Thomas, the old shopkeeper, sat hunched behind his dusty counter. The pyramid of eight heavy gold bars gleamed softly in the dim light, looking completely out of place amidst the shop's decay, yet radiating an undeniable aura of wealth. His hands, still trembling slightly, moved carefully over the stacks of cash Adam had just received.
He counted the folded bills meticulously, his lips moving silently. Once, twice, three times he tallied the total, making absolutely sure. This wasn't just money; it was a lifeline, a miracle delivered by the strange, calm young man sitting opposite him.
Each bill he touched seemed to chip away at the heavy weight of worry that had settled in his chest for years. The constant fear of the landlord, the shame of the unpaid bills, the ache of his failing business – it all felt a little lighter now, replaced by a dizzying mix of disbelief, excitement, and overwhelming relief.
His fortunes, after years of relentless decline, were finally, impossibly, turning around. With a final, shaky breath, he slid the bundled stacks of cash across the worn countertop towards Adam. It represented nearly everything he had left, a huge gamble based on a moment of impossible magic and a young man’s unnerving confidence.
Adam, who had watched the counting process with patient calmness, reached out smoothly. There was no hesitation, no sign of greed or even excitement in his movements. He scooped up the bundles of cash with practiced ease, the thick wads feeling substantial in his hands.
He didn't count it again; he trusted the shopkeeper's desperate honesty in this moment. With the same fluid motion, he tucked the cash into his simple canvas bag. Then, unseen by Thomas, he mentally shifted the money into his inventory, the digital representation of the bills neatly stacking up alongside the copied $100 bill and the remaining water bottle icon.
Secure, hidden, accounted for. He was in complete control, his outward calm masking the whirring calculations and plans within.
Once the money was safely stored away in that hidden digital space, Adam looked up, meeting the shopkeeper's gaze. Thomas looked back, his eyes still wide with a mixture of hope and lingering bewilderment. Adam gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was a gesture of acknowledgment, of finality. The deal was done.
"Alright then," Adam said quietly, his voice soft but carrying a clear note of finality. "We'll meet again… someday." The words were simple, yet they held a definite promise, an assurance that this wasn't just a one-off fluke. It left no doubt in the shopkeeper's mind that their paths, somehow, were destined to cross again.
And with that, Adam stood up from the creaky stool. He didn't wait for a reply, didn't offer any further explanation or pleasantries. He simply turned and strode towards the door, his steps steady and purposeful.
He pushed open the creaking door, the bell above it giving a faint, rusty jingle, and disappeared out onto the busy city street, leaving the shopkeeper alone with his thoughts and his pile of life-changing gold. Adam melted back into the flow of the city with the same quiet confidence that had seemed to guide his every move since he’d walked in.
Inside the shop, Thomas watched the door swing shut behind Adam. He stood frozen for a long moment, the silence of the shop pressing in on him, broken only by the faint buzz of the overhead lights.
His mind raced, trying to catch up with the whirlwind of events. Who was that kid? Seriously, who was he? Where did he come from? And how… how did he have so much gold? How did he make it appear and disappear? The questions buzzed around in his head like trapped flies, frantic and unanswerable.
For a fleeting second, the old suspicion flickered back in his eyes. It was all too strange, too easy. There had to be a catch, didn't there? Maybe the gold wasn't as pure as the marks suggested? Maybe the kid was part of some larger, dangerous organization? Maybe trouble would follow this transaction?
But then, his gaze fell back to the solid, undeniable reality sitting on his counter. Eight heavy bars of pure gold, gleaming with warm, reassuring light. He reached out and touched one again, feeling its cool smoothness, its significant weight. It was real.
The hallmarks were real. This wasn't a trick. This was his chance. All his doubts, all his fears, seemed to dissolve in the face of that tangible, glittering promise.
A slow, wide smile spread across the shopkeeper's face, transforming his weary features. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief and burgeoning hope. "Finally," he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "Finally… looks like my luck is finally about to change."
He sank back onto his stool, running a hand over the gold bars almost reverently. The long, agonizing hours of worry, the sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, the constant, grinding struggle of keeping his failing business afloat – for the first time in years, those burdens felt like they might actually lift.
This gold wasn't just metal; it was inventory, it was materials, it was rent money, it was food on the table. It was the promise of a new beginning, a chance to rebuild, maybe even to find some peace. He looked around his dusty shop, not seeing the decay anymore, but picturing possibilities.
