Your Wealth Is Mine

Chapter Three - Taken

Mark finished cleaning the last table of the evening, the hum of conversation in the restaurant dimming as the night wound down. 

Plates had been stacked, glasses wiped thoroughly, and the scent of fried food and roasted meat lingered faintly in the air. He hung up his apron and exhaled, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders. Another long day was done. He had completed the quest, though he barely understood how. 

The system’s confirmation still burned faintly in his vision, ghostlike, impossible to ignore.

He stepped outside into the night. The streets were slick with leftover rain from earlier in the evening, the light of the streetlamps glinting on the puddles in fragmented golds and silvers. 

Cars moved past in quiet streams, and the occasional honk broke the otherwise muted rhythm of the city. Mark adjusted the strap of his bag and began walking toward the bus stop, his mind replaying the events at the restaurant. 

Every detail of Mr. Paul’s reactions, every hesitation and assumption, seemed etched into his memory.

And then it happened.

A black-and-white police car slid to a stop across the street, the tires hissing softly against the wet asphalt. Before he could react, two uniformed officers stepped out and approached him. One spoke immediately, his tone clipped and firm.

“Eric Markson?”

“Y-yeah?” 

“You’re under arrest for the theft of funds from Mr. Paul Alphonso.” the officer added.

Mark froze. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I… I don’t understand. I didn’t—”

“Save it for the station,” the other officer said. Their hands gripped his arms with surprising strength. Mark struggled, trying to protest, but it was useless.

Within seconds, he had handcuffs around his wrists and shoved into the back seat of the car, the doors locked, the city lights spinning past in blurry streaks.

“Wait! I haven’t done anything! You’re making a mistake!” he shouted, desperation cracking his voice. “You don’t understand, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The officers ignored him, letting his words fall on deaf ears. There was no negotiation. No opportunity for explanation. His words felt insignificant, swallowed by the roar of the engine and the rhythmic flash of streetlights.

At the station, the officers pushed him into a small, harshly lit room and left. The walls were white and sterile, the faint smell of disinfectant filling the air. A table sat in the center with two chairs on either side, a glass window placed on one side of the wall. 

Mark’s hands trembled as he sat down, unsure where to look. His heart thumped painfully in his chest and all hw could breathe out “I don't know what's going on—I didn't do anything.”

Moments later, officers returned with a new figure. The room seemed to shrink as the man took his seat across from Mark. Calm, composed, the police chief regarded him with an intensity that made Mark’s stomach twist.

“Markson,” the chief said evenly. “Or do I call you Mark for short?”

“Mark is fine.” he said, his tone low and head bowed. 

“Do you understand why you’re here?” the man asked, resting his elbows on the table.

“I… I don’t know,” Mark said, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t take anything. I swear, I don’t even know what’s happening.”

The chief’s expression remained unreadable. “We’ve asked the same questions repeatedly, and your responses have not changed. I want to start from the beginning.”

“Tell me, why would you steal from Mr. Alphonso? Who are you working for? Who instructed you?” the man asked, his tone sounding dead serious.

Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I… I didn’t steal anything. I don’t know anyone. I swear.”

The officers exchanged glances, muttering under their breath, but the chief remained still, his gaze unwavering. He leaned back slightly, folding his hands neatly on the table. “We’ll go back to the beginning, then,” he said. “Let’s see what led to this.”

And at that precise moment, as Mark braced himself for another round of questions, a sharp, sudden notification appeared in his vision.

-----

[New Quest Detected]

[Target: Police Chief Grayson]

[Objective: Acquire his wealth]

-----

Mark blinked rapidly. 

The system? Here? Now? The timing was absurd and his mind reeled. Why now? Why the chief? Why did the system choose this moment?

The chief noticed his expression change. “What is it?” he asked cautiously. “Are you alright?”

“I… I—” Mark began, his voice faltering. He could not explain. No explanation would make sense of this. He could not tell anyone about the translucent window floating in his vision, the robotic words hovering silently, instructing him to do something that sounded impossible.

The chief leaned forward slightly. “Mark, I suggest you answer clearly. You do realize you are in serious trouble. Right?”

Mark’s mind raced. He tried to steady himself, recalling the conversation with Mr. Paul. 

There, subtle changes in voice and phrasing had allowed him to manipulate the outcome. Could he do something similar here? He studied the chief carefully, noting his posture, the slight flex of his fingers on the table, the precise way he tilted his head.

Slowly, he began to mirror Mr . Alphonso's tone and cadence. He repeated fragments of questions, reformulated his own replies to match patterns he had observed. He left some questions unanswered, deflected others, careful to maintain calm. But the chief was intelligent—he anticipated deviations, he spotted his inconsistencies.

Mark’s chest tightened after seeing that he couldn't easily outsmart the chief. 

How could he beat someone who was steps ahead? Every tactic he tried, every careful word, seemed insufficient. 

But then, amidst the panic and doubt, a thought struck him: a fabricated accusation. Something plausible, yet untrue.

He spoke carefully. “I… I believe Mr. Paul Alphonso is manipulating his employees. He discovered a flaw in the X4 model—one that could be exploited. I didn’t hack him personally, but I think someone is attempting to cover it up. You should verify this before assigning blame.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, considering. “Are you suggesting he’s fabricating claims to cover mistakes?”

“Yes,” Mark said softly. “It seems unlikely, but the timing coincides with the report of the missing funds reported on the news. Perhaps you should investigate.”

For a long moment, the chief remained silent. Then he picked up the phone on the desk, speaking quietly into it. Mark could not hear the conversation, but his mind raced. Was he calling an informant? Was he checking records?

Minutes passed by in a blur but neither Mark nor the officers present in the room moved. He remained motionless, trying not to betray the tremor in his hands. The officers watched him silently. The tension in the room was almost unbearable.

Finally, the chief set the phone down. His expression had shifted—less sharp, more measured. “Very well. We will verify the claims you’ve made. Until then, you remain under observation.”

The chief stood and left the room, officers following silently. The door closed with a soft click, leaving Mark alone, trembling, but still free.

The system confirmed it immediately:

--------

[Congratulations: Quest Completed]

[Reward Pending]

---------

Mark slumped back in the chair, exhaling deeply. He could feel his body shaking with exhaustion, adrenaline, and relief. He had faced the chief—a man far more prepared than Mr. Paul—and somehow survived. 

Somehow outsmarted him.

But the victory did not feel clean. The world still felt heavy, untrustworthy. The system hovered silently, a reminder that this was only the beginning. Mark had passed one challenge, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on him more than the chair beneath him.

As he left the station, stepping out into the cool night air, he realized one thing clearly: the system did not care how he succeeded. Only that he did. And the world around him—its wealth, its people, its very structure—was now quietly shifting in ways he could barely comprehend.

“This is starting to get exciting.”