The God of Wealth's System

Chapter 10

The morning sunlight crept through the gaps in the thin curtains of the secret apartment unit in Sector 5. Sean Alexander did not stay at the hotel again. His body was exhausted from the sheer excitement of the previous night. He woke up with a long, deep breath. A smile spread across his face; as usual this time, he did not wake up to a blaring alarm or the fear of overdue bills. He woke up with a new, burning spirit, no longer the underestimated loser.

He dreamed of his childhood, a beautiful and peaceful dream. However, when his eyes opened, the reality he faced was far more fantastic than any dream could ever be. Sean reached for his phone lying on the dull wooden table beside the bed.

Click.

[Main Account Balance: $6,300,000]

[System Status: Active - Awaiting Further Instructions]

Sean chuckled softly. The view inside this room—the peeling walls and the creaking wooden floors—felt so out of place compared to the long string of zeros on his phone screen. He looked like a jobless bachelor with nothing to his name from the outside, but in his pocket, he held the key to buying half of the district.

"This place is no longer suitable," Sean muttered. "Hotels are luxurious, but I need a base. Something private, safe, and inconspicuous from the outside yet high-tech on the inside."

The first thing he did was contact an elite real estate agent through the system decryption. He was not looking for a palace yet—that would attract too much attention before the time was right. He chose a Penthouse Loft atop an old, renovated building on the edge of the city center. It spanned 400 square meters, with ceiling-high bulletproof glass, a private elevator directly to the basement, and a biometric security system.

"For now, this is enough," he said after paying the two-year rent in full upfront for $250,000 in just one minute.

The next step was the vehicle. Sean knew that in the world of the elite, a vehicle was not just a means of transport; it was a declaration of war.

At ten in the morning, Sean stepped into an exclusive Rolls-Royce Showroom. His appearance was still simple—just a plain black t-shirt and jeans—but the way he walked had changed. He had the calmness of a man who knew he could buy everything in the room if he wanted to.

"Good morning, Sir. Is there something I can help you with? Or are you looking for directions?" asked a young salesman with a tone that sounded polite yet dismissive.

Sean ignored the sarcasm. His eyes were fixed on a masterpiece in the center of the hall.

"Rolls-Royce Spectre 2024," Sean said flatly. "Ultra-Luxury Electric Coupe variant. Black Diamond color with Mandarin Orange interior."

The salesman was stunned. "S-Sir... that is a special order unit. The price starts from $420,000, and that does not include the Starlight Headliner customization and the bespoke audio system. The total reaches $550,000."

"I will take that one. Pay in cash, right now," Sean said, handing over a nameless black card issued by the system.

It only took fifteen minutes for the showroom manager to come out and bow respectfully to Sean. "Your car is being prepared, Mr. Alexander. Do you need someone to deliver it?"

"No," Sean replied. "I need a driver. And I know exactly where to find him."

Sean went to an underground boxing gym on the outskirts of the city. There, he met Jack, a former special forces operator who was dishonorably discharged for refusing orders to massacre civilians. Jacks body stood 195 cm tall, with muscles like carved granite and a permanent scar along his jaw.

Jack was hitting a heavy sandbag until its iron chains creaked loudly.

"Are you Jack? I need a driver and a bodyguard," Sean said, standing behind the giant man.

Jack stopped and turned with cold, wary eyes. "I am not a cheap mercenary, kid. Go find someone else," he said dismissively.

"One hundred thousand dollars per month. Excluding operational costs, weapons, and life insurance for your family," Sean replied calmly.

Jack was taken aback before a cynical laugh escaped his mouth. "Stop playing around. Get out of here! A kid like you, forget $100,000, I doubt you even have a hundred dollars," he mocked.

Sean met the insult with a smile. Without much talk, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a stack of cash, and pressed it against the broad, muscular chest. "That is for the down payment. How about it?"

Jack went silent. His eyes narrowed. "Who are you fighting that you dare to pay that much?"

"Every elite in this city," Sean answered. "Danger will stalk me every second. And I need a strong man like you."

Jack stared at Sean for a long time, looking for any doubt in the youths eyes. But all he found was deep darkness and burning ambition. Jack reached out his hand, which was as large as a coconut shell.

"Deal. Call me Jack. From now on, your life is my responsibility."

The next morning.

Sean Alexander woke up as dawn broke in his secret apartment. He looked at the cracked ceiling, but a thin smile graced his lips. The nightmare of Sophias betrayal and Viktors blows slowly faded, replaced by a cold passion for revenge. On his phone screen, the figure of $5,000,000 blinked slowly—more than enough ammunition to bring down a district.

In just one day yesterday, he had spent over 1 million dollars. Before, he did not even dare to imagine having that much money.

Sean woke up feeling much fitter. The system did not just give him instant wealth, but also unexpected physical strength. The more he mastered each mission, the more he leveled up.

Sean did not want to waste time. There were important matters he had to settle immediately. He wanted the case trapping him to end quickly. And he wanted his name cleared from the vile slander of Viktor and his lackeys.