Outside, Adam stepped onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians. The cool evening air brushed against his face, carrying the mixed scents of the city – car exhaust, street food, perfume. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows down the street.
The distant hum of traffic and the low murmur of conversations formed the constant backdrop of city life. He walked casually, just another young man heading somewhere, his simple bag slung over his shoulder. No one could guess the incredible transactions he’d just completed, or the secret power he wielded.
As he walked, his mind turned to the money safely tucked away in his inventory. He did a quick mental calculation, adding the payment from Thomas to the copied $100 bill he still technically possessed. Thomas had paid $15,000 for the first bar (half price) and received the second one free.
Then he paid for six more bars at half price. Assuming a market price around $30,000 per bar (which would make half price $15,000), that meant Thomas had paid $15,000 for the first transaction (one bought, one free) and then 6 * $15,000 = $90,000 for the next six. Total cash received: $105,000. Plus the original $100 from Eric.
He paused his walking for a brief moment near a store window, letting the number sink in. $105,100. It felt unreal. Just yesterday morning, he had woken up penniless, disoriented, and injured on a park bench, his only possessions a few worn bags. He’d had to borrow $100 from Eric just to have something in his pocket.
Now, less than two days later, through a combination of his strange new ability, some quick thinking, and a willingness to take risks, he had over one hundred thousand dollars safely stored away, accessible only to him. It was a staggering transformation.
Adam's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the figure. "$105,100," he whispered aloud, the sound lost in the street noise. "Is this… is this enough?"
The question hung in the air, surprising even himself. Enough for what? Enough to survive? Yes, easily, for a while. Enough to get a decent place to live, buy new clothes, eat well? Certainly.
But enough to truly change his destiny? Enough to build the power he needed to confront the Walkers? Enough to ensure he wouldn't end up back on that park bench, or worse? He wasn't sure.
The scale of his enemies, the depth of their influence, felt vast and daunting. $100,000 felt like a fortune compared to yesterday, but perhaps it was just a drop in the ocean compared to what he needed.
A slight frown creased his forehead as he started walking again, caught in the uncertainty. But then, remembering the feeling of waking up with nothing, the humiliation of the bullies, the desperation that led him to Eric's door, he caught himself. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, shaking his head at his own fleeting doubt.
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From a borrowed $100 bill to over $100,000 in cash and the ability to generate more wealth seemingly out of thin air... the journey so far was already incredible. This wasn't just about having money anymore. He laughed again, a sound containing relief, amusement, and a hard edge of understanding.
This was about power. The money wasn't just currency; it was a tool, a weapon, a resource. It represented control, options, the ability to move, to plan, to act instead of just reacting. It was the fuel he needed to shape his own future, to escape the victim role the Walkers had cast him in.
He clenched his fists slowly at his sides as he walked, the earlier uncertainty replaced by a surge of steely resolve. His eyes hardened. Survival mode was over. Accumulating basic resources was done, for now. It was time to build something more substantial.
"Time to move to Phase Two," he declared quietly, firmly, just to himself. The phrase wasn't specific yet, but it signified a shift in his thinking, a move towards longer-term goals, towards actively building a foundation for his future, and perhaps, for his revenge.
His mind busy contemplating possibilities, Adam continued walking through the increasingly crowded evening streets. People were heading home from work, meeting friends, going about their lives. He scanned the buildings, the signs, his senses alert, looking for… something. An opportunity. A next step.
And then, a particular sign caught his eye. It was attached to a smart-looking, modern, two-story office building situated on a busy corner.
The building looked clean, professional, and well-maintained, standing out from some of the older structures around it. Bright, clear letters on the sign read:
"Citywide Property Distributors - Sales & Acquisitions Agent."
People were constantly moving in and out of the glass front doors – men and women in business attire, carrying briefcases, talking on phones, discussing deals, pointing at maps or documents.
The energy emanating from the building was serious, focused, business-like. It felt like a hub of significant transactions, a place where deals involving large sums of money and valuable assets were made every day. It was a stark contrast to the dusty, desperate atmosphere of Thomas Jeweler's shop.
Adam stopped walking, observing the building for a moment. A new idea, bold and decisive, began to form in his mind, clicking neatly into his vague notion of "Phase Two."
