Detective Potter grinned insolently.
"Magicians!" he said contemptuously. "They have no clue about martial arts. Good old judo helped me take the baton from the wizarding riffraff and give them a good beating. Just remember, kid-a crowd of mice can eat a cat. They gave me one too, I barely escaped. So, do you need a baton?"
- I do, Mr. Potter. What do you want for all the wands?
"No, kid," the detective jerked his index finger to the sides. "No, don't count on everything. My nephew needs some exercise too. I'll give you one. And you know what?"
- I'm listening carefully, sir.
"I don't need anything. You helped my nephew, I'm helping you. This is more than just business."
"I understand, sir. In any case, you can count on my gratitude and support."
Richie decided to spend the night at the London House. He arrived at 69 Rich Street in excellent spirits. His wand rested in the inside pocket of his jacket.
The valet opened the door for the boy.
"Mr. Richie," he bowed. "How was your walk?"
- Thank you, John, everything is wonderful.
As soon as the front door was closed, cutting off the street sounds, Richard gave the order:
- John, go to the bank where I have an account, buy a platinum bar and bring it to me.
"Mr. Richie, why do you need platinum, especially in such quantities? As far as I remember, bars of this metal are sold for over a hundred ounces."
"That's great. John, we're staying overnight in London, so I'm waiting for your return. Go with Steve, otherwise this thing isn't cheap."
The valet, receiving no answer, went to get his coat. His job was not only to oversee the young master and his upbringing, but also to cater to the boy's various whims.
John had access to Richard's account and could control it, but the man never even thought of abusing it.
A couple of hours later, Richard, smiling happily, held a heavy platinum bar weighing one hundred and sixty-six troy ounces (a little over five kilograms) in his hands. It had taken most of the money from his account, but the boy didn't regret it.
"Mr. Richie," John raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Have you decided to invest in precious metals?"
- You could say that, John. Yes... Invest.
Richard dragged the square silver brick into his father's office, where he locked the door behind him.
The boy immediately began casting the recently learned Duplication Charm with his new wand. Instead of one ingot on the floor, there were two, then three, four, five, and so on until the young wizard was completely exhausted.
Sweat poured down Richard's face, as if he were working as a loader. But a joyful glimmer never left the transmigrator's eyes. Seventy-two platinum bars, weighing a total of just over three hundred and seventy kilograms, would leave no one indifferent.
Soon, the boy's cheerful mood began to fade. The original idea of selling platinum bars began to run into problems. First, all the bars had the same serial number, size, and weight, which is unheard of in real life and therefore highly suspicious. Second, selling them would make it difficult to legalize the funds. This could lead to tax issues, which the future duke absolutely did not need. Third, transporting such a huge load without adult involvement would be problematic. And this would inevitably lead to Gerald being informed about everything. Richard absolutely did not want to get another spanking on that aristocratic bottom.
In any case, it's too dangerous for a public figure to earn money this way, but he needs the money now, so Richie decided to take a chance. Just once! After all, it's actually easier for him to make money through investments than to make a quick buck, exposing himself to both the wizarding law enforcement agencies and the queen's close scrutiny. He could lose his privileges and even become a black sheep.
The morning is wiser than the evening-so they used to say in ancient times. And it really is true.
Early the next morning, Richard left for Eaton Hall. As usual, the journey took a long time, giving the boy time to think. As a result, upon arriving home, a plan had formed in his head. He decided to tell his father everything honestly. Better to get beat up again than to expose the Richs.
That evening, after his tutoring sessions, Richie spent some more time practicing his duplication spells on the intercepted platinum bar.
After dinner, the boy hinted to his father that there was a serious conversation, after which Richard and Gerald settled down in the living room.
- So, Richie, what happened?
- Why do you immediately assume that something happened?
- It's obvious from you, son.
"You're basically right. Dad, I recently mastered a spell that allows you to create copies of objects. They turn out real, without a hint of fakery."
"Well, well," Rich Sr. drawled. "Let's say wizards can do that. So what did you do?"
- Oh... Nothing special, just a little bit of platinum.
- A little?
- Just a little bit.
- And how little?!