Chapter 107: The Call

Xavier pressed open.

Then the system chimed.

[CHIME]

[ SPECIAL PACKAGE 2 — OPENING... ]

Loading...

He pressed open.

The screen went blank for exactly five seconds.

Then one line appeared.

Your package has been dispatched.

[ Delivery expected within 24 hours ]

[ Contents unknown until received ]

Xavier stared at the screen.

Something physical, he thought. Again. Like the first one.

He thought about the USB drive. The unmarked package on his doorstep. The document that had turned out to be a map of every significant financial player in Kenvale. The skill that had unlocked Asset Rebound permanently.

That package changed the entire shape of his investments, he thought. Seven proper acquisitions making me nearly worth ten million.

All from one USB drive delivered by nobody to a hostel corridor.

He looked at the notification one more time.

Contents unknown until received, he read. 24 hours.

He set the phone down.

Tomorrow, he thought. Whatever it is arrives tomorrow.

He closed the app and opened his banking app.

$9,892,194, he noted.

He looked at that number for a long moment with a smirk-like expression on his face .

He picked up his coffee. Was about to finish it when his phone chimed again.

He looked at it.

[CHIME]

[ REBATE SYSTEM ]

Next Tier — Platinum Echo

[ EXP Required: 150,000 ]

[ Current EXP: 1,450/150,000 ]

[ Note: The next tier awaits. Build accordingly. Your already on a great path to more wealth. ]

He set the coffee down.

1,450 out of 150,000, he thought. Barely scratched the surface. He looked at the notification. The gap to Tier 3 was 50,000 EXP and that felt significant at the time. He set the coffee down. 150,000 is a different scale entirely. Three times the distance.

But I’m also operating at a different level entirely, he thought. $2,000,000 daily cap. Seven businesses. Passive returns. Asset Rebound compounding. He looked at the ceiling. The EXP will come. It always comes when the actions are right.

Different tier, he thought. Different game.

He picked his coffee. Finished it and set the mug down.

Tomorrow, he thought. A special package arrives.

Let’s see what comes next.

But firstly let’s celebrate this milestone with something maybe...He thought about Selene then continued with his doomscrolling.

_ _

Xavier was still at his desk at 7PM that evening when his phone rang.

Not a message. A call.

He looked at the screen.

Selene.

Not the Hale & Associates office line. Her personal number. The one she’d used to text about the hostel visit. The one he’d saved without making a decision about saving it.

He looked at it for exactly two seconds.

Then answered.

"Selene," he said.

"Xavier." A brief moment. "Are you doing anything tonight."

Are you doing anything tonight, he thought. It was a Sunday evening. A call from her personal number. A direct question. He looked at the MacBook still open on the desk. She’s calling on a Sunday evening from her personal number and asking if I’m free.

"No...," he said.

"I’m nearby," she said. "I was going to get food but.." a brief moment "I thought I’d check if you were around."

She thought she’d check, he thought. Selene Adler. Sharp, composed, two years at a financial crime firm. Thought she’d check.

"Give me twenty minutes," he said.

"Okay," she said. And hung up.

Xavier looked at the phone for a moment.

Then looked at his balance.

$9,892,194, he noted. $80,000 remaining cap for the day.

He stood up.

Twenty minutes, he thought. Suit. Keys. Let’s go.

He opened the wardrobe. The navy suit. He put it on in under five minutes. The few times he wore it had made the process automatic. Checked himself in the mirror briefly.

I should order more of these, he thought. Can’t keep shuffling between two suits like I’m rationing them. He straightened the collar. Fill the wardrobe properly. Different colours. Different weights for different occasions. He looked at himself in the mirror. Mr. Hartley’s number is still in his phone. Maybe later when am chanced.

He picked up the Panamera keys.

Two suits, he thought. From a man sitting on nearly ten million dollars. That’s embarrassing.

Mama Elizabeth’s door was open as he passed.

She looked at the suit. Looked at the keys. Looked at the time — 7:15PM on a Sunday.

"Going out," he said before she could ask.

She looked at him with the expression that communicated everything.

"I’ll be back tonight ma," he said.

She nodded once. She was already holding a container. The kind that held proper food, the covered kind she left by his door on mornings he didn’t come out early enough. She’d clearly been on her way to his door with it when he appeared in the corridor.

She looked at him in the navy suit with the Panamera keys.

Then she looked at the container in her hand.

Then back at him.

She didn’t offer it. Just waved once. The small wave of someone who had read the situation and adjusted accordingly without making it a thing.

Xavier almost said something. Decided against it.

He waved back and headed for the stairs.

She was already coming to my door, he thought. Covered container and everything. Saw the suit and the keys and just...waved.

Mama Elizabeth, he thought. Some people just understand without being told.

He took the stairs down, pushed through the hostel entrance and walked to the Panamera. Unlocked it. Got in.

The engine started with its usual low controlled sound.

He pulled out into the Sunday evening city and drove toward where Selene had said she was.

The city at 7PM on a Sunday had its particular quality. Unhurried, honest, the working week not yet close enough to cast its shadow. Xavier drove through it without rushing and found Selene exactly where she’d said she’d be. Outside the pharmacy two blocks from his hostel.

She looked up when the Panamera pulled up

She was in a cream coloured Fitted dress. Simple, the kind of thing that looked effortless because significant effort had gone into making it look that way. Hair down. Small bag over one shoulder. The same composed energy she brought to everything but carrying it differently on a Sunday evening without the professional context around it.