Chapter 11: A Million Dollar Purchase

I walked over to a quiet ATM vestibule down the block, still needing to see the cold, hard physical proof.

As I approached the machine, the standard screen suddenly glitched, flickering into a deep, sleek metallic gold that only I seemed able to see. I slid my proxy card into the slot. The reader illuminated in a subtle golden hue, instantly bypassing the standard daily withdrawal limits.

I keyed in my PIN and selected $10,000.00 in cash.

The machine hummed, the heavy internal mechanical gears whirring as stack after stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills were sorted. Then came the steady, rhythmic thwip-thwip-thwip of cash being dispensed. The motorized slot pushed open, revealing thick, heavy bands of hundred-dollar bills sitting right there in the tray.

I pulled out the heavy stacks, feeling the textured paper and the faint, distinct smell of fresh ink.

"This is sick..." I muttered under my breath, a cold, exhilarated grin spreading across my face as I stuffed the stacks into my jacket pockets.

It wasn’t just numbers on a digital screen or offshore proxy accounts anymore. The system was absolute, hyper-real, and sitting directly in my hands. With nearly two million dollars in liquid funds and cold cash in my pocket, I was playing an entirely different game now.

I zipped up my jacket, stepped back out into the afternoon sun, and pulled out my phone.

"I definitely can’t keep pulling up everywhere on a bicycle," I muttered to myself, adjusting the heavy stacks of cash in my jacket.

If I was going to be dropping Chloe off at school and showing up on campus tomorrow, pulling up on a rusty two-wheeler just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Besides, seeing the look on the Dean’s and Julian’s faces when I rolled into the university parking lot in a brand-new ride was going to be priceless.

I pulled out my phone and searched for the nearest high-end car dealership, spotting a premium auto gallery just ten minutes away.

I hailed a quick ride and arrived at the showroom shortly after. Through the massive glass walls stood a stunning lineup of sleek sports cars, luxury SUVs, and high-performance sedans, all gleaming beneath the halogen spotlights.

I pushed the glass doors open and stepped onto the polished showroom floor, plain shirt and all, ready to make my next purchase.

The car was an absolute masterpiece—a razor-sharp, ultra-aerodynamic supercar with low-slung carbon fiber lines, aggressive air intakes, and a stance built purely for terrifying speed and unadulterated luxury. It practically screamed dominant power.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?"

A tall, slick-haired salesman stepped up beside me, adjusting his designer cufflinks and checking his gold watch. He looked me up and down, taking in my plain, worn-out t-shirt, casual pants, and lack of any luxury accessories. A faint, condescending smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"That’s the top-of-the-line model," he said, his tone dripping with polished, passive-aggressive superiority. "Custom twin-turbo setup, pristine engineering... and a clean price tag of $1,000,000. Strictly for our ultra-exclusive clientele, as you can imagine."

Before I could even speak, he subtly stepped between me and the supercar, gesturing vaguely toward a entry-level luxury sedan parked near the back corner.

"Now, over here, we have something a bit more... realistic," he continued with a dry chuckle. "This one sits at $250,000. That’s actually our absolute cheapest inventory in the entire gallery. But honestly, my friend? If you’re looking for something that fits a tighter budget, there’s a pre-owned lot three blocks down the street that sells very affordable, practical used cars. You’d probably have much better luck over there."

I didn’t blink. I just slowly turned my head, looking him dead in the eye while letting out a quiet, amused breath.

I reached into my inner jacket pocket, pulled out two thick, heavy paper-banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills from my $10,000 cash withdrawal, and casually slapped them onto the shiny hood of his $250k "cheap" car.

The heavy, metallic thud of fresh cash echoed through the quiet showroom.

The salesman’s smug expression instantly melted into absolute, wide-eyed shock. His eyes darted from the stacks of cash, to my completely calm face, and back to the money.

"I didn’t ask for a tour of your budget section," I said, my voice dangerously smooth. "I asked about the $1,000,000 supercar. Now, are you going to hand me the keys, or should I talk to your manager so someone else gets the commission?"

The salesman looked down at the $10,000 sitting on the hood, recovered his composure for a split second, and let out a dry, nasal chuckle.

"Ten grand is a nice down payment on a used sedan, pal," he scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "But this isn’t a pawn shop. You can’t just slap a few bills down and expect—"

"Hey, you."

I didn’t even let him finish his sentence. I looked right past his shoulder to a younger, lower-ranking salesman standing near the desk, who had been watching the whole interaction with wide eyes.

I picked up one of the thick $10,000 cash bundles, tossed it casually through the air, and caught the kid off guard as he caught it with both hands.

"That’s your tip," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the silent showroom floor. "I’m buying the million-dollar supercar right now. Draw up the paperwork, and the full commission is yours."

The first salesman’s face turned completely white. His jaw dropped so far I thought it might hit the polished floorboards.

"W-Wait! Sir, hold on!" he stammered, suddenly sweating through his tailored suit as he tried to jump back in front of me, his arrogant tone completely vanishing into desperate pleading. "I—I apologize! I was just explaining our financing tiers! Please, step into my office, I can personally handle your sale, give you a discount on the handling fees, whatever you need—"

"Too slow," I said, stepping right past him without giving him a second glance.

The younger salesman snapped out of his shock, clutching the ten-thousand-dollar tip like a golden ticket. "Y-Yes, sir! Right away, sir! Follow me straight to the VIP desk, I’ll have the keys and title transfer ready in five minutes!"

The first guy stood frozen in the middle of the aisle, watching hundreds of thousands in potential commission—and his pride—evaporate into thin air, while the rest of the floor staff tried and failed to hide their snickers.

I tapped my phone against the proxy reader at the desk.

[Transaction: Custom Twin-Turbo Supercar]

[Amount Expended: $1,000,000.00]

[Payment Status: APPROVED]

[Vehicle Status: FULLY PURCHASED & REGISTERED]

[Current Remaining Liquid Balance: $906,000.00]

Ten minutes later, the massive glass doors of the gallery slid open, and the engine of the dark, carbon-fiber monster roared to life with a deep, guttural growl that rattled the windows of the entire block.

I pulled out of the lot, feeling the raw power of a million bucks under my right foot.