The first thing Steven did after closing the app was check his account balance.
$1,767,572.74.
He sat with that number for a mont. His balance had increased by more than $25,000 in under an hour, achieved entirely from his sofa, in his apartnt, in a single night.
He thought about the ceiling he had been working against. The $186 recharge limit had been the bottleneck for most of the evening, and even after switching to the custom purchase option and moving up to $300, the velocity still wasn’t where he needed it. The math was simple enough. Ten transactions at $300, landing a 3x multiplier across all of them, returned $9,000 on $3,000 spent. A net gain of $6,000.
But repeatable at that scale ant hundreds of transactions to close the gap between where he was and where he needed to be. There had to be a faster way.
"Seems like today’s rebate multiplier bounced between 3x to 5x. If it wasn’t for the restrictions from the platform and bank," he muttered, "a single recharge of $10,000, run ten tis in a row, would return a minimum of $200,000 at a 3x multiplier. That’s a different conversation entirely."
He exhaled and set the phone down.
There was no point dwelling on what the ceiling didn’t allow. He had worked within the constraints available tonight, and the result was $25,000 added to his balance while he sat and listened to a talented stranger sing Mirrors on a livestream. Complaining about that felt unreasonable.
What mattered now was tomorrow, and tomorrow had a clear shape.
The superbike was the priority. A single high-value purchase in the $100,000 range would do more for his balance in one transaction than an entire evening of $300 recharges. He had already identified the models worth considering. What he needed now was the right dealership, sowhere that actually carried machines at that level rather than directing him to a waiting list and a brochure.
After that, clothes. His wardrobe had improved significantly since two days ago, but it was still casual in its entirety. The bank eting had required him to solve the suit problem in a hurry. Going forward, he wanted sothing more considered. Properly tailored suits, built for him rather than pulled off a rack. Shoes worth the outfits they were worn with. Accessories that made sense at the level he was now operating at rather than decorating a version of himself that no longer existed.
He also wanted to think about the private banking onboarding. If Adrian’s tiline held, he would be fully active within two to three business days. The concierge structure that ca with it would change how he approached both the superbike search and the tailoring. Having soone who knew the right people in the right rooms was worth waiting a few days for. But waiting felt passive, and passive wasn’t sothing he was built for.
He would move on both fronts simultaneously. Start the search himself tomorrow, and if he’s not successful, he would hand it to the concierge once the onboarding cleared.
"I really do hope the confirmation cos through soon," he muttered.
He checked the ti. It was late, later than he had realised, and the day ahead had enough in it to warrant an early start.
He stood from the sofa and walked to the bedroom. He got into bed, pulled the sheets up, and lay still for a mont, letting the day run through his mind in reverse.
The private banking eting. The suit. The drive. The cooking. The ga. The TikTok live.
He thought about the girl on the live, the way she had composed herself after the first Universe and gone straight back into the song. The way she had sung Mirrors all the way through without trimming a single section. The viewer count climbing quietly while she did.
He hadn’t planned any of that. He had gone in looking for a transaction chanism and had ended up doing sothing that felt like more than that, though he couldn’t have said exactly what.
He felt that maybe he could help her. Sponsor her and help her to fully actualise her talent. But he has no idea if it would work or if he would have enough ti in the future for sothing like that.
His mind drifted to the people he hadn’t thought about in the past two days. Tisha and the kitchen staff at the restaurant. People he had spent years working alongside.
He hadn’t been in touch with any of them since he walked out, and it hadn’t been intentional. Everything had moved so fast that reaching out simply hadn’t found a space in the day.
He would call them when things settled. Tisha especially.
His eyes grew heavy and he closed them without fighting it.
Sleep arrived quickly, the way it had the night before. And the bed helped.
**
The next morning, Steven was up before nine.
He showered, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and dark trousers, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. He kept it simple.
After he was done, he ate standing at the counter, looking out at the city in the morning light, and when he was done, he washed up, picked up his phone, car key fob, and key card, and left the apartnt.
The hallway was quiet. The elevator ca imdiately. He rode it down to the garage, spotted the Aston Martin, and got in.
He had a destination in mind, but not a precise one. His plan was to start at the dealership where he had bought the car. The salesperson there had struck him as soone who knew the market well, the kind of person who paid attention to what was available in the city and where. It was a reasonable first stop.
He pulled out of the garage and headed toward the dealership.
***
Twenty minutes later, he parked along the kerb outside. He stepped out, straightened his jacket, and walked through the entrance.
He was recognised before he had taken three steps inside.
The sa salesperson from two days ago looked up from behind the counter, glanced at the car through the glass front of the store, and his expression shifted into sothing between professional warmth and genuine curiosity. He ca around the counter and crossed the floor to et Steven halfway.
"Mr. Craig," he said, extending his hand. "Good to see you again. Back so soon?"
"Not for a car," Steven said, shaking his hand. "I need so information."
"Of course. What are you looking for?"
"A superbike. Not the standard range. I’m looking at sothing in the hundred thousand and above bracket. Collector level, limited production, that kind of territory. Is there a dealership in the city that carries that kind of inventory?"
The salesperson paused and his expression beca thoughtful. He was actually trying to rember, running through whatever ntal map he kept of the city’s automotive landscape.
He muttered sothing under his breath, working through it.
Then his expression shifted and he nodded once, with the satisfaction of soone who has found the thing they were reaching for.
"There are a couple of places that might have what you’re looking for," he said. "Your best bet is probably Uptown. There’s a dealer up there that specialises in high-end and collector machines, bikes included. They don’t advertise much because they don’t need to. Their clientele cos to them. The other option is the Galleria area. There’s a luxury motorsport showroom near there that carries so serious inventory. Bikes, cars, the occasional limited run vehicle. If the machine you want exists in this city, it’s in one of those two places."
Steven nodded, filing it away.
"Uptown first," he said. "Do you have an address, or a na I can search?"
The salesperson thought for a mont, then walked back to the counter and typed briefly on his screen. He wrote sothing on a card and handed it across to Steven.
"That’s the na and the rough location. They’re not always easy to find from the street. It doesn’t look like much from outside. Just go in and ask for what you want. They’ll know if they have it or can get it."
"Appreciated," Steven said, taking the card and sliding it into his pocket.
"Is there anything else I can help with?"
"Not today," Steven said. "But I’ll be back."
The salesperson smiled. He had no reason to doubt it. The commission from the Aston Martin alone had been the best single transaction of his quarter, and the man in front of him had bought it without negotiating, without financing, and without asking twice about the price. People like that didn’t disappear.
Steven gave him a nod and turned toward the door.
He stepped out into the morning air, walked back to the car, and got in.
He pulled the card from his pocket and looked at the address, then set it on the passenger seat. He started the engine, checked his mirrors, and pulled out into the street, heading for Uptown.
The city moved past the windows as he drove, clean and unhurried in the morning light.
He was going to find the right bike today. He could feel it.
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