Before stepping into Lady Beatrice's grand hall, Arthur sat at a small wooden table in the corner of his apartment. Before him lay an object that served as a silent witness to his life's transition: a dull Patek Philippe watch he had brought from the future—or more precisely, the watch he had bought with his last remaining money just before he died, which had somehow "followed" him in his memory as a symbol of ambition.
However, on his wrist right now was only a cheap rubber Casio. Arthur gave a thin smile. He remembered how, two days ago, he had to rack his brain to secure capital without touching Elena's grocery money.
Flashback: Two Days Ago
Arthur stood in front of a pawnshop in a busy commercial district. In his hand was an Omega watch—the only heirloom from his father that he hadn't yet sold in this lifetime. In his previous life, he had pawned this watch to get drunk after losing a horse racing bet.
"300 pounds," said the pawnshop owner, an old man with thick glasses.
"500 pounds," Arthur countered calmly. "This is an original 1960s caliber. You know its value will triple in next month's auction at Christie's."
The owner stared at Arthur in surprise. How did a young man in a shabby jacket know about Christie's auction schedule? "450 pounds. That's my final offer."
"Deal."
With that 450 pounds, Arthur began his move. He didn't go to a casino. He went to an internet cafe, as he had before, but this time he executed a riskier maneuver: Short Selling a retail company he knew would report an accounting scandal at the market close that afternoon.
He sat there for hours, ignoring his hunger, monitoring graph movements that would be tedious to a layman but were a symphony to him. When the news of the scandal broke, the company's stock went into a freefall. That 450 pounds turned into 4,500 pounds in a matter of hours.
That was his "Final Watch." A sentimental sacrifice that became the foundation for the empire he was building. With that money, he hired Hugo, paid off Victor, and funded the start of Julian's research.
Back to the Present
"Arthur? Are you daydreaming?" Elena's voice broke his reverie.
Elena emerged from the bathroom, wearing the dark blue dress Arthur had bought. Though simple, the dress clung to her frame with elegance. Her hair was pinned up neatly, revealing her slender neck now adorned with a convincing-looking faux necklace.
"You look beautiful, Elena," Arthur praised sincerely.
"I feel like an impostor," Elena whispered, smoothing the folds of her dress, which felt slightly tight. "We were facing eviction just last week, and now we're having dinner with a Lady? Aren't you afraid they'll laugh at us?"
Arthur stood up, donning a rented grey suit—he chose to rent rather than buy, preferring to allocate his capital to Julian's technology. He adjusted his tie in front of the mirror.
"In that world, Elena, they don't laugh at poverty. They laugh at weakness. As long as you stand tall beside me, they won't see our poverty. They will only see our potential."
A knock came at the apartment door. Hugo entered in a black suit that looked incredibly tight on his massive frame. He looked more like a Secret Service agent than an ex-convict.
"The car is ready downstairs, sir," Hugo reported.
"A car?" Elena asked, puzzled.
"Just a rental with a driver, Elena. Image is everything in Mayfair," Arthur replied.
They went downstairs. A polished black sedan was waiting. As they drove through the streets of London, which were beginning to glow with city lights, Arthur grasped Elena's hand. He could feel his wife's palms were cold with sweat.
"Listen to me," Arthur whispered in Elena's ear as the car approached the gates of a luxury townhouse in Belgravia. "You don't need to talk business. Talk about art, about Leo, or about your dreams. Let me deal with the 'wolves'."
The gates opened. Staff in full uniform greeted them. As the car door opened, Arthur stepped out first, then extended his hand to Elena with the grace of a man long accustomed to living in palaces.
Lady Beatrice stood at the top of the stairs. She was a woman in her 60s with a piercing gaze that could peel away anyone's secrets. In his previous life, it had taken Arthur ten years to earn a dinner invitation from her. This time, he had done it in a week.
"Arthur Valeska," Lady Beatrice's voice echoed, elegant yet cold. "The man who supposedly can predict copper price movements even before the mountains in Chile shake. I am very curious—are you a genius... or just a very lucky thief?"
Arthur smiled, an enigmatic grin. "Luck is when preparation meets opportunity, Milady. And tonight, I bring both."
He stepped into the house, which was filled with the scent of power and history, knowing that inside, one wrong word could destroy everything—but one right argument would give him the keys to the largest banks in Europe.