After a full night of sleep, Bruce woke up the next morning feeling sharp again.
He had just finished dressing and had not even made it to the sink yet when someone knocked on the door.
Bruce opened it and smiled.
"I guess you've completely figured out my schedule."
Wendy Solo stood outside in a dark purple office suit, her blonde hair pinned neatly up, looking polished, capable, and effortlessly professional.
She smiled back.
"If I didn't know something that basic, I'd be a pretty bad assistant."
Bruce stepped aside and let her in.
"I'm going to wash up. Then we'll go downstairs and get breakfast."
"Sounds good."
She followed him inside, then said, "By the way, I already lined up a few real estate brokers. After breakfast, I can take you to see the houses."
Bruce had been thinking about that for a while.
Matrix Pictures was in Los Angeles. Other than San Francisco and New York, this was going to be one of the cities where he spent the most time. Living out of hotels indefinitely no longer made much sense. And with the money from his books coming in steadily, he was not exactly short on cash anymore.
That said, he was still in expansion mode, not retirement mode. He had no interest in buying some absurd estate worth tens of millions just for the sake of showing off.
He wanted something quiet and private.
A place with a front and back garden so he could walk, think, or decompress after writing or working. A pool would be good. Six or seven rooms would be more than enough. He wanted comfort, not excess.
Bruce glanced at Wendy.
"You know what I'm looking for. Don't waste my time."
Wendy gave him a faintly teasing smile.
"Quiet, private, not overly flashy, but the view has to be good."
Bruce pointed at her. "Exactly."
Her eyes shifted to the printed manuscript lying on the table nearby, already bound and stacked.
"The Hangover is finished?"
As Bruce's assistant, Wendy had seen almost every book come together after the early stretch. At this point, his writing schedule no longer surprised her, even if the pace still did.
Bruce stepped out of the bathroom.
"It's done. Send it to Christopher for me later."
Wendy picked up the manuscript and shook her head.
"I really don't understand you. Most people are lucky if they can write one decent two-hundred-thousand-word novel in six months. You somehow turn one out every ten days or two weeks, and the quality is still good."
Bruce lifted his chin slightly, smiling with shameless satisfaction.
"That's because I'm a genius."
Wendy clicked her tongue and gave him a look of exaggerated disdain.
Bruce ignored it and went to change.
As she watched him walk away, the expression on Wendy's face shifted back into quiet admiration. Then she opened the manuscript, read a few pages, and found herself laughing out loud at one of the scenes.
Bruce came back out just then.
"Good?"
"Very."
The answer came out automatically.
Then Wendy looked up properly and froze for half a second.
Bruce was wearing a dark blue custom Armani suit with a Burberry blue-and-black striped tie, a crisp white shirt, brown Dupont leather shoes, and a limited-edition Patek Philippe on his wrist. On a man who was six-foot-one, well-built, confident, and already carrying the air of a successful founder, the effect was hard to ignore.
The suit sharpened everything.
The height. The shoulders. The face. The confidence. The calm, educated, self-assured presence.
He looked like exactly what women tended to like most: a man with talent, money, composure, and enough restraint to make all of it feel more dangerous.
Bruce noticed the way she was looking at him.
"What? Is something off?"
He spread his arms and looked down at himself.
Wendy leaned back slightly, still studying him with amused appreciation.
"No. I'm just wondering how I never noticed before that you're actually this handsome."
Bruce shot her a look.
"That's because your judgment is defective."
Then he turned toward the door.
"Come on. We need to finish the house tours this morning. We're flying back to San Francisco this afternoon, and the schedule's tight."
Wendy made a face behind his back, then followed him out.
After breakfast downstairs, they got into the black Mercedes Bruce had just bought and drove toward Beverly Hills.
Some part of Bruce's old life had clearly never gone away. He had always loved Mercedes. Other than the first Chevrolet, almost every car he had rented or bought since then had been one.
When they arrived, Wendy introduced the broker waiting for them.
"Mr. Guo, this is William from Hurst Realty."
Bruce gave the man a quick look.
Mid-thirties. White. A little overweight. Black suit. Eager expression.
He smiled and offered a hand.
"Good to meet you."
The broker shook it quickly.
"Mr. Guo, it's a pleasure. I'm very happy to show you the property."
Bruce nodded.
"Let's skip the warm-up and go straight to the house."
