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"What do you think?" Olivia asked.
Narrator Ryan, advised by an insider, bids on an uncut emerald at a charity auction for Olivia Quinn; the stone reveals a rare trapiche emerald, sparking rivalry and new business offers.
Key Takeaways
- The narrative centers on Ryan's uncanny ability to perceive hidden value in objects.
- Trust, rivalry, and career advancement within a corporate setting drive the plot.
- The story blends luxury-market intrigue with personal relationships.
What the video covers
- At a charity auction, Olivia Quinn of Empire Group bids on an uncut stone guided by Ryan, who claims to sense hidden value.
- The stone is cut on stage, revealing a rare trapiche emerald with a six-spoke pattern, sharply increasing its value.
- Rival bidders Daniel and Nolan Mercer compete, and Mercer later makes a private offer to Ryan.
- Olivia's trust in Ryan draws attention and jealousy within Empire Group, notably from Damian and Daniel.
- Ryan's ability to perceive hidden value leads to further appraisals, including a painting and an antique vase.
- A side plot involves Hannah Wheatley's wedding invitation and Ryan's personal life with his roommate Jake.
- Business threads include a proposed exclusive jewelry collection, a formula with commercial potential, and recruiting new talent.
- The narrative raises questions about authenticity and fakes in the art and luxury markets.
- Ryan's supernatural-seeming insight is never fully explained, creating ongoing mystery.
- The video is a serialized web-fiction chapter with multiple intertwined storylines.
Chapters
- 00:00Charity auction and uncut emerald bidding
- 12:00Cutting the stone and revealing the trapiche emerald
- 23:20Mercer's offer and rivalry with Daniel
- 38:20Personal life: Jake and Hannah's wedding
- 53:20Business ventures and recruitment
- 71:40Art and antique appraisals
- 91:40Closing developments and new challenges
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
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something rare. "It's extremely valuable." I replied. "How high should I bid?" "Wait for the final offer and add another 150,000." Olivia looked at me.
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A number appeared above the rock: $4,300,000.
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Several gemologists valued it very highly. But today, she donated the specimen to the foundation to increase the amount raised. After that, bidding resumed. The price quickly rose to $1,400,000, and then the hall fell silent.
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The size of the specimen did not justify such a value, even if it contained a high-quality emerald. The price seemed too high. That meant the rock concealed something rare.
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No other bids followed for the moment." Olivia calmly watched the stage. Although she had just wagered an enormous amount on a stone whose true value she knew only from the word of a man who had worked for the company for
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"It's extremely valuable," I replied. "How high should I bid?"
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"$1,700,000." Olivia looked at me. "Keep going." I said. "$1,850,000." Daniel returned at that moment. "Are you planning to pay almost 2 million for an uncut stone?" "I trust Ryan." Olivia replied calmly. Of course, it isn't his own money he's risking. "Empire Group's
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"Wait for the final offer and add another $150,000."
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guests had noticed that Olivia consulted me before every bid and began discussing who I was within Empire Group. The host addressed Mercer. "Will you continue?" He thought for a moment and then picked up the microphone. "No, the stone goes
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Olivia looked at me. "Regardless of the final amount?"
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"Empire Group has supported charitable programs for many years. We created our own foundation for that purpose and will continue increasing its funding. I hope today's donations will help provide medical care to as many people as possible." After her short speech, she
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"Yes."
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onto the stage. "I purchased this specimen in Colombia for 1 million 100,000 dollars." she said. "We will only know what's inside after it is cut.
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Meanwhile, the bid reached $900,000. The host then added, "Mrs. Stanhope purchased this stone at an international exhibition in Colombia for approximately $1,100,000. Several gemologists valued it very highly. But today, she donated the specimen to the foundation to increase the amount raised."
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true value was $4,300,000, but my ability did not explain why. After the auction ended, the guests received cards for additional donations.
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After that, bidding resumed. The price quickly rose to $1,400,000, and then the hall fell silent.
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equip one rural ambulance crew. Then I dropped the card into the donation box. Madison noticed the amount on my card.
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"$1,400,000, going once."
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least half of your profit." "Then why don't you donate half your fortune?" "I earned it through my own work." "And I earned my money, too. That's why I decide what to do with it." Daniel took out his card. "Carter Jewelry is
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Olivia raised her paddle. "$1,550,000."
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Quinn, Mrs. Stanhope is offering to cut the stone open right here. We have the equipment and a specialist." Olivia looked at me. "Should we?" "Of course." "Then I agree. The employee left to prepare the stage. Daniel interrupted again.
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The host recognized her immediately. "Olivia Quinn of Empire Group offers $1,550,000. No other bids followed for the moment."
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Even if there's a lot of emerald inside, it'll be difficult to recover that amount. He continued. You hate spending your own money, but you're generous with someone else's.
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Olivia calmly watched the stage, although she had just wagered an enormous amount on a stone whose true value she knew only from the word of a man who had worked for the company for less than a month.
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protective equipment were brought into the hall. An experienced specialist stood beside the stone. The guests began moving closer. A rock worth more than $2 million was about to be opened before their eyes. One cut would reveal whether Olivia had acquired a treasure or the
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"$1,550,000. Are there any other bids?"
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Daniel said with a smirk. Olivia and I did not reply. The specialist secured the rock and switched on the saw. Most of the guests stood up to get a better view of the stage. When the first cut was complete,
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Nolan Mercer, the owner of the Mercer jewelry chain, raised his paddle. "$1,700,000."
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symmetrical. A specimen this large is extremely rare. Trapiche emeralds were distinguished by a natural pattern resembling a wheel with six spokes. Large crystals with a clear pattern and high transparency were considered collector's items and were worth enormous sums. Now, I understood
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Olivia looked at me. "Keep going."
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The hall erupted in applause. Olivia did not hide her joy. She had paid nearly doubled her investment after the first cut. Madison turned to me. Did you know what was inside? No, I only knew the stone was worth much more.
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"$1,850,000," I said.
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Look it up online. He said through gritted teeth before walking away from the table. A few minutes earlier, he had been waiting for me to fail. Now he was too embarrassed to remain nearby. The host addressed Olivia. Should we continue cutting? She
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Daniel returned at that moment. "Are you planning to pay almost $2 million for an uncut stone?"
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Congratulations, Ms. Quinn. You made an excellent purchase. Thank you. Would you sell the specimen for $5,700,000?
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"I trust Ryan," Olivia replied calmly. "Of course, it isn't his own money he's risking."
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It could be displayed at international events, used in advertising, and serve as the centerpiece of an exclusive collection. Mercer thought for a moment and raised his offer.
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"Empire Group's decisions are none of your concern," I said.
