The New Tycoon Conquers Every Business

Chapter 4: Coffee shop

Keisha was already seated when Marcus arrived at Crema & Co., the upscale coffee shop that had replaced the old laundromat on Fifth Street. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he watched her check her phone, her nurse's scrubs traded for jeans and a sweater. She looked tired—the kind of tired that came from double shifts and student loan anxiety.

Marcus pushed through the door, and her eyes widened.

"Oh my God." Keisha stood, taking in his appearance. The navy suit had been replaced with dark jeans and a crisp white button-down—still expensive, but less formal. "Marcus, you look..."

"Different?"

"Like you robbed a bank." She wasn't smiling. "Seriously, what's going on? You're freaking me out."

They ordered. Marcus didn't even glance at the prices, just asked for two lattes and whatever pastries looked good and settled into a corner booth. Keisha watched him with increasing concern as the barista brought over their order: two lattes, four pastries, and a sixteen-dollar tab Marcus paid without flinching.

"Okay, talk," Keisha said. "And don't give me some bullshit about a bonus. I know what delivery drivers make."

Marcus sipped his latte, buying time. What could he tell her? The truth was impossible. A mysterious system that multiplied money sounded like either a scam or a delusion. But lying to Keisha felt wrong—she'd been the one person who never made him feel small for being poor.

"I came into some money," he said carefully. "An investment opportunity that paid off."

"What kind of investment? You didn't have money to invest."

"I borrowed the initial capital."

"From who? Marcus, if you got involved with loan sharks or—"

"Nothing illegal. I promise." He leaned forward. "Keish, do you trust me?"

She studied his face for a long moment. "I trust that you believe what you're saying. But people don't just suddenly get money. Especially not people like us."

People like us. The words hung in the air, a reminder of the invisible walls that surrounded their world. Poor kids didn't get lucky breaks. They got ground down until they accepted their place.

"Watch me prove you wrong," Marcus said.

Keisha's expression softened. "I hope you do. God knows you deserve something good." She picked at her pastry. "But be careful, okay? Fast money disappears even faster."

They talked for another hour, about her clinicals, his mother's health, the neighborhood drama they'd grown up navigating. It felt normal, grounding. But Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that he was straddling two worlds now: the old one where he belonged, and a new one where he was still an imposter.

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

Heard you quit your job. Already giving up? - D

Derek. Somehow he'd gotten Marcus's number.

Another text: Vanessa and I are at Skyline Lounge tonight. Open bar. Feel free to stop by and watch how winners live.

Marcus's jaw tightened. Skyline Lounge was the rooftop bar downtown where trust fund kids and young executives pretended they'd earned their privilege. Minimum spend per person: $1000. The kind of place Marcus had never even considered entering.

Keisha noticed his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just spam." He pocketed his phone. "Hey, can I ask you something? Your family's restaurant—is it still struggling?"

Keisha's father owned Morrison's Soul Food, a small restaurant three blocks from their building. It had been a neighborhood institution for twenty years, but rising rents and competition from chain restaurants were slowly killing it.

"Dad's thinking about closing," Keisha admitted. "The landlord raised rent again. He can't keep up."

"What if someone invested? Helped with the rent, maybe some renovations?"

"Marcus, don't." Her voice was sharp. "Whatever money you have, use it for your family. For your mom's treatment. Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm not making promises. I'm asking questions."

"Then I'll answer: my dad needs about twenty thousand to catch up on back rent and make basic repairs. Which is twenty thousand we don't have." She stood, gathering her things. "I have to get to my shift. Thank you for coffee. Seriously. But please, be smart with whatever's happening. Don't let it change you."

After she left, Marcus sat alone with the system interface glowing in his vision:

[OPPORTUNITY DETECTED: MORRISON'S SOUL FOOD RESTAURANT]

[INVESTMENT POTENTIAL: HIGH]

[COMMUNITY VALUE: EXCELLENT]

[PERSONAL STAKES: SIGNIFICANT]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: EVALUATE PROPERTY]

Twenty thousand dollars. A week ago, it would have been impossible. Now? The system showed his current balance: $3,370.47. If he spent it all today at the 200% rebate rate, he'd have nearly $10,000 by tomorrow. Do that twice more, and...

Marcus's phone buzzed again. Derek:

Scared to show your face? Smart. Stay in your lane, delivery boy.

Something cold settled in Marcus's chest. Derek wanted him to stay small, stay invisible, stay in his place. Vanessa had left because she couldn't see him as anything more than what he'd always been.

Maybe it was time to show them exactly how wrong they were.

---

Skyline Lounge was everything Marcus expected: glass and chrome, ambient electronic music, beautiful people in expensive clothes nursing cocktails that cost more than his old weekly paycheck. The elevator ride to the rooftop had a dress code enforcer who'd looked Marcus up and down before grudgingly allowing him entry.

The suit helped. Confidence helped more.

