Anna didn't even blink. "Excellent choice. That's actually my personal favorite of the three. The river view is spectacular year-round. Shall we head back to my office to handle the paperwork?"
"How long until I can move in?"
"Well, that depends on financing. If you need a mortgage, we're looking at a few weeks minimum. If you can pay a significant portion upfront, we can expedite things considerably."
"I'll pay cash. Full amount."
That got a reaction. Anna's professional mask slipped for just a second, genuine surprise flickering across her face at someone who dressed like me being able and willing to pay the full amount in cash. "The full amount? Mr. Sinclair, this property is listed at eight million."
"I'm aware."
"Of course. Well, in that case..." She pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. "If you can transfer the funds today, we will sign everything at the office right now, and the builder will release the keys immediately. You could technically move in tonight if you wanted. The official registration and paperwork will take a few days, but I can have everything delivered to you personally once it's stamped and official."
We drove to her office in her car, a sleek sedan that probably cost more than I used to make in five years. She spent the drive making calls, arranging everything with an efficiency that was honestly impressive.
At her office, she walked me through the paperwork. Transfer agreements, ownership documents, community rules, and regulations. I signed everything in a daze, still not quite believing this was real.
"And... done." Anna handed me a set of keys with a smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair. You're now the proud owner of Villa 7, Riverside Estates. Welcome to the neighborhood."
I stared at the keys in my hand. They were heavy, probably because they were attached to some kind of fancy electronic fob for the security system.
"Thank you," I managed.
"My pleasure. If you need anything, furniture recommendations, security system tutorials, anything at all, please don't hesitate to call." She walked me to the door. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"
"No, that's okay. I'll just call a cab."
"Nonsense. Marcus!" She called out to an older man in a driver's uniform. "Please take Mr. Sinclair wherever he needs to go. He is an important client."
I started to protest, but something in her expression said this wasn't really optional. Wealthy people probably didn't take cabs. "The nearest mall would be great. Thank you."
Marcus turned out to be a quiet driver who didn't ask questions, which I appreciated. He dropped me off at one of the city's major malls, the kind with marble floors and shops that made my bank account nervous, even with a hundred million in it.
First stop was clothes. I found a mid-range store that was popular with people my age, trendy without being designer label expensive. A young sales assistant approached, managing to be helpful without being pushy.
I bought everything. Socks, underwear, shirts, hoodies, jackets, pants, jeans. If it was clothing and it fit, it went in the pile. The assistant's eyes got progressively wider as the stack grew.
In the changing room, pulling on a pair of dark jeans, I paused. Denim. Blue Light Planet probably didn't have denim. Or hoodies. Or half the stuff I was buying. The clothes could be traded just as easily as food or tools.
I changed into one of the new hoodies right there, pulling it on over a new t-shirt. The old shirt went in the shopping bag. Looking in the mirror, I looked... normal. Like a regular young guy shopping at a mall, not someone who'd been scraping by on ramen and desperation.
Next was a leather goods shop. Belts, a proper wallet, a messenger bag, and comfortable loafers. Then athletic wear. Sneakers, track suits, gym shorts. Anything and everything a normal twenty-year-old with disposable income might own.
Finally, electronics. The latest smartphone, a high end laptop, and on impulse, an expensive tablet. I'd never owned new technology in my life. The laptop I'd sold didn't count, it had been bought specifically for resale. This was mine.
By the time I finished, I was loaded down with bags and exhausted. My arms hurt, my feet hurt, and I was pretty sure I'd spent more money in three hours than I had in the previous year combined.
The food court called to me like a siren song. I found a table, carefully arranged all my bags, and went to find food.
There was a fried chicken franchise that I'd walked past countless times when I was younger. The smell would drift out, making my mouth water and my stomach ache with want. I'd never been able to afford it. Not even once.
Now I could order whatever I wanted.
I got a burger, a large milkshake, and curly fries. Found my table. Sat down with my feast spread in front of me.
The first bite of burger was everything I'd imagined. Crispy, juicy, perfectly seasoned. The milkshake was thick and sweet. The fries were hot and salty.
And suddenly, without warning, I was crying.
I tried to stop it, but the tears just came. It hit me all at once, the weight of everything that had changed. Days ago, I'd been worried about rent. About eating. About whether I'd ever amount to anything more than a broke delivery driver living in an apartment that barely qualified as shelter.
Now I had millions. A villa. Freedom from the constant grinding fear that had colored every moment of my life for as long as I could remember.
I didn't have to go hungry anymore. Didn't have to choose between rent and food. Didn't have to lie awake at night wondering how I'd survive another month.
People walked past my table, and I kept my head down, shoulders shaking. I tried to eat through the tears, which was messy and probably looked insane, but I couldn't stop. Couldn't control it.
This stupid burger. This overpriced fast food that people complained about being cheap and unhealthy.
To me, sitting here eating it without worry, without guilt or fear... it was everything.
I finished eating with tears still dripping down my face, discreetly wiping my eyes with napkins. My chest felt tight, like something had cracked open inside me. Relief and grief and joy all mixed together into something I didn't have words for.
Finally, I pulled myself together enough to gather my bags and leave. I probably looked like a disaster, but I didn't care. I hailed a cab outside the mall, gave my new address.
The guard at the community gate recognized me. "Welcome home, Mr. Sinclair."
Home. That word hit differently now.