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Olivia already understood how to use the discovery. Empire Group's jewelry division lagged behind its competitors, and the rare trapiche emerald could become the centerpiece of a new premium collection and a major advertising campaign. "I understand." Mercer replied regretfully. Before leaving, he looked
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Mercer raised the bid to $2 million. Even if the stone was of good quality, the price was already considered excessive.
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"He's going to try to recruit you." She said. "Why do you think that?" "Do you think he was interested in your appearance?" "Don't worry. I won't betray you." The phrase sounded ambiguous. Olivia fell silent for a second and then looked
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Olivia looked at me again. "More?"
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Olivia asked, "How did you know the stone would be so valuable?" "I didn't know there was a trapiche emerald inside. I simply noticed several signs of a high-quality mineral and decided the risk was justified." "You attracted too much attention today. Velmore,
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"Yes."
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22nd floor, while she continued higher. The light was on in the apartment. Jake was lying on the couch in front of the television, but he immediately sat up when he saw me. "Wow, why are you dressed like that?"
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"$2,150,000."
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clothes. "By the way, did Hannah Wheatley call you?" Jake asked. Hannah had been our quiet classmate at university. "No, why?" "She's getting married on Saturday.
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A murmur swept through the hall. The guests had noticed that Olivia consulted me before every bid and began discussing who I was within Empire Group.
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"I didn't expect to have to spend money on a wedding gift so soon." "If you don't have enough, I'll help." "I knew I could count on you." I checked my phone. Hannah's number really was among the missed calls. She had also
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The host addressed Mercer. "Will you continue?"
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this is about." The reply came immediately. "It's better discussed in person. Let's meet after your shift." It seemed Olivia had been right. Mercer truly intended to make me an offer.
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He thought for a moment and then picked up the microphone. "No, the stone goes to Ms. Quinn."
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The collector invited me to examine his collection of paintings and antiques on Saturday. I agreed. A meeting like that could give me valuable experience. In the morning, Olivia and I drove to work together again. Mercer arranged a meeting for tonight. I told her. As
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No other bids followed. "$2,150,000. Sold."
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After our shift, Olivia and I went to the lounge of an expensive hotel chosen by Mercer. We arrived first. Nolan Mercer appeared 15 minutes later. When he saw Olivia beside me, he froze for a second, but quickly restored his usual
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Applause rang out. Olivia was invited onto the stage.
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I hope I won't be in the way. Ryan was messaging someone on the way home yesterday. I thought it was a woman, but it turned out to be you.
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"Your bid has set a new Basha Charity Gala record," the host announced. "What would you like to say?"
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painting and the trapiche emerald, he had clearly looked into my background. But trying to recruit someone close to the Empire Group heiress would be pointless. So he never even mentioned the vacancy. Instead, the conversation quickly shifted to possible cooperation
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Olivia accepted the microphone. "Empire Group has supported charitable programs for many years. We created our own foundation for that purpose and will continue increasing its funding. I hope today's donations will help provide medical care to as many people as possible."
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definitely won't try to recruit me. Not only Mercer, he'll tell others, and there will be fewer interested parties.
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After her short speech, she handed the microphone back to the host.
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Don't worry. I'll take responsibility for you. I fell silent. That sounded even more ambiguous than my promise yesterday not to betray her.
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"And you don't regret spending $2 million at all?"
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Then, let's stop at Riverside Night Market. It's close to my university. Olivia frowned. A night market?
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"Money used to help people cannot be considered a loss."
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Olivia stopped at the entrance. Is it always this crowded? In the evenings, yes. She looked doubtfully at the nearest food truck. Olivia was used to expensive restaurants, so street food clearly did not inspire confidence in her. I approached a stand selling soft
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The audience applauded again.
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Excellent. Then, I held the next one to Olivia's lips. Try it. She leaned away.
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Valerie Stanhope, chairwoman of the Basha Foundation and donor of the stone, came onto the stage. "I purchased this specimen in Colombia for $1,100,000," she said. "We will only know what's inside after it is cut. So, I'm especially grateful to Olivia for such a generous bid."
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Well, better than I expected. I handed her the remaining piece. It had much more mustard on it. Olivia swallowed it and immediately squeezed her eyes shut.
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After the symbolic presentation of the lot, Olivia returned to the table.
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to me so she would not get lost. The next stall sold fried pickles with blue cheese sauce.
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"I hope you weren't wrong," she said quietly.
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said no." I did not insist and ate the portion myself. We continued walking between the stalls. Everything here was new to Olivia.
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"I wasn't."
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One rose is $3, two are five." Olivia and I exchanged looks. "She isn't." "A girl that beautiful deserves at least two roses." the woman interrupted. I paid $5.
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In truth, my only concern was what exactly the rock concealed. Its true value was $4,300,000, but my ability did not explain why.
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into it." "Of course." Olivia took the roses. She had probably received enormous, expensive bouquets before.
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After the auction ended, the guests received cards for additional donations. A musical program began on stage. I did not have to contribute anything. Purchasing an entry ticket did not require a mandatory donation. But after today's deals, refusing would have seemed strange.
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Olivia asked. Shall we find out? She agreed. 20 minutes later, we received two paper cups filled with hot squid. Olivia cautiously tried a piece and immediately took a second. It's good.
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I wrote $10,000 on the card. That amount was enough to fully equip one rural ambulance crew. Then I dropped the card into the donation box.
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and a pile of tarnished coins lay on a blanket. The vendor was an elderly man.
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Madison noticed the amount on my card. "Are you really donating $10,000?"
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Then I sorted through the coins. Are these for sale, too? Of course. I found them while renovating an old house.
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"Since I came, I should do something to help."
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I selected five and paid $15. After we walked away, Olivia asked, Are they valuable?
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Daniel looked over her shoulder. "You made more than $300,000 today, and you're only giving $10?"
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It's a Civil War token. Small coins disappeared from circulation at the time, so private companies began issuing their own tokens. Most are inexpensive, but these five belong to rare series.
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"I donated as much as I considered appropriate."
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10:00 in the evening. At home, I carefully cleaned the five Civil War tokens, taking care not to damage their natural patina. Jake came out of the bedroom and picked one up from the table. Where did you find this?
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"You could have given at least half of your profit."
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$15 for all five. Jake looked at me suspiciously. You've been getting lucky far too often lately. Maybe I'm using cheats. Sure, and I'm a millionaire. He returned the token and went to bed. I continued cleaning them. Now that I had
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"Then why don't you donate half your fortune?"
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charity gala. He lived in Northwood Hills, a gated community outside the city. The owner himself met me at the door.
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"I earned it through my own work."
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storage room filled with paintings, sculptures, coins, and antique furniture. The room resembled a small museum. But as soon as I looked around, the impression was ruined. Most of the objects had negligible value. At least three quarters of the collection
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"And I earned my money, too. That's why I decide what to do with it."
