World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World Chapter 139: New Money Faction

Jas followed Elliot toward the long, elegantly set dining table nestled under the open-air Veranda Pavilion.

The breeze carried a subtle scent of fresh lavender and citrus, blending with the faint aroma of baked bread and wine.

Each seat was perfectly arranged with crisp na cards written in elegant cursive.

Jas scanned the table until he found his — "Mr. Jas Zolomon" — nestled between two nas he didn’t recognize.

He pulled out his chair and sat down gracefully, careful to adjust his blazer and remain composed.

The fabric of the chair was soft, the legs weighted to prevent even a squeak. Everything here — from the silverware to the angle of the wine glasses — scread curated perfection.

Across the table, eyes occasionally drifted toward him. So curious. So dismissive. Others blank, practiced expressions of social neutrality.

Elliot sat a few seats down, casually chatting with a woman in her forties who wore a beige dress and diamond tennis bracelet. He gave Jas a subtle nod, and Jas gave a small smile in response.

A mont later, a staff mber moved silently to Jas’ side, poured chilled water into his glass, and asked, "Still or sparkling for your wine pairings today, sir?"

"Still," Jas answered smoothly, without hesitation.

The next mont, the luncheon began.

The guest chef, Marcel Duclerc, erged briefly to introduce the nu — a three-course Provençal tasting designed to showcase balance and freshness.

His accent was thick and elegant, and his presence was brief, as he left imdiately after the introduction.

The first course arrived: a delicate zucchini blossom stuffed with goat cheese mousse, drizzled with lavender honey and finished with a dash of lemon oil. Paired with a crisp white wine — a Sancerre that danced on the tongue.

Jas took a bite, chewing slowly, eyes flicking around the table as quiet conversations began to ripple in earnest.

To his right, a man in his fifties with a shock of silver hair was discussing private aviation routes to Aspen.

To his left, a younger woman in her late twenties — blonde, tall, and barely interested in her plate — talked about complaints about hotel renovations in the Maldives.

No one talked loudly. Voices were calm, confident, and cloaked in undertones of wealth and polished upbringing.

Jas sat silently for a mont, taking it all in and silently paying attention.

This is it, he thought. This is where proximity is the real currency. Where als aren’t eaten, instead they’re observed.

The second course ca: sea bass atop a bed of heirloom tomato risotto, garnished with crispy basil and saffron foam. The wine was a pale rosé, dry and floral.

Jas took his ti eating, adjusting to the rhythm. He spoke a little, only when spoken to. Sipped a little. Complint the chef and laugh, but not too loud.

To his surprise, the woman beside him turned slightly and offered a gentle smile.

"You must be new," she said. Her tone was polite, but curious.

"I am," Jas replied with calmness and ease. "Jas Zolomon."

"Clarissa Monroe," she replied. "My husband and I run a few energy companies out of Nevada. Welco."

"Thank you," Jas said. "It’s a beautiful club."

"You think so?" She asked with a smile.

"Yeah," Jas nodded slowly.

"It’s a curated cage. But once you learn how to fly in it, it opens doors." Clarissa said and turned her attention back to her al.

Before he could reply, Elliot leaned in across the table from a few seats down.

"Jas," he said, "after the dessert, I want you to et a few people."

Jas nodded.

By the ti the third course arrived — a tart made of black figs, mascarpone cream, and a drizzle of balsamic reduction — Jas felt the subtle change in the table’s energy.

Conversation grew more relaxed. The wine had worked its charm. Smiles ca easier. Laughter flowed a little freer.

When dessert was done, no one rushed to leave.

Instead, servers refilled glasses with either espresso, wine, or chilled sparkling water. A faint lody of string instrunts began to play from a nearby speaker system, ambient enough to not distract but just rich enough to elevate the tone of the mont.

This was the real purpose of the luncheon — the afterglow. The unspoken hour of connections.

Elliot stood from his seat and gestured to Jas.

"Co on. Let’s take a walk."

Jas followed him out from the table toward the periphery of the pavilion, where a few smaller social clusters had begun to form.

Elliot began the introductions.

"Jas, et Richard Lin, a software patent king in San Diego."

The man gave Jas a asured nod and welcod him to the club.

Elliot moved again.

"This is Ava Grayson. She’s old-school new money — IPO exit five years ago. Biotech."

Ava was in her thirties, wore no makeup, and looked like she could write algorithms in her sleep.

"I like your energy. Welco to the club," she said to Jas bluntly.

"Thank you," Jas replied.

Over the next forty minutes, Elliot introduced Jas to no less than ten individuals, all of them new money and successful.

But unlike Celeste Worthington and her cold-blooded venom, these people didn’t condescend.

They evaluated and studied him.

And Jas played his part. He listened when he should, spoke only when only when he feels it added value — though it didn’t amount in his opinion. He gave subtle nods and made sure to controlled his posture.

He spoke about his involvent in real estate and other vague ideas he has in his head. He made sure to keep everything vague enough to keep mystery, and enough to pique interest.

By the ti the luncheon’s final hour wound down, the clusters began to break apart.

So left with casual goodbyes, others exchanged business cards discreetly. One or two simply vanished without any announcents.

As the valet brought his Maybach around, Jas stood with Elliot near the steps.

"You did well," Elliot said.

"I was just myself," Jas replied.

Elliot smiled and clapped his shoulder.

As the Maybach pulled up, Jas extended a hand.

"Thanks for the introductions."

"It’s nothing. We, new money, should look out for one another," Elliot said.

"Yeah, we should," Jas chuckled and stepped into the car.

As the door shut and the engine purred to life, he leaned back against the soft leather seat and stared out the tinted window, looking very tired and exhausted.

He had spent more than half of the ti, roleplaying in there and it really took a toll on him. But he was happy as it wasn’t for naught.

The luncheon wasn’t about food. It wasn’t even about conversation. It was about presence, proximity, positioning.

And today, he had made his first mark.