Money was good, but money could be spent, lost, or stolen. True stability, true power, often came from owning something solid, something tangible. Something like land.
A small, confident smirk touched Adam's lips.
"Okay," he thought to himself, the plan solidifying rapidly. "It's time to buy some land." It felt like the right move, a way to convert some of his newfound, perhaps suspiciously acquired cash into a legitimate, appreciating asset.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves – dealing with gold smugglers felt different than walking into a legitimate, high-pressure business environment – Adam smoothed down his shirt again and walked purposefully towards the entrance of the property agent's building. He pushed through the glass doors and stepped inside.
The cool, air-conditioned interior was a welcome relief from the warm evening air. The inside was spacious, brightly lit with recessed lighting, and impeccably clean. Polished marble floors shone, reflecting the lights. The walls were painted in neutral, modern colors and decorated with tasteful, abstract art and framed maps of the city and surrounding areas. Soft, instrumental music played almost imperceptibly in the background. It smelled faintly of clean carpets and paper.
Directly ahead was a long, sleek reception desk made of dark wood and glass. Behind it sat a young woman, professionally dressed in a smart blouse and skirt, her hair pulled back neatly.
She was multitasking efficiently, typing on a computer, answering a ringing phone, and occasionally sorting through a stack of documents, all while maintaining a polite but detached expression. She looked busy, competent, and perhaps a little bored.
Adam walked confidently up to the reception desk, stopping directly in front of her. He waited for her to finish her current phone call. When she finally hung up and looked at him expectantly, he spoke in a clear, steady voice, getting straight to the point.
"Hello. I want to buy land." His words were brief, direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation about his purpose.
The receptionist glanced up from her screen, her gaze sweeping over Adam quickly. She took in his youthful face, his simple clothes, his general appearance. Her polite expression didn't change, but Adam could almost see the quick calculation happening behind her eyes. He didn't look like their typical wealthy investor or established developer.
He looked young, maybe like a student, or someone looking for a small plot for a first home, or perhaps even just someone needing directions. Her internal assessment likely tagged him as small-time, probably not worth interrupting the senior agents for.
Without missing a beat, she gestured smoothly towards a waiting area off to the side, furnished with several rows of comfortable but functional chairs. "Certainly, sir," she said politely, her tone courteous but carrying an undertone of dismissal.
"Please take a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly. Your turn will come soon." She offered a brief, professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes before turning back to her computer screen, clearly indicating the conversation was over for now.
Adam sighed inwardly. He’d half-expected this. He didn't exactly scream 'big property investor'. But fine. He understood the process. Patience was necessary, especially when dealing with established businesses.
Forcing the issue wouldn't help. With a small, resigned smile, he nodded slightly to the receptionist and walked over to the designated waiting area. He chose an empty spot on a bench against the far wall, sat down, and settled in to wait, observing the comings and goings, listening to the low murmur of business conversations around him. Every minute that ticked by felt like a small step into this new phase, this world of bigger deals and more complex maneuvers.
He hadn't been waiting long, maybe five or ten minutes, watching agents come and go, clients leave looking either pleased or disappointed, when the sound of a glass office door swinging open sharply drew his attention, along with everyone else's in the reception area.
A tall man in his mid-thirties strode out, radiating an air of importance and impatience. He was impeccably dressed in a sleek, expensive-looking black suit, crisp white shirt, and power tie. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his face held a mask of controlled annoyance. He looked like someone used to being in charge, someone whose time was extremely valuable.
Right behind him, almost stumbling to keep up, was another man, presenting a stark contrast. This man looked to be around forty, maybe a bit older, but seemed aged beyond his years by hardship. His hair was a mix of gray and brown, thin on top, showing a patch of baldness.
He wore simple, loose-fitting clothes – worn trousers and a plain, button-down shirt – the kind of practical attire common in rural villages, completely out of place in this slick city office. A round, woven straw hat, the type farmers often wore for sun protection, hung oddly from a loop on his belt. His face was weathered, lined with worry and exhaustion, but his eyes held a desperate, pleading intensity.
Adam immediately sensed the tension between the two men. It was palpable. The farmer looked like he was begging, while the agent looked like he was barely restraining himself from exploding.