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immediately saw that all the items were modern. Were you told they were discovered during an illegal excavation?
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Daniel took out his card. "Carter Jewelry is donating $150,000."
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There isn't a single ancient item here. Not one? He repeated. The stones are real but the bracelet and sphere were made recently. The bronze is modern, too. The collector's expression changed.
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Madison immediately clarified. "That's a company donation, not yours."
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corrosion is distributed unevenly and bonds firmly to the surface. Then I scraped an inconspicuous area with a wooden tool. The green layer crumbled away easily revealing fresh metal. This is chemical aging. The objects were buried in damp soil for a short time to
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Daniel fell silent.
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years had sold him a crate of modern fakes for nearly a million dollars. So, the entire crate is worthless?
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"So, you personally donated nothing?" I asked.
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But compared with the million you spent, that's almost nothing. He sighed heavily. I wouldn't buy anything else through that intermediary. The collector exchanged a look with Harold. Do you think Corwin deliberately deceived us?
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"Yet you're criticizing me?"
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That's often exactly how these schemes are constructed. First, the client is sold several genuine items to earn his trust. Then he's offered a large batch of expensive fakes. Harold frowned.
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He did not have time to answer. A member of the event staff approached Olivia. "Ms. Quinn, Mrs. Stanhope is offering to cut the stone open right here. We have the equipment and a specialist."
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I asked him to bring out every item purchased through Corwin. Soon, half the table was covered with vases, figurines, metal vessels, and jewelry. After examining them, I set aside a small Delft vase and a 19th-century bronze goblet. These two are genuine, I said.
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Olivia looked at me. "Should we?"
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But I paid several times that amount for this entire collection. Harold looked worried, too. He had purchased items through the same intermediary. Are you certain? he asked. Most of the fakes are well-made. Some could deceive even an experienced appraiser. But the details
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"Of course."
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lawyer or the police. Harold turned to me. Can you examine my collection today, too? I also bought a great deal through Corwin. I can. Then let's go to my house right now, he suggested. The collector objected. Wait. Ryan came to see me, and
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"Then I agree."
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He can examine the rest another time. The collector thought for a moment and then addressed me. Let's start with the 20 items whose authenticity I'm most confident about. Will that work? Yes.
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The employee left to prepare the stage. Daniel interrupted again. "So, you were the one who advised her to buy the stone for $2,150,000?"
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Porcelain, jewelry, small sculptures, and two paintings. The situation was only slightly better. Five items were genuine. I picked up a bronze incense burner that had been sold as an Italian Renaissance piece. How much did you pay for this?
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I did not answer.
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What about this one? 115,000. Do you want to hear the truth? That's exactly why I invited you. I placed the vase on the table. Wealthy collectors without deep knowledge are ideal customers for scammers. They can pay large sums, they trust recommendations
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"Even if there's a lot of emerald inside, it'll be difficult to recover that amount," he continued. "You hate spending your own money, but you're generous with someone else's. I donated $10,000 from my own pocket. You're hiding behind Carter Jewelry's money."
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purchases will turn out to be fakes. So, the incense burner isn't genuine either? It's a modern reproduction. He sighed heavily.
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Daniel clenched his jaw, but could not object.
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Yes. But, I recommend getting another independent opinion. Some of the reproductions are very well made. The collector nodded. His losses could amount to millions. And it was difficult to accept that immediately. Harold no longer tried to hide his concern. Now,
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The host walked onto the stage. "Attention. Olivia Quinn has agreed to have the final lot opened right now."
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Uncle, I brought a seller. He has several interesting items. He noticed Harold, greeted him, and looked at me.
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A professional saw and protective equipment were brought into the hall. An experienced specialist stood beside the stone. The guests began moving closer. A rock worth more than $2 million was about to be opened before their eyes. One cut would reveal whether Olivia had acquired a treasure or the most expensive piece of rock at the gala.
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Nice to meet you, Evan said. Do you know much about antiques? A little. Don't listen to him, the collector interrupted. In 1 hour, he found more fakes than all my previous consultants. Evan looked at me in surprise. Then, you should see what I
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"Now, we'll see just how good your advice was," Daniel said with a smirk.
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made of dark green stone. Shallow geometric patterns and signs of wear were visible on its surface.
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Olivia and I did not reply.
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The stone looked old, but was of poor quality. What is this, anyway? Evan asked. Brenner smiled with satisfaction.
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The specialist secured the rock and switched on the saw. Most of the guests stood up to get a better view of the stage. When the first cut was complete, the specialist washed away the dust and directed a bright light at the surface. An almost perfect six-rayed pattern appeared in the center of the deep green crystal.
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The object is old, but I wouldn't call it a treasure. Then explain what it is.
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The gemologists near the stage immediately became excited.
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Wealthy officers and courtiers commissioned such objects in gold, silver, or expensive stone. I pointed at the cylinder. This one was carved from cheap serpentine. The workmanship is crude, and there are no decorations. It most likely belonged to a junior
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"A trapiche emerald, and the pattern is almost symmetrical. A specimen this large is extremely rare."
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Then it isn't suitable as a gift, Evan decided. He was looking for an expensive item for a woman he was courting. Show me something else. Brenner put away the holder and took out two massive greenstone rings. The inner surface of
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Trapiche emeralds were distinguished by a natural pattern resembling a wheel with six spokes. Large crystals with a clear pattern and high transparency were considered collector's items and were worth enormous sums.
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Yes. The wording should be changed. How? These rings are definitely fake. Brenner turned red. The stone is old, and the gold insert is genuine.
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Now, I understood why my ability had shown a value of $4,300,000.
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We can take them to a laboratory and test the material composition, tool marks, and age of the settings. Brenner did not reply. His silence was more revealing than any expert examination.
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The host quickly received an explanation from the experts. "The stone contains an extremely rare trapiche emerald. The specimen's preliminary value exceeds $4,000,000."
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Brenner took another bundle from the case. Inside was a porcelain bowl with a bright cobalt glaze and white specs resembling snowflakes. An 18th century French piece, he declared. One of the finest items in my collection. The bowl truly looked beautiful. Even though I
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The hall erupted in applause. Olivia did not hide her joy. She had nearly doubled her investment after the first cut.
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$115,000. Too expensive, I replied. For you, I'll take 107. Evan looked at me. What do you consider a fair price?
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Madison turned to me. "Did you know what was inside?"
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The cobalt color is too bright and uniform. That purity of shade isn't characteristic of older techniques. The base also reveals the fake. The porcelain body is too white, and the signs of firing and wear were applied artificially. You're nitpicking over
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"No, I only knew the stone was worth much more."
