William had deliberately shown the Mars gold coins to a large audience to generate hype.
But did that mean he should sell one to everyone who asked?
Of course not.
Selling only one would have a far greater effect than distributing several.
So, he waved Anthony over and turned to the middle-aged journalist, saying,
"Sorry, mate. These were actually meant as a gift for Wilson. I only brought ten coins down from the spaceship."
Anthony immediately understood William's intent and reached into his pocket, retrieving his five coins.
However, William only took one from him and said to the journalist,
"$20,000 for this coin. I guarantee you won't regret it, because there are no more than 200 of these in existence."
—
200 coins?
The entire crowd instantly erupted in expletives.
If there were truly fewer than 200, then buying one for $20,000 wasn't just a good deal—it was highway robbery in favor of the buyer.
While the price might not skyrocket overnight, it certainly wouldn't depreciate.
And in a few years—or a few decades—it could be worth a fortune.
If William's status and achievements continued to grow, the value of these coins would surge.
The journalist, realizing the golden opportunity before him, quickly accepted the coin and repeatedly thanked William.
"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Devonshire! I'll transfer the money to you right away!"
"Hold on. $20,000 isn't worth the trouble."
William swept his gaze over the nearby onlookers before smirking.
"Consider it payment for dinner. How about that?"
The journalist glanced around and saw that there were only about 30 or 40 people nearby.
Without hesitation, he agreed.
"No problem, Mr. Devonshire! I'll make sure to treat everyone here to a lavish meal."
"Okay, then. See you around, gentlemen."
"Goodbye, Mr. Devonshire!"
A $20,000 meal split among fewer than 40 people meant at least $500 per person.
That was enough for a Michelin three-star restaurant with an extravagant tasting menu.
As William left, the journalists clapped and cheered in appreciation.
—
Leaving the press conference, William instructed Anthony and his team to head home while he, Abigail, and Wilson made their way into Buckingham Palace.
Wilson, still thinking about the coins, grinned.
"Mate, don't forget—those coins were supposed to be for me. Make sure to send over ten, or I can swing by your place to pick them up."
"You really didn't get it? That was just an excuse to throw off the journalists."
"I don't care. You said it yourself—I heard you say you were giving them to me, but then you gave them away instead."
As they stepped into the palace, Wilson saw that William wasn't reacting and decided to push his luck.
"Actually, ten coins might not be enough. I need more to share with my brothers."
"And why would that be my problem? Ten is the limit."
William wasn't bothered that Wilson never introduced him to his brothers.
If he had a powerful friend, he wouldn't introduce them to his competitors either.
—
The moment they entered the palace's grand hall, a distinguished white-haired butler approached and bowed.
"Your Grace, His Majesty has been expecting you. Please, follow me."
"Wait."
William wasn't about to let himself be led around without question.
He turned to Abigail and instructed,
"You and Wilson stay with Prince Charles. No matter what happens, don't leave this hall unless I personally come for you."
Hearing this, Abigail's face paled slightly, and she clutched his arm tightly.
"I—I can't go with you, darling?"
"No."
William shook his head.
"If my suspicions are correct, knowing too much won't do you any good."
Leading Abigail and Wilson to Charles and his wife, William exchanged pleasantries before finally following the butler out of the hall and down toward the lower levels of the palace.
—
Arriving outside the interrogation room, the butler attempted to enter alongside William,
only for the guards stationed at the door to block his path.
"Apologies, sir. By your orders, only His Majesty and Grand Duke Devonshire are permitted inside."
The butler was momentarily stunned before letting out a wry chuckle.
Turning to William, he said,
"It seems I'll have to wait for you and His Majesty to finish."
William swept the room with his psychic senses.
Inside, Charles Cavendish was bound to a metal table, while Philip stood in an adjacent room, watching through a one-way mirror.
Nodding slightly to the butler, William pushed open the door and stepped inside.
—
Hearing the door open, Philip turned to glance at William before shifting his focus back to Charles.
When William joined him by the glass, Philip finally spoke.
"I suspected that Charles Cavendish had done something to influence me… but you—how did you realize he was a problem?"
William didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked in return,
"What exactly did he say to you? Something serious enough that you thought it could be used against me?"
"A lot."
Philip cast a sidelong glance at William.
Seeing that his expression remained relaxed, Philip suddenly understood—William wasn't concerned about whatever Charles had revealed.
Deciding to drop the pretense, Philip continued,
"He claimed you manipulated the succession of the Marco Cannes family to benefit him.
He said you stole Cannes Racing Team—which is now Aston Martin Racing.
That you took the Cannes estate at Lake Como and seized Château Margaux.
He also alleged that you helped Grand Duke Devon and several other aristocrats eradicate underground criminal networks in Eastern Europe—raking in at least a billion dollars in illicit funds annually."
William smirked.
"That's it? And you really thought that was enough to control me?"
Philip hesitated for a moment before sighing.
"After you snapped me out of it, I immediately suspected I had been influenced somehow.
That's why I ordered Charles's capture."
Philip's gaze deepened as he looked back at the man in the interrogation room.
"Tell me—this person who looks exactly like Charles Cavendish, whose DNA matches perfectly… is he really Charles Cavendish?"
William's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Why are you asking that? How do you know?"
Philip snorted.
"I am the King of England.
I may not have political power, but that doesn't mean I don't have other forms of authority.
You do understand that, don't you?"
William chuckled.
"Ah, so you have connections to supernatural forces? That's not hard to understand."
Philip's expression darkened slightly.
"So you are someone blessed by the supernatural.
Otherwise, no matter how smart you are, you couldn't possibly outthink the entire world's scientific community and single-handedly build a spaceship."
William blinked.
Wait—he actually believes that?
(End of Chapter)
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