The atmosphere in the police station lobby was rowdy with laughter. Sergeant Miller was sitting casually on a desk, holding a cup of cheap coffee while showing Seans debt confession to his colleagues.

"You know, that loser courier has until two o'clock this afternoon. It has been one week since he was arrested and promised to pay the fine. Everyone knows it is impossible to get that much money in such a short time. That fool will rot in prison anyway. Enjoy your lunch, then prepare the team to nab him."

Miller laughed until his face turned red. "One and a half million dollars! Even if he sold his kidneys and every limb on his body, he would not be able to pay even one percent!"

"Maybe he is crying under a bridge right now," chimed in O'Malley, the stout policeman who had helped stomp on Seans head before. "Or maybe he has gone crazy from the debt pressure. How pathetic, from a star courier to the scum of society overnight."

Suddenly, the smooth yet authoritative hum of an engine was heard from outside. A gleaming black Rolls-Royce Spectre stopped right in front of the main steps.

The door opened. Jack, the giant, stepped out first. His black suit looked like it was about to rip from the strain of his arm muscles, which were as large as a normal humans thigh. Jacks presence immediately silenced the laughter in the lobby. The duty officers froze, their hands reflexively touching their pistol holsters.

Jack opened the rear door, and Sean Alexander stepped out.

He wore a dark gray Tom Ford suit that fit his body perfectly. His hair was neatly styled, and his eyes radiated the calm aura of a predator. Sean stepped into the lobby, followed by Jack, who carried four large leather suitcases as if they were filled with cotton.

"Oho! Look who it is!" Miller broke the silence with a forced, discordant laugh. "Sean? Where did you rent that car and suit? Have you truly gone mad because you cannot pay your debt, that you decided to pretend to be a billionaire on your last day?"

O'Malley stepped closer, crossing his arms over his chest. "How pathetic. The pressure of one and a half million dollars has apparently fried your small brain, Sean. You think by dressing up like this, we will forgive you? But at least you are self-aware. Without us having to pick you up, you finally showed up. Get in the cell now, Mr. Alexander," he said with a cynical tone.

"He must be crazy," whispered a female officer in the corner. "Look at his gaze, he is hallucinating that he is rich. What a pity, though that young man is very handsome."

Sean stopped right in front of Miller. He did not retaliate with anger. He only looked at Miller with a look of disdain, as if Miller were dirt stuck to his shoe.

"My time is very expensive, Miller," Sean said, his voice low but vibrating with a suffocating authority. "Call Commissioner Griffin. Now."

"Hahaha! He is ordering me!" Miller turned to his colleagues. "Hear that? This lunatic wants to see the Commissioner! Hey, Loser! The Commissioner does not have time to deal with a crazy person hallucinating like you. Now, take off that borrowed suit and get into the iron bars!"

Miller tried to grab Seans suit collar, but before his hand could reach, Jack moved like lightning. Jacks giant hand gripped Millers wrist and twisted it slightly downward.

"ARRGH! Let go! My hand!" Miller roared in pain.

"Do not touch my Master with your filthy hands," Jacks voice was heavy and gravelly, like a tank engine.

"Jack, let him go," Sean ordered calmly.

Jack released Miller, who immediately fell to the floor while clutching his reddening hand. The commotion brought Commissioner Griffin out of his office on the upper floor.

"What is happening here?!" Griffin shouted. He saw Sean, then saw Jack standing like a mountain of stone. "Sean Alexander? You are making trouble again?"

"I am here to pay my debt, Griffin," Sean said, signaling to Jack.

THUD!

Jack dropped the four suitcases onto the administration desk. The sound was so loud that dust flew into the air.

"Debt? What are you paying with? Dried leaves? Or is the content of these cases a bomb?" Griffin mocked, even though his heart began to feel uneasy seeing Seans calmness. "Borgol him quickly! He is crazy and endangering officers!"

"Just open the cases, Griffin. Or are you afraid your pride will shatter when you see what is inside?" Sean challenged.

Miller, who was still grimacing in pain, crawled up and pulled the zipper of the first case roughly. "I will prove that you are only carrying newspapers, Crazy—"

Millers sentence was cut off. His eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.

The lobby fell into total silence. The sharp scent of new money—the distinct aroma of sealed bank paper—immediately filled the air. Inside the suitcase, stacks of $100 bills were arranged very neatly, filling every inch of the suitcase space.

Miller opened the second case. The content was the same. The third case, the fourth case... all were filled with a sea of cash.

"One million five hundred thousand dollars," Seans voice broke the sickening silence. "Cash. No installments. No confession of guilt."

Griffin stood agape. He grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from falling. All the police who were laughing earlier were now frozen like statues. O'Malley even dropped his coffee glass until it shattered on the floor.

"This... this is impossible... Where did you..." Griffin stammered.

"Where I got it is none of your business, Griffin," Sean stepped forward, closing the distance with the Commissioner until Griffin could feel the pressure of the aura crushing his lungs. "Now, take this money. Clear my name from your rotten system!"