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That confirmed my words better than any test. Evan finally lost patience. We've known each other for 2 years, and you've brought me three fakes in a row.
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I looked at Daniel. "You're a professional in the jewelry industry. How valuable are emeralds like this?"
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would have bought that bowl for 100,000. That's exactly what he was counting on. Thank you. Seriously. The collector looked grimly at the door. Now I understand why the market is full of fakes. One successful deception can make a seller a fortune. That's why expensive
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"Look it up online," he said through gritted teeth before walking away from the table.
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Ryan, now you need to examine my collection. Harold reminded me. Otherwise, I won't sleep tonight. The four of us went to his house, which was located in the same gated community.
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A few minutes earlier, he had been waiting for me to fail. Now he was too embarrassed to remain nearby.
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All the porcelain and both teapots were modern reproductions. Only the jewelry was genuine. The most valuable item was a Victorian brooch with a large emerald.
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The host addressed Olivia. "Should we continue cutting?"
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Harold visibly relaxed. What about the rest? The jewelry is genuine, although it's worth less. Everything else can only be used as decoration. Not a single genuine vase?
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She immediately looked at me.
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Jake stood in front of the mirror sorting through his shirts. Going on a date? Hannah's wedding is tomorrow. I'm deciding what to wear. I remembered his long-time crush on our classmate Brooke Allison. Will Brooke be there, too?
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"No," I said. "The main feature has already been confirmed. Further cutting would only increase the risk of damage."
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By the way, Natalie will be there, too. He added. What if the two of you get back together? Natalie Cross had been my only girlfriend. We had dated for more than 2 years, but broken up before graduation. She wanted to stay in New
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Olivia declined the second cut.
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I'm not interested. Now you have a job, money, and a G Class. She might change her mind. But I won't. The next day, we put on our suits and went to the Crescent Grand Hotel. I chose the same dark suit Olivia had
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Nolan Mercer, who had competed with her for the stone, soon approached our table. "Congratulations, Ms. Quinn. You made an excellent purchase."
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Hollywood should thank you for choosing a pawn shop. We arrived at the hotel by 11:00. The wedding was being held in the banquet hall on the second floor.
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"Thank you."
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Called Owen Parker, our former class president. I immediately noticed Natalie among the guests. She was talking to a friend and did not see me until we approached. She fell silent for several seconds. She had never seen me in an
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"Would you sell the specimen for $5,700,000?"
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"You look great." Owen said. "Did you find a job?" "Yes." "Where?" "At Empire Group." The table grew noticeably quieter. "Seriously?" Owen asked again. "How did you get in?" "I passed the interview." "And how much do they pay?" I did not want to discuss
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The table fell silent. Only a few minutes earlier, Olivia had paid $2,150,000 for it.
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"All right. We'll all get together sometime, and it'll be my treat." Natalie said nothing. But, she now looked at me very differently. "With a job like that, have you already found a girlfriend?" Owen asked. "Judging by that suit, he definitely has."
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"No," she replied.
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introduced him. "This is Brandon Keller, my boyfriend." Brandon stood up. "Nice to meet you. I work at Empire Jewelry. If any of you need jewelry, come to me and I'll arrange a discount." The people at the table exchanged looks.
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For Mercer Jewelry, such a stone was more than raw material. It could be displayed at international events, used in advertising, and serve as the centerpiece of an exclusive collection. Mercer thought for a moment and raised his offer.
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But, Brandon had already taken out his business cards. The card read, "Marketing Department Manager." Several women immediately exchanged contact information with him. One of them removed a bracelet from her wrist.
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"$7,000,000."
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"A synthetic stone and a cheap alloy. It's worth no more than $50." The woman turned pale.
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Olivia's expression did not change. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mercer..."
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you is Ryan Hayes?" "I am." "Brandon Keller, Natalie's boyfriend." "Ryan." "Her classmate." His gaze lingered on my suit. "I hear you work for Empire Group, too?" "At Empire Pawn." A condescending smile appeared on Brandon's face.
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"I see. You're probably a trainee appraiser." "An appraiser." "And what do you examine?" "Antiques, jewelry, and luxury goods." Owen immediately stood up and showed me his belt. "Then tell me if this is real.
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My girlfriend gave it to me and said it's Louis Vuitton." I looked at the buckle. "It's fake." "Seriously?" "She may have been deceived, too." One of the women placed a classic Chanel handbag on the table. "Can you examine
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this one? I ordered it through an intermediary." "It's a high-quality copy. Its real value is around $100." "I paid more than a thousand." "It's better to buy expensive items from official retailers." After that, my classmates began looking at their own belts, watches, and
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handbags with noticeably less confidence. Natalie suddenly spoke. "Ryan, will you look at my bag? She placed it on the table. The people around us immediately fell silent. The others expected an awkward scene between former lovers.
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But we had broken up without a scandal and had not hated each other for a long time. Of course, I replied and picked up the bag. Natalie's bag turned out to be a classic Bulgari Serpenti. I examined the leather, stitching, and clasp before
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handing it back. Was it a gift? Yes. What do you think? It's a good copy. Brandon's expression immediately darkened. What are you basing that on?
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His reaction made it perfectly clear who had bought the bag. The leather is too stiff and the engraving on the metal parts is blurry. That doesn't happen on an original. Natalie looked at Brandon.
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She could not hide her disappointment. Don't listen to him, he said. I bought the bag from an official store at the airport. Where you bought it is none of my concern. I only gave my appraisal.
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You're just an ordinary trainee. I'll speak with the pawn shop's management and find out why they hire unqualified people. Jake intervened.
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Olivia Quinn personally invited Ryan to work there. Brandon laughed. The Empire Group heiress personally recruited a fresh graduate? Why not the chairman of the board himself? If you don't believe it, that's your problem, Jake replied. Brandon slammed his palm
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on the table. Watch your mouth. Jake stood up, too. Owen stepped between them. Stop it. This is a wedding. At that moment, a commotion arose near the entrance. The famous actress Adeline Moreau, star of the popular historical drama Crown and Ashes, entered the hall.
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She was the groom's cousin. The guests immediately surrounded her, asking for photographs and autographs.
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The tension at our table eased. Everyone turned their attention to the celebrity. Brandon jewelry companies work with actresses all the time, said Megan, one of our classmates. Do you know Adeline?
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We've crossed paths at several events, he replied. We've spoken a little. Then invite her over. We can take a group photo. Brandon hesitated.
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There are too many people around her right now. He moved closer but did not even try to speak to Adeline. He stood near the crowd for a few minutes and then returned. It's impossible to get through. When fewer guests remained
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around the actress, Megan reminded him again. You can approach her now. If you want a photograph, it would be better to ask her yourselves, Brandon replied. It would be rude to make her come over here. While he invented new excuses,
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Adeline looked around the hall and noticed me. We had met at the Bosha charity gala where we sat at the same table. Before leaving, she had added my number herself, intending to ask me about antiques later. Adeline immediately stood up and headed toward
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us. She's coming this way, Megan whispered. Everyone looked at Brandon. She must have recognized you, Owen said.