The agent stopped abruptly in the middle of the reception area, turning to face the farmer, his voice sharp and loud enough for everyone in the waiting area to hear clearly.
"Look, I've told you already, and I'm not going to say it again!" the agent declared, his tone dripping with irritation and finality. "Nobody wants to buy land out in the forest! It's too far, there's no infrastructure, it's worthless for development! Nobody is going to invest there!"
The farmer flinched at the harsh words but clenched his calloused fists tightly at his sides, refusing to give up. His voice, when he responded, was thick with emotion, pleading.
"Please, sir… you have to try to understand!" he begged, stepping closer to the agent, his hands outstretched slightly. "I need to sell this land. It's breaking my heart, but I have no choice! My wife is sick, the medical bills… I wouldn't even think of selling otherwise! That land… it belonged to my father, and his father before him! It's my family's heritage!" The words tumbled out in a rush, heavy with generations of connection to the soil and the raw pain of his current crisis.
Adam leaned forward slightly on the bench, his gaze fixed on the unfolding drama. He saw the raw desperation in the farmer's eyes, the sorrow warring with determination.
He saw the cold impatience etched on the agent’s face, the complete lack of empathy. It was a classic story playing out right in front of him: the powerful dismissing the powerless, the city businessman crushing the hopes of the struggling farmer.
The argument escalated quickly. The agent clearly had no more patience for the farmer's pleas or his story. His face hardened into a mask of anger. "I don't care about your problems!" he snapped.
"This is a business! I told you, it's unsellable! Now get out!" He turned abruptly towards the two uniformed security guards standing impassively near the entrance. "Frank! Tony! Get this man out of my office. Now!" His voice was a sharp command, leaving no room for hesitation or negotiation.
The two guards immediately straightened up and started walking towards the farmer. The farmer stiffened, his body tensing as they approached. For a moment, his hands trembled – not with fear this time, Adam thought, but with a deep, helpless resignation. His eyes darted one last time towards the agent, who was already turning his back, dismissing him completely.
"Wait! Please!" the farmer cried out, his voice cracking with desperation as the guards reached him. "I'll lower the price! Whatever you think it's worth! I'll give you a bigger commission, a higher cut! Just… please, list it! Help me sell it! Please!" His pleas echoed unanswered in the suddenly quiet reception area.
The agent didn't even turn around. He strode back towards his glass-walled office, disappearing inside without a backward glance, leaving the farmer to the guards.
The guards took the farmer gently but firmly by the arms. There was no struggle left in him. With a final look of profound sorrow and utter defeat towards the office door, then a quick, hopeless glance around the indifferent reception area, the farmer let out a heavy, shuddering sigh.
He allowed the guards to escort him towards the main entrance and out of the building. The automatic doors slid shut behind him, leaving only the lingering echo of his desperate pleas.
Adam watched the entire scene intently from his seat in the waiting area. He saw the casual cruelty of the agent, the crushing despair of the farmer, the indifference of the system. A small, knowing smirk touched his lips, unseen by anyone.
'Unsellable land in a village,' he thought. 'Desperate owner willing to sell cheap.' His mind instantly started connecting the dots. The injustice of the situation was clear, but Adam also saw something else. He saw an opportunity. An interesting one. Maybe even the perfect one for Phase Two.
Without making a sound, Adam stood up smoothly from his seat. He didn't bother waiting any longer for his turn that likely wouldn't come, or wouldn't lead anywhere productive now.
He walked purposefully back towards the main entrance, bypassing the reception desk. The receptionist glanced up as he walked past, her expression neutral, likely assuming he’d given up waiting. She probably wouldn't remember him five minutes from now.
To her, he was just another anonymous person passing through her busy day. She had no idea of the power he held or the plans beginning to form in his mind.
Adam pushed through the glass doors and stepped back out onto the bustling city street. The cool evening air felt fresh after the tense atmosphere inside. He took a moment, standing on the sidewalk, watching the flow of traffic, the image of the farmer's defeated face still vivid in his mind.
The man's desperation, his connection to his ancestral land, the agent's cold dismissal – it had struck a chord, reminding Adam of his own family's losses, their own helplessness against powerful forces.
But mixed with that empathy was the cold calculation of opportunity. With a new sense of direction, Adam turned away from the impressive office building, leaving it behind him, ready to find that farmer, ready to pursue the next step in his unfolding plan.
