Chapter 339: My Uncle Had Preordered the Humiliation

My broke uncle had apparently purchased a meeting with my money, which suggested that robbing him had damaged his bank account without improving his personality.

I lay beside Bridget while Lyra turned her phone toward the casino reception. Four yellow ducks occupied four chairs, and a man in a gray suit waited beside the fifth. He had arranged the ducks so that every painted smile faced the door.

I disliked him before he spoke, although the presentation showed promise.

"Your uncle confirmed the seat," the man said through Lyra’s phone. "He assured me his contribution would be deducted from the proceeds of our agreement."

"Then he paid you with a sentence, because I emptied the part of his life where money used to happen."

Bridget covered her mouth, but her shoulders gave her away. The movement shifted the blanket against my sore side, reminding me that I currently qualified as dangerous furniture rather than an active criminal.

[System: The bastard’s bought a ticket with imaginary cash, mate. That’s not entrepreneurship, that’s a Centrelink magician with a family connection.]

We should find out whether he also promised them my nonexistent legs before we celebrate.

Old Mate sat at his private bar, a drunk koala wearing sunglasses indoors because accountability apparently hurt his eyes. He lifted his glass toward the ducks and began counting them on his claws.

The broker introduced his liquidation company. Lyra held a shipping label beside the camera, and he produced the matching dispatch record for the parcel we had already received. That explained the company connection without explaining why my uncle thought he could sell pieces of my afternoon.

"Hansen said the casino arrangement had become difficult after your disagreement," the broker continued. "He suggested an appearance agreement instead, with your family supporting the attraction."

"Our disagreement involved me taking his assets after he helped arrange attempted murder, so I wouldn’t put him in charge of the Christmas raffle."

Lyra’s expression changed at the mention of it, and I wished the screen were close enough to touch her through. Channel, the poison, the casino exposure, all of it remained part of us even when my uncles tried calling it business trouble.

"How are you doing, love, apart from supervising a duck conference?"

"I wanted breakfast with you," she said. "Instead, I got a man who asked whether your girlfriends were included in his booking."

The broker immediately discovered something fascinating on his paperwork.

Bridget took her phone closer. "Which booking would that be, considering none of us agreed to one?"

I loved how smoothly she joined Lyra’s side. There was no awkward wait to see whether the established girlfriend wanted help, and Lyra rewarded her with a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you, Bridget, because Cherry already offered to demonstrate the refund process using his shoes."

Cherry appeared beside her carrying a breakfast plate. "I offered to return them while he was still wearing them, which felt very generous under the circumstances."

[System: That’s your management team sorted, cunt. One keeps the records, one spots the trap, and one returns the customer through the window.]

You could stop sounding proud before they heard it in my voice.

The broker explained his real interest. He bought failed attractions and sold live broadcasts of people doing things they would later deny agreeing to. The recent trouble at my club had attracted viewers, and Hansen had promised exclusive access to the snake responsible.

Apparently, poverty had turned my uncle into my least talented pimp.

I opened a separate call to Hansen and sent Lyra the audio connection. He answered after enough rings to prove he had considered pretending to be dead.

"You stole everything from us," he said before I could greet him.

"Good morning to you too, Uncle. Have you considered replacing the money with personal growth? I hear the starting cost is very low."

"You humiliated us in our own casino, dragged Channel’s arrangement in front of everyone, and now you want to joke about it?"

"I had several jokes ready, but the part where you sold an appearance without asking moved you to the front of the queue."

He began explaining how temporary arrangements worked. I watched the broker’s confidence shrink with every careful phrase, particularly when Lyra asked where Hansen’s actual payment appeared.

There was no payment. There was a promise to pay after I earned it.

Old Mate put his drink down, which usually meant a new crime had caught his professional attention.

[System: Make Your Uncle Eat the Invoice, mate. Get proof he sold your cooperation without permission and make him withdraw the claim, and I’ll cough up three thousand EXP and fifteen IP. Humiliation’s lovely, but I need the actual result before paying for the bloody show.]

Could I make him withdraw it while wearing one of the ducks?

[System: You’ve got no medical clearance for wrestling family into poultry, but I admire the direction of travel.]

I told the broker to send the agreement to Lyra, leave reception, and return for a proper appointment after my follow-up examination. His refundable million stayed where it belonged, separate from my money, however unfair that arrangement felt.

Then I asked Lyra what she wanted when I came home.

"A day outside the office," she said. "Something we chose together, without your uncles getting the first invitation."

"You had a date, sweetheart, and I intended to make the activities at least slightly less disappointing than this meeting."

Cherry leaned into the picture. "Bridget should come home with you, because I bought enough breakfast for someone who actually says thank you before stealing my toast."

Bridget’s answering smile made the cramped apartment feel warmer.

Hansen interrupted before I could ruin the moment with something sentimental. "You can’t simply cancel the appearance, Matthew. The promotion already went out, and they hired somebody for the rehearsal."

Lyra’s reception bell rang while he was still talking.

She turned the camera toward the doorway, where a man in a padded red snake costume stood holding a cardboard duck. His costume had enormous painted muscles, two little legs, and my face stretched across the hood.

Behind him, the advertising board promised an exclusive personal appearance by me, followed by a private experience that none of my girlfriends had approved.