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Brandon looked just as confused. But he Brandon looked just as confused. But he quickly straightened Adeline approached the table, did not even glance at him and stopped beside me. A warm smile appeared on her face. Mr. Hayes, what a
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surprise, Adeline said. Her deliberately respectful tone surprised everyone at the table. I stood up. I didn't expect to see you here. I wanted to message you after the Bosha charity gala, but I've been busy filming these past few few
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At the mention of the exclusive charity gala, my classmates exchanged looks again. We went to school with the bride, I explained. Adeline smiled at the others. I hope you'll lend Ryan to me for a little while. I wanted to discuss
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something with him. Of course. Go ahead, Ryan. We'll wait. I agreed. Adeline took my arm to guide me through the crowd and led me to her table. As soon as we walked away, my classmates all began talking at once. How does Ryan know
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Adeline Moreau? Were they at the Basha Gala together? She came over to get him herself. Megan quickly found a recording of the broadcast. In the video, I stood on stage beside the host and Elias Crawford after purchasing the painting for
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$15,000. That really is Ryan. He wasn't just there. He took part in the auction.
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It looks like he didn't tell us nearly everything. Everyone looked at Brandon. A few minutes earlier, he had confidently claimed to know Adeline.
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But the actress had not even noticed him. Brandon stood up. An urgent problem came up at work. I need to leave.
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Natalie did not try to stop him. After he left, our classmates began advising her to break up with him and get back together with me. Natalie answered evasively, but she was clearly beginning to doubt her choice. She had broken up
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with me because I lacked money and prospects, but it turned out those were the things that changed fastest. Owen turned to Jake.
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You still live together, don't you? What's actually going on with Ryan? Jake smiled with satisfaction. You finally remembered I exist? Tell us.
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We live in Empire Towers. The apartment is more than 2,000 square feet with four bedrooms and several bathrooms. It feels rather empty with only two of us.
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How much does an apartment like that cost?" Megan asked. Someone quickly found the prices. "Around $3 million." The table fell silent. Jake decided to finish them off. "And we arrived today in his Mercedes G550.
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That costs more than 150,000." "About that much." Jake confirmed calmly. Now my classmates were completely convinced that I had been hiding my wealth all along. Natalie silently stared toward Adeline's table, where I had gone with the actress. While
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I was away, Megan asked Jake, "Is Ryan really single?" "Yes. Although two very beautiful women are constantly circling him. But he isn't dating either of them?" "Not as far as I know." Megan turned to Natalie. "If you aren't going
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to get back together with him, I'll try." "You have a boyfriend." Owen reminded her. "Not for much longer. I'll break up with him after the wedding." The table laughed. But Natalie was in no mood for jokes. I now had everything she
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had once wanted from a future partner. Yet only a few months earlier, she had been the one to suggest breaking up. She looked toward Adeline's table, where we were speaking animatedly, and for the first time wondered whether she still
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had a chance to get everything back. Adeline had not invited me over to flirt. "A major producer has a birthday next month." She explained. "He collects antiques. I want to give him something worthwhile.
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But I know absolutely nothing about them. Are you afraid of buying a fake?" "Exactly. After the charity gala, I realized I could trust you. Can you help?" "When?" "Today after the wedding.
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I was planning to stop by the antiques district anyway." "All right." She smiled. "It's settled. And what should I call you?" "Mr.
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Hayes sounds too formal. Just Ryan. Then I'll see you after the ceremony, Ryan. I returned to my classmates, and they immediately surrounded me with questions. Why did you hide the fact that you were at the Basha charity gala?
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We found the video. You even bought a painting there. Adeline came over specifically for you.
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What's going on between you? Nothing. We met at the event, and she needs help with antiques. Of course. Just help.
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Owen said with a smirk. Megan asked the most important question. Jake says you're single. Is that true? Yes. Are you planning to introduce me to someone?
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Why look for someone? She smiled and pointed at herself. How about this option? Don't even start. I replied to Megan.
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We've known each other for too long. What if that's exactly why it would work? My classmates laughed. I realized she was no longer entirely joking and decided to change the subject. Where did Brandon go?
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I asked Jake. He ran away as soon as you left with Adeline. The wedding ceremony began soon afterward. Lunch was served after it, and the conversations at the table continued. Owen raised his glass.
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Ryan, have a drink with us. Who knows when we'll all be together again? I'm driving.
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Hire a driver. Another classmate immediately became excited. Or I'll drive. I've never driven a G550.
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I looked at Jake. He quickly lowered his eyes and pretended to be completely occupied with his food. It was obvious who had told everyone about the car.
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We'll all take a ride someday. I replied. But I won't let you drive. Fortunately, no one argued. After some time, Adeline returned to our table.
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Ryan, will you be free soon? I'd like to leave early so we can look around without rushing.
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Yes, we can go. Did you come by car? Yes. Then I'll ride with you and send my assistant home. I handed Jake the envelope containing my gift for the newlyweds. Give this to Hannah. I'm leaving. Of course, he replied then
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quietly added, "Why is a famous actress sending her assistant away and getting into your car? A secret date?" Yes, exactly. You figured it all out. I knew it.
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That was sarcasm, idiot. I said goodbye to my classmates and left with Adeline. As soon as we walked out of the hall, everyone surrounded Jake. Where did they go?
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Why did she send her assistant away? Is there definitely something between them? Jake paused dramatically.
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Ryan said they were going on a secret date. Seriously? That's why she came to get him herself.
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It looks like they're much closer than he says. Megan crossed her arms. So what if she's an actress? She's only famous and beautiful. A few minutes ago, you were asking her for a photograph.
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Owen reminded her. That was before she took Ryan away. After I left, the conversation at the table quickly faded.
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After a few glasses, Megan asked Jake again, "Do the apartment and the G Class really belong to Ryan?" Jake was already noticeably drunk. Empire Group provided them with the job, the apartment and the car, the full package. Not bad for
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someone who just started. Right? My classmates immediately found a more familiar explanation. So the property isn't actually his.
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That's what I thought. It's impossible to earn millions in a few weeks. That offended Jake. So what? Which of your employers gave you a $3 million apartment and AG550?
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Ryan earned all of it through his abilities. Ryan is the successful one here, not you, one of the men snapped.
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Jake wanted to reply, but instead he put his head down on the table. He had drunk too much. Meanwhile, Adeline and I had already spent more than an hour walking around the antiques district. To avoid being recognized, she wore dark glasses
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and a baseball cap. We still had not found a suitable gift. Is there really nothing worthwhile in this entire district?
