Chapter 50
Author: Youngblood
last update2025-07-04 05:14:33

The Intercontinental Real Estate Summit—I.R.E.S.—wasn’t just another billionaire conference. It was the event. The kind of summit where invitations were hand-delivered in armored cars, security clearance rivaled that of the G20, and no one without a nine-figure portfolio even made it past the valet.

Held inside the O’Connor World Pavilion—a gleaming, cathedral-like structure in Manhattan’s Financial District—the air inside shimmered with legacy, influence, and generational power.

The Bashans had really done a good job in putting everything together for this conference and that was an undeniable fact.

The guest list had been kept airtight and there was no room for anyone who hadn’t received an invitation, no matter who that person was.

This was what they called “strictly by invitation,” and it was worth it, owing to the fact that this summit was for the very great minds that ruled in the real estate space.

The Bashan family, who were one of the top players in matters of real estate a
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  • Chapter 55

    The prestigious stone arches of Elite Society University gleamed under the late morning sun as Chance stepped out of the town car, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. The familiar hum of campus life surrounded him—students laughing near the fountain, the rustle of lecture notes being shuffled, the distant sound of someone practicing violin in the arts block.But today, it all felt a little quieter.Or maybe he had just grown louder inside.The moment his shoes hit the main quad, a familiar voice called out from behind a column of ivy.“Chance!”He turned.Chloe jogged toward him, a curious mix of surprise and concern on her face. Her chestnut waves were pulled into a loose braid, and she had that look she always wore when something was off—but she hadn’t decided yet whether it was good or bad.“You’re not going to believe it,” she said, falling into step beside him.Chance tilted his head. “Try me.”“Prince Harry left this morning.” She announced like she was delivering a specta

  • Chapter 54

    The morning sun filtered gently through the floor-length windows of the Banks Estate breakfast conservatory, spilling golden warmth across the long marble table and bouncing off silver cutlery. Outside, birds chirped across the manicured lawn, and a light breeze rustled the towering hedges surrounding the estate.Inside, the air smelled of fresh-ground coffee, sourdough toast, smoked salmon, and jasmine tea.Chance, in a soft navy polo, sat at the head of the table, flipping through a portfolio on his tablet, his expression calm but thoughtful. To his right was Philip Banks, dressed in a tailored tan vest, sipping his usual lemon tea with the quiet grace of a seasoned strategist. Gary, hair a little tousled from sleep, lounged across from Chance, already halfway through his third croissant. At the far end sat Julia, elegant in a pale linen wrap, her poise unshaken even after a sleepless night.For a few moments, there was only the quiet clink of plates and the rustle of digital paper.

  • Chapter 53

    That same night, Chance had to revisit the documents of the will he had received just to be sure that whatever Roney Bashan had claimed was nothing but lies. Even if his mother had lashed out on him angrily, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was right. Ever since he stepped into the O’ Connor’s shoes, he hadn’t really taken full responsibility of the assets he had inherited.All he did was to take note of the financial records but not once had he been actively involved in any of the businesses that were generating those income, and with this issue with the land, he knew it was time for him to take full responsibility.They were still checking through the documents when Gary held high a piece of document. It was a land deed with Steven O’ Connor’s signature showing a transfer of ownership of the land to Roney Bashan as an act of goodwill.“Are you seeing this?” Gary asked, his voice low, stunned. “It’s like your father gave Archerlands to Roney six months before he died.”Chance didn

  • Chapter 52

    Roney Bashan emerged from the side corridor, wiping his hands with a silk cloth like a man fresh off a feast. The summit was over and the guests have all returned home, leaving him with that feeling of satisfaction that he had been able to announce the erection of his most revered boyhood dream, “Crown City.”As a boy growing up in the shadow of rising empires and watching his father bow before men who controlled the world then, like Steven O’Connor was currently doing, Roney had made a silent vow: one day, he would build something that no dynasty could overshadow.To him, Crown City was never just concrete and glass—it was a living monument, a futuristic kingdom where innovation, control, and legacy fused into one.A city where his name would not merely be written on buildings… but carved into history.And now, with the O’Connor legacy seemingly quiet and their land in his grip, he believed it was time—his time to be the major player in the game of wealth and power until he finally

  • Chapter 51

    The stage of the O’Connor World Pavilion shimmered beneath a cascade of amber lighting as the guests settled into seats. Cameras rolled, glasses clinked, and the buzz of expectation ran electric through the room.This was it—the main address of the evening. Every mogul, tycoon, and high-ranking royal in attendance leaned forward, eyes fixed on the man approaching the stage with the ease of a seasoned performer.Roney Bashan, the patriarch of the Bashan Dynasty.A titan in his own right, he wore power like a second skin. His dark double-breasted suit gleamed under the lights, and his salt-and-pepper beard framed a face sculpted by decades of corporate conquest. Roney Bashan was not just a business ally—he was one of the few men who had stood beside Steven O’Connor during the meteoric rise of the O’Connor Empire.He had witnessed firsthand as Steven transformed a modest family enterprise into a global juggernaut—brick by brick, deal by deal—turning once-forgotten corners of the economy

  • Chapter 50

    The Intercontinental Real Estate Summit—I.R.E.S.—wasn’t just another billionaire conference. It was the event. The kind of summit where invitations were hand-delivered in armored cars, security clearance rivaled that of the G20, and no one without a nine-figure portfolio even made it past the valet.Held inside the O’Connor World Pavilion—a gleaming, cathedral-like structure in Manhattan’s Financial District—the air inside shimmered with legacy, influence, and generational power.The Bashans had really done a good job in putting everything together for this conference and that was an undeniable fact.The guest list had been kept airtight and there was no room for anyone who hadn’t received an invitation, no matter who that person was. This was what they called “strictly by invitation,” and it was worth it, owing to the fact that this summit was for the very great minds that ruled in the real estate space. The Bashan family, who were one of the top players in matters of real estate a

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