The Trillionaire’s Rise: Powered by a System Ring

CHAPTER 7 A Call for Mother

Rendi did not immediately answer Steven's question. He stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped right beside the window of the black car.

"A watch," Rendi said. "An item from the flea market."

"What watch?"

"The watch you missed."

Steven's smile faded. The man turned off his car engine and rested his arm on the door.

"Twice in two days, Rendi. Yesterday a statue, today a watch." Steven tapped his fingers on the car door. "A bankrupt man suddenly having such sharp eyes. Where did you learn that?"

"From five years of being conned. Over time, I learned to see things where the inside differs from the packaging."

Steven let out a short laugh, but his eyes remained cold.

"I have an offer." Steven took a business card from his shirt pocket. "Work for me. You find the goods, I sell them. You get twenty percent."

Rendi stared at the business card without taking it. The card was thick, black, and written in gold lettering: Steven Hale, Hale Antiques.

"Why would you bother offering me a job?"

"Because people who can see the true value of things like you are rare." Steven shrugged. "I prefer you working for me rather than becoming a competitor."

"Mr. Lawrence just paid in full," Rendi said. "Why should I take twenty percent from you?"

"Because there is only one Lawrence." Steven put his card back. "The vendors on Kenari Street, at the flea market next to the station, all the way to the small auction houses on the outskirts of the city, they all sell to me first. I give them capital loans. They obey."

[Ding!] [Analysis: Steven Hale controls the majority of the antique trading channels in Hakward.] [Steven's information is proven to be true.]

Rendi read the panel briefly, then looked back at Steven.

"So you're saying, starting tomorrow, the market vendors won't sell anything to me."

"I didn't say that." Steven turned his car engine back on. "I'm just saying, this city is smaller than you think. Think about my offer."

The car window rolled up. The black car drove away and turned at the end of Victoria Street.

Rendi stood on the sidewalk for quite a while. The wallet in his back pocket felt thick, but Steven's recent threat made the money feel much smaller.

'If the market is controlled by Steven, I have to find another way.'

The sun had already set when Rendi arrived at Marco's garage. Rendi had been pushing the motorcycle since the mouth of the alley because the brakes were completely unusable.

Marco came out from behind a pile of tires and looked at his motorcycle with a suspicious face.

"Did you hit something, Boss?"

"Didn't hit anything. The brakes are gone," Rendi answered.

"The brakes have been gone since last week." Marco inspected the front wheel, then stood up. "So, what did your scavenging get you today?"

Rendi took out his wallet and pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills. He placed them on the motorcycle seat.

Marco stared at the money, then looked at Rendi. "What is this?"

"Motorcycle rental, gas, and new brakes. The rest is the second installment."

"Did you rob a bank, Boss?"

"Sold a watch."

"Whose watch?"

"A watch from the flea market, cost thirty-five dollars." Rendi leaned his back against the garage wall. "Sold for one thousand five hundred."

Marco fell silent for a few seconds. Then he took the money, counted it twice, and put it into his pants pocket.

"I don't know what kind of magic trick you're playing, Boss," Marco said. "But if you go to the flea market again tomorrow, I'm coming with you."

"Tomorrow there might not be anyone willing to sell to me."

Rendi recounted his meeting with Steven. Marco listened while wiping his hands with the small towel around his neck.

"Steven from that antique shop downtown?" Marco snorted. "He's my customer too. Changes his car oil here, takes him half an hour just to haggle over the price."

"You know him?"

"I know his car. The guy is stingy." Marco threw the towel over his shoulder. "But don't worry, Boss. A guy like him only holds sway over vendors who need loans. There are still many people in this city who want to throw away old things without going through the market."

Rendi looked up. "What do you mean?"

"People moving houses. Bankrupt people selling their warehouse contents. People dying, leaving their heirs confused about what to do with their old belongings." Marco grinned. "I have a lot of garage customers, Boss. I hear a lot of stories from them."

Rendi stared at Marco for a long time. Three months ago, Rendi fired this man without listening to a single sentence.

"If there's any news, let me know."

"Profit split?"

"Ten percent."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

Marco held out his oil-blackened hand. Rendi shook it without hesitation.

From the house behind the garage, Marco's wife called her husband for dinner. Marco shouted back that he would be inside shortly.

That night, Rendi sat on the back steps of Grandpa Harun's house. The kitchen light glowed dimly behind him, and the sound of a neighbor's television could be heard faintly from over the fence.

Grandpa Harun came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm tea. The old man placed the glass next to Rendi without asking anything, then went back inside the house.

His used phone was in his hand. The scratched screen displayed the second contact he had saved that afternoon.

Now he had something to bring home. It wasn't a lot of money yet, but it was enough to prove that his mother's son wasn't finished.

Rendi took a sip of the tea. It tasted too sweet, just like Marco's coffee, but its warmth traveled down to his chest.

Rendi pressed the call button.

The dial tone rang three times. Then came the hoarse voice of an elderly woman.

"Hello?"

Rendi's throat suddenly went dry. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Mom," Rendi finally said. "It's Rendi."

There was no answer on the other end. Rendi only heard his mother's breathing grow shallow.

"Rendi?" His mother's voice cracked. "Where are you, son? I called the hospital, they said you already went home. Went home where? You don't have a house."

"I found a room, Mom. A rented room, at a good person's house."

"Have you eaten?"

Rendi let out a small laugh, and his eyes instantly grew hot. After everything that had happened, his mother's first question remained the same as when he was still in school.

"I have, Mom. Had fried rice this afternoon."

"You're lying. Your voice sounds weak."

"I really have, Mom."

His mother stayed silent for a moment. Then her voice became calmer.

"Rendi, listen to me. A house is just a house. I'm not angry about the house." His mother took a deep breath. "I'm angry because you never told me anything. Five years, son."

Rendi looked down. His free hand gripped the hem of Marco's borrowed t-shirt.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Apologize later, in front of me. Not over the phone."

"Yes, Mom. I'll go there as soon as I can."

"One more thing." His mother's voice lowered. "Yesterday there was a guest at your aunt's house. He was looking for you."

Rendi straightened his back. "Who, Mom?"

"Mr. Darto. The former director at your father's office." His mother paused for a moment. "He said he was the one who paid for your hospital bill. And he asked me to pass on a message."

"What message?"

"He said, some of the signatures on the deed of grant are forged."