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She asked. There are worthwhile items. Either you don't like the price or you don't like the object itself. Adeline could not afford a gift worth several million dollars, but a cheap item would not impress an influential producer. In one store, we
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had seen a rare 16th century Florentine vase. Its true value was around $700,000, but the owner demanded 1,100,000 and refused to negotiate. Maybe I should buy it after all, Adeline suggested.
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You'll overpay by almost half a million. At least he'll understand that I spared no expense. But there won't be any surprise. Everyone in the district knows that face. He'll immediately know where you bought it and how much you overpaid.
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She sighed. So I really have no choice but to hope for a lucky find. More or less. We visited almost every major store and moved on to the street vendors. A crowd had gathered ahead. An argument was taking place outside the
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antique shop where I had interviewed a month earlier and first met the man who later introduced me to Olivia. The store owner, Walter Parker, was arguing with a poorly dressed man. The man clutched a bottle-shaped vase with a long neck and
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dark red glaze to his chest. Sell it anywhere you want. Just not in front of my door. Parker shouted. People will think that thing came from my shop.
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I was standing off to the side. The man objected. If I'm in the way, I'll just leave. You've already ruined my business.
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The people around them tried to intervene. Let him go. The man clearly needs money. Others whispered instead.
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Maybe they're working together. They staged an argument so someone would buy the vase. It looks staged.
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Adeline watched the argument carefully. Could this be an act? I don't think so. Why?
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I did not take my eyes off the vase in the man's hands. A price appeared above it making me stop. It seemed we had finally found the gift we needed. I could not take my eyes off the vase.
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Adeline noticed my tension and immediately understood everything. Are you thirsty? I'll go get some water. Get me something. I replied absent-mindedly.
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She hurried away so she would not accidentally draw any more attention to the vase. A price glowed above the object. $1,100,000.
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The problem was that the vase itself looked mediocre. Its shape was uneven, the color was too harsh, and the glaze was inconsistent. It was definitely old, but old did not always mean valuable.
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Could something be hidden inside? No. The narrow neck and solid body made that almost impossible. Besides, the owner's family had probably examined their heirloom many times. Yet my ability had never been wrong. While I tried to solve the vase's secret, the argument outside
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the store escalated. You're selling fakes outside my entrance, and you still dare argue? Walter Parker grabbed the man by the shoulder. You're not leaving until you compensate me for my losses. He jerked him sharply.
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The vase slipped from the man's hands. My heart stopped, but the man managed to catch it just above the ground. Touch me again and you'll regret it, he growled.
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This vase has belonged to my family for generations. If you break it, I'll kill you.
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Parker stepped back, although he continued acting tough. A family heirloom? The only thing that vase is good for is storing pickles. I have dozens of better pieces in my store, and you want $40,000 for it. The man trembled with rage and then suddenly
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dropped to his knees before the crowd. My name is Thomas Reed. My father is dying of cancer. He needs urgent surgery and we've run out of money.
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He would never have allowed me to sell this vase, so I took it without asking.
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The crowd grew quieter. I swear I'm not trying to deceive anyone. If this item is fake, may God punish me. Several elderly women began taking out their wallets. At least take a little.
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Thank you, Thomas said, shaking his head. But I don't need charity. Buy the vase, then at least I'll know I didn't simply take someone else's money for nothing. There were skeptics, too.
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Don't believe him. It's an old scam. He and the store owner are probably working together.
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First they play on your sympathy, then they sell you garbage for tens of thousands. Parker laughed contemptuously. Exactly. If anyone buys that wreck for 40,000, I'll eat my own shoe right here.
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What if he does find a buyer? I asked. Parker could not see me behind the crowd. Then he's either blind or an idiot. I stepped forward. I'll buy it.
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Thomas raised his head. I helped him stand and brushed the dirt from his jacket. A negative number glowed above him.
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- $8,000. He truly was buried in debt. Without my ability, I could have ended up in a similar situation myself. "Are you serious?" Thomas whispered. "Yes.
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Show me the details for the transfer." He had a mobile banking account. I transferred $43,000.
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Thomas checked the notification several times. "There's an extra 3,000 here. I only asked for 40." "Use it for medication and recovery after the surgery. The vase is worth the money." The man could barely hold back his tears. "Thank you. I'll never forget
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this. May you and your wife be rewarded for your kindness." Only then did I notice Adeline had returned. When she heard him call her my wife, she blushed slightly but did not correct Thomas. I advised him to go to the hospital
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immediately. He thanked us several more times and left. Adeline handed me a melting vanilla ice cream.
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"Here's your something." "You went to get water." She smiled and took out a bottle.
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"I have water, too." She understood the important part from my expression. "Did it work?" she asked quietly. I gave a barely noticeable nod. Meanwhile, Parker tried to slip away into his store. "Mr.
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Parker." I called after him. "Aren't you forgetting something?" He stopped and forced a smile. "Would you like to come inside for some coffee?" "I believe you were going to eat your shoe." The crowd immediately came alive.
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"That's right. We all heard you." "You made a promise, so keep it." "Choose the right one or the left one." Parker's face turned red. "It was a joke. Would any normal person take something like that seriously?" "Then watch your words in the future, I
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replied. Especially when you're humiliating people can't stand up to you. Adeline took a sip of water and removed her mask to catch her breath.
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Parker saw her face and something changed in his eyes. He recognized the famous actress. His embarrassment disappeared. A calculating smile took its place. It seemed Walter Parker had already figured out how to take revenge on both of us. Ryan! He shouted. I
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thought you'd gotten rich. But you're simply living off a woman. Then he pointed at Adeline. That's Adeline Moreau from Crown and Ashes. Fans instantly surrounded her. Everyone demanded photographs and autographs.
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Some grabbed at her clothing. I shouted. Has Parker started eating his shoe yet? The crowd turned instinctively. I raised the vase over my head and forced my way toward Adeline. Clear the way. This vase is worth $43,000.
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Whoever breaks it will pay twice that much. They're scammers. Someone shouted. They want someone to bump into the vase on purpose. The people stepped aside in alarm. I wrapped an arm around Adeline's shoulders and led her to the car. After
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locking the doors, we finally caught our breath. Thank you, she said. Without you, that could have ended badly. Now I understand why celebrities need security. Adeline held out an embroidered handkerchief.
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Wipe your face. It's too beautiful. I'd hate to ruin it. Then keep it. A handkerchief as a keepsake? Is this a confession? She laughed and hit me on the shoulder.
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Don't make things up. You've hit me several times today. I demand compensation. What kind?