Marcus spotted them immediately. Derek held court at a corner table with Vanessa tucked under his arm, surrounded by their social circle—private school graduates and corporate climbers, all laughing too loud and drinking too much. Vanessa wore a red dress that probably cost a month of Marcus's old rent.

She saw him first. Her laughter died mid-sound, and her hand instinctively went to Derek's arm. Derek followed her gaze and his expression transformed from smug satisfaction to something darker.

Marcus walked over, his heartbeat steady. The system interface flickered:

[DOMINANCE THROUGH INDIFFERENCE]

[SPEND BOLDLY. PROVE NOTHING. BE EVERYTHING.]

"Marcus?" Vanessa's voice was uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

"Having a drink." He signaled the waitress, a woman in her twenties who appeared instantly. "Bottle of Dom Pérignon, please. The 2015 if you have it."

The waitress blinked. "Sir, that's $850 a bottle."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, sir. Right away."

Derek laughed. a harsh, barking sound. "Oh, this is priceless. What are you doing, Marcus? Maxing out a credit card to impress us? Going into debt for one night of pretending?"

Marcus turned to face him fully. "I'm not pretending anything. You invited me, remember? Open bar, you said. Winners only."

"I was being sarcastic, you moron."

"Were you?" Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because it sounded like an invitation. I'd hate to think you were afraid of a little competition."

Vanessa shifted uncomfortably. "Marcus, you don't need to—".

"Don't need to what? Spend my money how I want?" He shrugged. "You made it pretty clear what you value, Vanessa. Success. Ambition. Money. Just wanted to show you I'm a fast learner."

The champagne arrived in an ice bucket, presented with ceremony. The waitress poured a taste for Marcus. He'd never had champagne before, hell, he'd rarely had any alcohol. but he sipped it like he'd been drinking $850 bottles his whole life.

"Excellent. I'll take the bottle. And whatever my friends here are drinking, put it on my tab."

Derek's face reddened. "We don't need your charity."

"It's not charity. It's a celebration." Marcus raised his glass to the stunned table. "To new beginnings. To leaving the past where it belongs."

He downed the champagne. it was crisp and golden and tasted like victory. He then set down hundred-dollar bills on the table. "That should cover my bottle and a generous tip. Enjoy your night."

Marcus walked away, feeling their eyes boring into his back. His hands were shaking, but his head was clear. The system chimed:

[REPUTATION IMPACT: +15]

His phone exploded with notifications before he even reached the elevator. Messages from numbers he didn't recognize, people from the table:

Who is this guy?

Did Marcus Sylvester just drop a grand like it was nothing?

Vanessa, is that your ex???

And then, from Derek himself: I don't know what game you're playing, but I will destroy you.

Marcus smiled at his phone as the elevator descended. Let them wonder. Let them scramble to figure out how broke Marcus suddenly had money to burn. Let them lie awake tonight questioning everything they thought they knew.

He checked his balance: $2,220.47 after the champagne and tip.

The system updated:

[DAILY SPENDING: $1,150]

[REBATE PENDING: $2,300]

[DEPOSIT IN: 23:17:34]

[NEW MISSION AVAILABLE]

[ACCEPT?]

Marcus clicked yes.

[MISSION: ESTABLISH DOMINANCE]

[OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE AN ASSET THAT DEREK VALUES]

[TIME LIMIT: 7 DAYS]

[REWARD: TIER ADVANCEMENT ACCELERATOR]

[HINT: HE LOVES THAT CAR]

Marcus's eyes widened. Derek's car. The cherry-red Porsche 911 he'd driven to school every day senior year, the one he'd parked across two spaces to make sure everyone saw it. The one he had revved outside Marcus's building once, just to prove a point.

The system wanted him to buy Derek's car.

Which meant finding out how much a used Porsche cost, where to even begin looking, and whether he was ready to escalate this from psychological warfare to outright declaration of financial war.

His phone rang. Unknown number. Again.

Marcus answered. "Hello?"

"Mr. Sylvester?" A woman's voice, professional and clipped. "This is Catherine Reynolds from Apex Realty Group. We received an inquiry about your interest in commercial property investment. Do you have a moment to discuss opportunities?"

"I... what? I didn't make any inquiry."

"According to our system, you did. This morning at 9:47 AM. Are you saying you didn't authorize this?"

Marcus's blood ran cold. He hadn't called any realty company. Which meant someone else had, using his name. "Who gave you my information?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential. But Mr. Sylvester, we have several properties that might interest someone with your... emerging capital situation. Perhaps we could meet?"

The line went dead.

Marcus stood in the parking garage, the fluorescent lights shining overhead, and felt the first flutter of something he hadn't expected: fear.

Someone was watching him. Someone knew about the money. Someone was already making moves.

His phone buzzed one more time. A photo message from another unknown number:

A picture of his mother's building. Taken today, from across the street. No message. No explanation.

Just a warning.