He had already seen two homes he did not like and had no patience left for unnecessary salesmanship.
The broker caught the mood instantly.
"Of course. Right this way."
As they walked, the broker started his pitch.
"The property I'm showing you next sits on 1,588 square meters of land, with 815 square meters of interior living space. Before you even reach the main house, you enter through a fifteen-meter S-shaped private access drive. That's the path we're on now. The layout, combined with mature landscaping including beech, oak, pittosporum, and schefflera, creates excellent privacy."
A few moments later, they reached the gate.
On both sides stood rough gray granite pillars. Between them ran a low blue-black stone wall topped with wrought iron fencing, with thick wisteria woven across much of it. Set into the center was a black iron gate, higher in the middle, lower toward the sides, with decorative relief work.
The broker gestured toward it.
"This front gate uses Fox's newest smart security package. It includes automatic closure, alarm response, and dual camera coverage on both sides, giving the homeowner a clear view of any visitor. You can open it manually or by remote."
He took out a key set, pressed a black remote fob, and the heavy gate rolled open slowly under electric power.
"Mr. Guo. Miss Solo. After you."
Bruce stepped through first, Wendy close behind him.
The broker continued.
"Garage for four cars on the right. Landscaping on the left. Central lawn and flower beds in front. And ahead of you is the main residence, a two-story home in a Victorian-inspired style. In addition to the formal living room, the house includes six bedrooms and four bathrooms. There's also a full lower level with a wine cellar, gym, and storage room.
"The storage room is protected by a Fox vault-grade security door, fifty centimeters thick. Bank-level construction. It works well as a safe room or private collection space. Total size is 210 square meters."
Bruce looked over the house carefully.
Dark brown roof. White exterior walls. Clean lines. Good balance.
At first glance, it worked.
"Let's see the inside."
"Of course."
They followed the paved garden path, climbed two shallow steps, and stopped in front of the main entry.
"Fingerprint lock," the broker said. "Very secure. Very convenient."
He opened the door and led them in.
Unlike traditional Chinese layouts, there was no entry screen wall. Once inside, the powder room was off to one side, and the main living area opened up directly in front of them.
"The flooring is eighteen-millimeter teak multilayer hardwood, durable and environmentally friendly. The furniture is antique-style Italian Asnagi in a blue-and-white palette. The chandelier is Swarovski. The paintings, rugs, sculpture, and decorative pieces are all quality pieces."
The broker kept going, praising each detail without pause.
Bruce looked around slowly.
The room leaned European and classical, but not so heavily that it felt dark or stiff. It actually fit his taste better than he expected. There was a slightly literary feel to it, the kind of space where someone could work, read, and disappear for a few hours without feeling trapped.
He approved.
Past the living room sat a backyard of roughly four hundred square meters. There were layered plantings of trees, shrubs, and climbing vines, all arranged with enough care to feel designed rather than random. On the left side, a swimming pool about twenty meters by ten caught Bruce's eye immediately.
That, too, worked.
After they finished the lower floor, the main floor, and the upper rooms, the broker led them to the roof terrace.
He spread a hand toward the horizon.
"This is the real selling point. From here, you can look out over Sunset Boulevard and most of Los Angeles."
Bruce stepped closer to the railing and looked out.
The view was genuinely excellent.
When writing got heavy, he could come up here and clear his head. At night, he could sit with a glass of wine and watch the city lights spread out beneath him. The place had exactly the kind of quiet, controlled luxury he wanted.
By then, he was already interested.
He turned.
"How much?"
"Six and a half million dollars. If you pay in full, the seller will discount five percent."
Bruce nodded once, then asked, "What's the down payment?"
"Twenty percent."
"Fine. I'll take it. But I'm financing, not paying cash."
Even though money was coming in fast now, Bruce still had too many places to deploy capital to casually tie up that much in one house. Better to keep the cash moving. With property values likely to rise far faster than the mortgage rate anyway, leverage made more sense.
The broker's face brightened immediately.
"Excellent. I'll prepare the transfer paperwork right away."
Whether Bruce paid cash or financed it made little difference to the broker. Closing the deal meant a commission large enough to matter.
Bruce nodded and looked to Wendy.
"Let's get it done."
The paperwork, naturally, would fall mostly to her.
Once that was handled, Bruce caught a flight back to San Francisco.