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One dinner for every hit. Adeline looked at me for several seconds. After everything you've done, you can ask for more. Really? Then leave the vase with me. She immediately snatched it away and pressed it to her chest. Don't even
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dream about it. What if it isn't worth anything? I won't believe that. The vase itself is almost worthless, but its true value is hidden elsewhere. I explained the secret of the discovery to her. The gift now combined rarity, meaning, and
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surprise. For someone knowledgeable about antiques, it was far more interesting than a well-known, overpriced vase. My friend is an influential producer.
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Adeline clarified, and she's a woman. I thought you were trying so hard for a man. Jealous? I feel sorry for whoever has to put up with you one day. Adeline leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
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I braked sharply. Are you crazy? We could have crashed. Maybe. I'm already jealous of your girlfriend. I don't have one. Then do I have a chance? Can an ordinary appraiser really hope to date a movie star? You could have simply said you don't like
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me. I do like you. Should we go straight to a hotel? Keep your eyes on the road.
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Adeline's frightened manager, assistant, and security guard were already waiting for her outside the hotel. I said goodbye and drove home. Thomas Reed called me on the way. I frowned when I saw his name. Had he changed his mind
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about selling the vase? In the antiques trade, a completed sale is considered final, so I was not afraid of Thomas's call. Mr. Reed, did something happen? You paid 3,000 more than I asked. I feel uncomfortable about it. I gathered several old things
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from home and want to give them to you. He was waiting for me outside. A worn bundle lay beside him. I noticed a black morning band on his clothes. Did your father pass away? My condolences. Thomas wiped his eyes and unwrapped the cloth.
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Inside were an old watch, a silver snuffbox, a brooch, and several small objects. Most of them were genuine.
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Together, they were worth around $30,000. I'll buy everything for 30,000. No, Thomas refused. This is compensation.
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You may have lost money on the vase. Before dying, his father had managed to whisper, "That vase one." and raised one finger. Thomas decided it had been worth around $10,000.
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That meant I had greatly overpaid. In reality, the old man had probably meant 1 million. I bought the vase willingly, and I won't take these things for free.
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Thomas continued refusing, so I pretended to become angry. Then take everything back. In the end, he agreed to accept the money. I drove him to the station, bought him a ticket, and left him my number. If you ever return to New
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York and need help, call me. After he left, I saw a message from Adelaide.
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Sorry, my manager won't let me leave the hotel. I've transferred the money. Don't refuse it, or I won't be able to ask you for help again. She had sent $70,000.
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The cost of the vase and a generous expression of gratitude. I wrote, "I'm actually not as rich as you think." Thank you. The reply came immediately.
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If you need money, I can keep you. Then should I call you Mommy? Are you saying I'm old? After a few more jokes, I drove home. Jake was asleep right beside the door without having taken off his clothes. I helped him up and brought him
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some water. Finally, a decent person, he muttered. Our classmates sucked up to you, but when I got drunk, they all left.
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Hannah's husband had driven him home even though the newlyweds had more important things to do. So, they didn't abandon you after all. That's not the point. Everyone said we'd help one another after graduation, but in reality, they all want to see everyone
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else fail. I understood his resentment. My sudden success probably put pressure on him, too. Let's go get something to eat. My treat. Jake immediately perked up. You spent half the day with Adeline and didn't even eat? Then what were you
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doing? Get up before I knock you down again. We reached a small restaurant near Empire Towers. We had barely sat down when Olivia messaged me. Have you eaten dinner yet? I'm just about to.
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Shall we go to the night market? The last time she had refused to eat street food, but now she clearly wanted to return. I'm near home. Where should I pick you up?
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Stay there. I'll come to you. I told Jake. So, the Empire Group heiress has developed a taste for normal food, he said with a smirk. Excellent. I'm coming, too. We were already heading toward the exit when we heard a familiar
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voice. Ryan, Jake, are you here, too? Come join us. When we saw who had called us, both of our expressions darkened. Megan and Natalie had called us over. After the wedding, they had run into each other near home and decided to have drinks
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together. Both had already argued with their boyfriends and had spent the entire evening discussing their failed relationships. Natalie had drunk more heavily. Ryan always treated me better than anyone, she admitted. I left him because I wanted a man with an apartment, a car,
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and a stable job. And now it turns out I lost exactly that kind of man. You'll find someone better.
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Megan tried to reassure her. There are plenty of successful men. But I may never find another one who loves me that much. At that moment, a woman at the next table exclaimed, "Adeline Moreau is secretly dating some man." Megan and
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Natalie immediately remembered that the actress had left the wedding with me. Photographs from the antiques district had already appeared online. The headlines claimed that Adeline was financially supporting an unknown young lover. As evidence, they cited my expensive clothes, the vase she bought,
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and the argument with Walter Parker. That was when the women noticed us. "Ryan, Jake, come here." We approached, although Jake was still angry with our classmates.
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"Sit down." Megan suggested. "We can't. We've already arranged to meet someone." "You just arranged it over the phone?" "Are you a detective now?" Megan held out her hand. "Show me the conversation." "Why should he?" Jake protested. "Even a girlfriend has no
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right to check someone else's phone." I did not want to argue or make Olivia wait, so I opened our conversation and handed Megan the phone. She saw that Olivia really was on her way to pick us up. But instead of returning the phone,
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she went to the chat list and opened my conversation with Adeline. Her expression immediately changed. "Ryan, you've changed a great deal. Success is good, but not at that price." "What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.
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Megan placed the phone on the table. We saw the $70,000 transfer and the latest messages. "If you need money, I can keep you." "Then should I call you mommy?" "Are you saying I'm old?" Several more suggestive jokes followed
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below. Natalie turned pale. Even Jake looked at me doubtfully. Megan smirked. So, this is how you became successful.
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You pretend to be a wealthy expert, meet lonely women, and take their money. Now I understand what she meant when she mentioned your eventful day and compensation. I could barely contain my irritation. Natalie, we're each responsible for our own choices. Then I
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looked at Megan. Fake boots, $40. Dress, 45. Coat, 80. Blouse, 30. Watch, 200. She frowned.
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Yes, they're copies, but I bought them with my own money. Don't tell me your suit is genuine. I was trying to make a different point. I also earn money through my own abilities. I pointed to my eyes. I'm an appraiser. My mind makes
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me money, not my bed. Natalie lowered her gaze. Megan was about to respond, but Olivia approached us. She looked flawless in a fitted suit. She took my arm. Ryan, are you finished? I'm already hungry. Sorry. I ran into some former
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classmates and was proving that I hadn't invented our meeting. I understand. The important thing is that you don't become too close to actresses. It could damage their reputation. So, she had already seen the news. I only helped Adeline
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choose a gift and paid for the vase. She reimbursed me. Olivia ignored the explanation and held out her hand to the women. Olivia Quinn, Ryan's girlfriend.
