging me to buy extra rice and oil before it gets worse."
I glanced out the window, lips twitching. "She's right. Stock up while you can. Food will be worth more than gold before long."
The driver laughed awkwardly. "You sound like those doomsday nuts on TV. End of the world, huh?"
"Something like that," I said softly, eyes narrowing at the horizon. If only you knew how close it really is.
---
The car rolled to a stop in front of the gleaming showroom. I handed him a few extra bills.
"Thanks for the ride. And remember what I said—stock food. Lots of it. You'll thank me later."
He blinked, confused, then grinned. "Heh, sure thing, boss. I'll tell my wife you agree with her. Good luck with your car."
I stepped out, the briefcase of cash in hand, and faced the shining glass doors of the showroom.
My next step.
---
Inside, the place sparkled with polished glass and gleaming machines. Sleek red bodies, metallic silver curves, black beasts that radiated power.
As I walked in, a salesman hurried over, smile practiced and eager.
"Welcome, sir! Looking for something in particular today? Sedan, SUV… or perhaps one of our sports models?"
Before I could answer, a voice I hadn't heard in years rang out.
"…No way. Is that him?"
I turned my head.
Standing a few steps away was her—my ex-girlfriend. Dressed in designer clothes, her arm linked with a tall man whose smugness was painted all over his face.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed in disdain. "It is him. What are you doing here? You don't belong in a place like this."
Her new man smirked, brushing dust off his sleeve. "Babe, maybe he's here to look around. Poor guys like him love to dream, right?"
---
I looked at them calmly, my expression unreadable. "I'm here to buy a car."
They both froze, then burst into laughter.
"Buy?" she sneered. "With what money? You couldn't even afford dinner when we were together."
Her boyfriend's smirk deepened. "Don't embarrass yourself, pal. Cars here aren't toys. This showroom isn't for broke dreamers."
The salesman hesitated, glancing between us nervously.
I ignored them and said directly to him: "Show me your latest sports model. Something fast."
---
The salesman's eyes lit up—commission smelled good. "Of course, sir! Right this way."
He led me to a sleek black machine, curves sharp as a blade. The leather interior gleamed under the lights.
"This beauty just arrived. Six hundred horsepower, custom interiors, top-of-the-line navigation system…"
I ran a hand across the hood, feeling the cool metal under my fingertips.
"Good. I'll take it."
The salesman blinked. "Take… you mean purchase, sir?"
I opened the briefcase, stacks of cash gleaming under the lights.
The girl gasped. Her boyfriend's smile faltered.
"Cash," I said flatly. "Count it if you want."
---
The staff rushed over, verifying bill after bill. Whispers spread across the floor.
My ex's face twisted, her voice sharp. "Where did you get that kind of money? Did you steal it? Did you—"
Her boyfriend snapped, but his voice trembled. "Even if you buy it, so what? You'll never be me. I have connections, family, power. You? You're nothing but a stray mutt with a bag of money."
I smiled faintly, meeting his eyes. "Maybe. But even a mutt can outrun you—if it has the right car."
---
The salesman returned, beaming. "Sir, payment complete! Congratulations on your purchase!"
He handed me the keys with both hands, bowing slightly.
I slid into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life with a deep, powerful growl that filled the showroom.
My ex flinched. Her boyfriend's jaw clenched.
I lowered the window and looked at them one last time.
"Don't judge too early. Sometimes, losers… are just people waiting for the right moment."
Then I hit the accelerator. Tires screeched, and the black beast leapt forward, leaving behind their stunned faces in the haze of exhaust.