One hundred thousand dollars.
Forget his current life; even before his transmigration, Rod had never seen a pile of cash that high.
He would have to be brain-dead to refuse.
After all, aside from this eccentric Hermès executive, it was unlikely anyone else on the planet would pay six figures for a used guitar case.
"Deal."
Rod closed the sale instantly.
Until the money changed hands, the case was still his property, and he had every right to sell it. As for whether it was actually a genuine Hermès custom piece? Who knew?
Rod certainly didn't claim it was. This guy was the one insisting on its authenticity and throwing money at him. If it turned out to be a knockoff, that was a failure of the buyer's expertise, not Rod's honesty.
"Old John, I didn't think there was anything that could escape your eye," Bruno Blancard chuckled, clearly in high spirits as he admired his purchase.
It was obvious the two men shared a close friendship.
"I have no eye for fashion or luxury goods," Old John admitted, shaking his head. "Every connoisseur has their blind spots. I stick to what I know."
Having offloaded two items and netting a cool $115,000, Rod was feeling excellent.
He reached into his pocket and dumped the remaining items—the silver coins of unknown origin—onto the velvet counterpad.
Clink. Clatter.
Seven silver coins, hailing from seven different nations and eras.
In the United States, collectors had a voracious appetite for historical currency. The market for rare silver and gold coinage was perpetually bullish. Rod figured the lot might fetch a few thousand dollars total.
"Hiss!"
Old John, who had been glancing at the table with casual disinterest, suddenly froze.
His eyes locked onto a single coin in the pile—a silver dollar featuring a profile of Lady Liberty with flowing hair.
Trembling slightly, Old John grabbed his jeweler's loupe. He bent over the coin, holding his breath as he scrutinized the strike details. After a long, tense minute, he exhaled a heavy sigh.
"Where... exactly did you get these?"
"Family heirlooms," Rod lied without blinking.
It was the universal excuse. No one could disprove it, and it shut down further questions.
However, judging by the old man's reaction, this coin was in a different league than the others. Even the hundred-thousand-dollar guitar case hadn't provoked this level of physiological response.
Rod made a blind guess: this coin had to be worth at least three hundred thousand.
"The other six are medieval European silver. Exquisite minting, perfectly preserved. I can offer you a thousand dollars apiece for them," Old John started, his voice steadying. "As for the Flowing Hair Liberty Dollar..."
He looked up at Rod.
"How much do you want for it?"
Old John didn't make an offer. He asked for a price.
Rod rubbed his chin, pretending to calculate deep historical valuations.
He slowly raised his hand and extended five fingers.
He didn't know the exact value, so he decided to aim high to leave room for haggling. He wanted to signal fifty thousand—no, five hundred thousand. His psychological floor was three hundred grand. As long as the offer was above that, he'd sell.
"Done!"
Old John slammed his hand on the counter before Rod could even speak. There was zero hesitation. No counter-offer.
"Five million dollars. How would you like the transfer?"
"Cough! Cough-hack!"
Rod choked on his own saliva, his face twisting into a spasm of shock.
Say what?
Five... million?
Rod thought his ears were malfunctioning. But looking at Old John's face—flushed with the thrill of a man who just robbed a bank—it was clear. The old man thought he was the one getting the bargain.
Rod realized he had drastically undervalued the coin. It was worth way more than five million.
But the hand signal was already out there. To retract it now would be bad form, and potentially dangerous given the security in the room.
"Direct wire transfer to my card is fine," Rod said, forcing his voice to remain calm.
...
Walking out of the antique shop, Rod felt a profound sense of unreality. The world felt floaty, like he was walking on marshmallows.
Less than an hour ago, he was a broke loser with less than ten grand to his name.
Now, he was a multi-millionaire with over five million dollars in liquid assets.
He checked his banking app again. The string of zeros was cold, hard, and beautiful. He pinched his thigh hard.
"It's not a dream."
It wasn't until he got back to his apartment that his heart rate finally settled.
Curiosity got the better of him. He pulled out his phone and searched for the coin he had just sold.
Flowing Hair Silver Dollar (1794).
Description: The first dollar coin ever issued by the United States federal government. Extremely rare.
Recent Market Activity: A specimen was sold at auction three months ago for $6.6 million.
Rod let out a breath. So, the old man had bought it for five million, knowing he could flip it or hold it for a massive profit. He had definitely "earned" that million-dollar margin.
But Rod didn't feel cheated.
To get that $6.6 million, he would have had to go through an auction house. They would have taken months to organize the sale, verified the provenance (which he didn't have), and taken a massive commission fee—usually around 15-20%.
Selling it privately for five million cash, tax-free and instant? That was a win.
Now that the funding issue was solved, the next steps were simple.
Rod opened a browser and navigated to an agricultural livestock supplier. He placed a special order.
Costing little over ten thousand dollars, he purchased a prime, live specimen.
A Belgian Blue bull.
If a few steaks from a grocery store could enhance his physique, what would happen if he sacrificed a creature famous for its double-muscling gene?
Once his body was reinforced, he would finally be ready to step through the Dimension Door and see what lay on the other side.
Order confirmed. Now, he just had to wait for delivery.