"I'll get it to you within three days."
Derek took the slip of paper through his teeth. His girlfriend had just been flirted with in front of him, and now he was being asked to hand over a million dollars. The rage building behind his eyes had nowhere to go with Margaret standing right there.
"Three days?" Cole tilted his head with mild surprise. "You can't pull up a million dollars right now, Derek?"
"We never specified a timeline when we made the bet."
Derek's voice was controlled but only barely. Under normal circumstances a million dollars was nothing — an inconvenience at worst. But the Harrington Group had several projects bleeding cash simultaneously, and his personal liquidity was not what it usually was. He genuinely could not produce a million dollars today without it causing problems somewhere else.
Cole turned to Margaret with a thoughtful expression.
"Miss Ashford — a family alliance is supposed to be a partnership between two strong parties. If one side needs a rescue every time things get tight, what exactly is the other side getting out of it?"
He kept his tone conversational, almost casual. Like he was just thinking out loud.
Margaret's expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened.
"Cole, keep your mouth shut." Derek's composure cracked for just a second. He caught himself, adjusted, and glanced at Margaret with a strained smile. "Don't listen to him. The Harrington Group is perfectly fine. I'll transfer the money right now."
He pulled out his phone before anyone could say anything else and fired off a message to his assistant with Cole's account number attached.
Margaret said nothing. But the slight furrow in her brow didn't go away.
She had never felt strongly about Derek one way or another — the arrangement had come from both sets of parents, and she had gone along with it because the business case had seemed reasonable at the time. But Derek shouldn't be hesitating over a million dollars. A man in the position he claimed to be in shouldn't even blink at a million dollars.
Coupled with that overreaction just now — the flash of real panic before he'd pulled himself together — she filed it away quietly and said nothing.
Cole's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen and let a small, satisfied smile show.
"Thank you, Derek. Received in full."
He turned to Mr. Hargrove and dipped his head respectfully.
"Mr. Hargrove, I really appreciate your time today. This meant a lot."
"Think nothing of it, son." Mr. Hargrove produced a business card and held it out with both hands. "If you're ever looking to buy, sell, or just have questions — call me directly. I mean that."
"I will." Cole took the card with both hands and tucked it carefully into his pocket.
"Mr. Harmon."
He turned. Margaret was holding out her own business card.
Cole took it, then smoothly pulled out his phone, dialed the number on the card, and waited. Margaret's phone rang once in her pocket.
"That's mine," Cole said, with an easy smile. "In case you ever need to reach me first."
Margaret looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't quite read, then gave a single composed nod.
"We'll be in touch."
Cole smiled, gave a small wave to the room, and walked out.
Behind him, Derek stood very still, a cold look moving across his face as he watched Cole go.
---
Outside the office, the crowd surged toward Cole the moment he came through the door.
"Was it genuine?"
"What did he say?"
"Come on, tell us!"
Cole put his hands up with an apologetic expression.
"I'm sorry everyone — big misunderstanding on my part. It's a reproduction. Completely worthless. Sorry for wasting your afternoon."
A wave of disappointed groaning followed him down the corridor. He kept moving, head down, until he'd cleared the building.
---
He stood on the sidewalk outside the Antique Market and took a slow breath.
Eight million dollars.
One morning. Eight million dollars.
He had spent years in his previous life grinding through sixteen-hour days just to keep the debt from swallowing him whole. Eight million dollars in a single morning felt like something from one of the web novels he used to read to escape.
Except it was real. He had the notification on his phone to prove it.
He grabbed a quick lunch at a place near the market — nothing fancy, just something to eat — then flagged down a cab.
"Fairview Heights," he told the driver.
---
Fairview Heights was a residential complex from the eighties, the kind of place that looked its age without apology. The buildings were worn, the paint had faded years ago, and the shared spaces had the tired look of things that had been maintained just enough and no more.
But Cole knew something nobody else in this cab knew.
In two months, Fairview Heights and the surrounding blocks were going in for full demolition and redevelopment. The city's compensation package for existing residents and property owners was going to be generous — significantly more generous than most people would expect. He had read about it extensively in his previous life, after the fact, in the way you read about things you missed.
He wasn't going to miss it this time.
He just had to be careful not to move too aggressively. Buy too much too fast and people would start asking questions he couldn't answer.
The cab pulled up and Cole stepped out onto the street. A storefront caught his eye almost immediately — a real estate agency called **Bright Key Realty**, the sign slightly sun-faded but the windows clean. He recognized it.
He had worked here, briefly, about a year after this point in his previous life. Only six months before he'd moved on, but the memory was clear enough. Particularly the manager.
She had been sharp — genuinely sharp, the kind of person who could read a client in thirty seconds and adjust everything about her approach on the fly. She had also been, quietly and without making anything of it, one of the few people in that period of his life who had treated him like he was worth something.
He pushed the door open.
A woman was already moving toward him from inside, smiling with the practiced warmth of someone who was good at her job and knew it.
She was tall, well put together, with the kind of confidence that came from actually being capable rather than just performing it.
Cole looked at her and felt something click into place.
It was her. Same face, same posture, same energy.
Her name was Maya Caldwell.
"Looking to buy?" she asked.
"Yes," Cole said.
Maya smiled and gestured toward the table near the window.
"Come on in. We have everything in this area listed. Can I get you some water?"
The office was small — maybe thirty square meters — and quiet at this hour. One other agent was at a desk toward the back, eyes fixed on her monitor, clicking through listings. Cole recognized her too. Her name was Sandra — ten years in the business, mid-thirties, very good with older clients, and in his previous life she had made his first few weeks here genuinely unpleasant. She had a sharp tongue and a habit of using it.
He sat down at Maya's table. She set a glass of water in front of him and took the seat across.
"Thank you. Harmon — Cole Harmon."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Harmon." She slid a business card across the table. "Maya Caldwell. What can I help you find today?"
Cole picked up the card, noted the title, and set it down.
"Do you have anything available in Fairview Heights?"