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It's nice to meet you. Jake and I froze. Arguing now would have been foolish, however. Olivia discreetly took an old receipt from her pocket, placed it under the bill, and said, "I've paid for everything. Perhaps you'd like to continue the evening with us.
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We won't intrude." Megan quickly declined. We said goodbye and left in Olivia's pink G Class. Once they were alone, the women found two receipts with suit prices under the bill. The men's suit cost $17,000, while the women's cost $16,000.
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"His suit is genuine." Megan whispered, "and their clothes match." She quickly looked up information about Olivia, the sole heiress to Empire Group. "Could she really be dating Ryan?" Natalie watched the car disappear. "And she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Megan
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remembered what I had said about her clothes. "He named every price without making a single mistake." "Ryan wanted to show that we're the ones pretending to be wealthy." Natalie replied quietly. "But he didn't say it directly because of me."
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Meanwhile, Jake felt like a third wheel in the backseat. "I'll walk around the night market separately. I don't want to interfere with your romance." "A little late to think of that." I said. I turned to Olivia. "Thank you. You saved my
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reputation." "I wasn't helping you. I simply didn't like them." "And where did the receipts come from?" "I bought myself a suit from the same brand today, and I still had the receipt for yours." Jake finally understood.
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"So, you staged the whole thing?" "What performance?" I protested. "Olivia promised to take responsibility for me." She did not reply.
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At the night market, Olivia bought everything I recommended. She ate whatever she liked and handed the rest to me, while I passed it to Jake. Soon, both of his hands were full. "Ryan, take at least one bag." "Don't interrupt
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a man enjoying his evening." I replied. Near the market stalls, Olivia explained the real reason for the trip. Madison's store is opening soon. She's my best friend, so a gift card won't do. Will you help me choose a gift? The pawn shop
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is full of valuable things. They belong to the company and its shareholders. I can't give away Empire's property. So, you want to collect the debt for helping me today right away? Exactly. Price doesn't matter. We did not find a
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suitable item at the market. However, I already had an idea. Among Thomas's belongings were several objects Madison might like. One could be Olivia's gift, and another could be mine. When we returned home, Jake put the leftover food in the refrigerator. Are you
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planning to finish that? Olivia tasted all of it. That's why I'm freezing it. I need to make the pleasure last. Don't even think about it. It's mine. Jake laughed.
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But, she only pretended to be your girlfriend. It doesn't matter. Don't touch anything. In the morning, I regretted finishing almost all the leftovers myself during the night. The mere sight of street food made me feel sick. At the pawn shop, I continued
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training with the items we accepted. First, I determined their authenticity and value on my own. Then, I activated my ability and compared the results with the employee's appraisal. Now, the numbers only appeared when I wanted them to. This allowed me to develop my own
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skills instead of relying entirely on the gift. I was already almost never wrong about authenticity. The purchase price was more difficult because the pawn shop had to account for future profit. Soon, I noticed a new feature. When I looked
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at several items at the same time, the numbers above them had different shades. After checking the inventory data, I understood. Black meant an item would lose value. Red meant its value would increase. The deeper the color, the greater the change. Green remained a
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mystery. Two days later, I figured it out. Green marked items that were likely to sell quickly. I suggested testing the theory to Mr. Wilson. Are you sure? He asked. If we simply raise prices, sales may fall. We'll choose a few items and
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add 20%. We raised the prices of the two greenest items. Both sold before lunch.
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Total revenue was around $170,000 with more than 40,000 in profit. Mr. Wilson earned almost $900 in commission.
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Ryan, now I truly believe in your talent. After that, I reviewed the entire sales floor, chose the most promising items, and set different markups depending on the intensity of the green color. Two days later, the pawn shop sales had
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increased by more than 10%. By Friday, the appraisers were already waiting for me at the entrance. Ryan, want to have breakfast together? Want to get drinks tonight?
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I have a beautiful cousin. I can introduce you. Olivia's cold voice sounded behind us. Is she that talented?
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Let her interview with Empire first. The appraisers scattered instantly. I didn't promise them anything, I hurried to say.
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Let's go have breakfast. At the cafe, Olivia noticed that I felt sick again. Are you ill?
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I just ate too much greasy food. It appears you're invited to dinner every day. I can't help it. Everyone likes me.
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Olivia smiled almost imperceptibly. The pawn shop sales increased by more than 10% in a day. I really do know how to find talented employees. So, this is your achievement? Without me, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to prove yourself. I ordered the cheapest
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porridge and announced, "I'm paying today as thanks for your wise leadership." Olivia laughed. "Keep your money. The new head of sales will need it." I froze. "Are you talking about me?" "You'll be appointed head of the department and senior appraiser. I'm
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transferring the current manager and your results speak for themselves. No wonder you rejected me once and then invited me to work yourself." Her smile disappeared. "Now I understand why you're still single. What about you?" "I only need to crook my finger." "So
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you're single, too?" She looked at me in a way that made me decide to change the subject. "By the way, Madison's gift is ready." I took out an antique box and slid it toward her. Inside was a late 19th century
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French folding fan. Until recently, it had been worth less than $15,000. After the publicity surrounding Adelaide's discovery, interest in works from that workshop had risen sharply and its price had exceeded 30,000. Olivia carefully opened the fan. Painted on the
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silk was a composition of letters, theater tickets, dried flowers, and old photographs. Every object looked real.
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Her eyes lit up. "This is an extremely rare fan painted in the trompe l'oeil technique." I was surprised.
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"You recognized the technique?" "And I wanted to impress you. I studied business management, but after I was put in charge of the pawn shop, I had to learn about antiques, too." Olivia learned quickly and worked harder than most people. The longer we spent
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together, the more clearly I understood why she had been trusted to manage Empire's companies. She looked at me carefully. "Before I met you, I considered myself extremely talented.
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Then I learned what a true genius looks like. Are you sure you're talking about me? When I took over the pawn shop, I changed its processes and managed to reduce revenue by 10%. An unexpected result. Empire belongs to several
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shareholders. If the failures had continued, I might not have been allowed to take over the group. But then you appeared. Thanks to you, Empire Jewelry acquired two rare stones. And the pawn shop stopped overlooking items. Even sales increased. Without your team, my
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discoveries would have accomplished nothing. A good manager must find the right people. So far, that's my greatest achievement. I smiled. So you like the fan?
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Very much. How much did it cost? Consider it a gift from me. I can't remain indebted to you forever. All right. That's all? You said the price didn't matter. Of course. You're the one paying. I tried unsuccessfully to
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determine whether she was joking. Olivia put the fan away and took a folder out of her bag. What do you think about the acquisition of Millbrook Chemical?
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The plant can be saved if the management is replaced and the management system is changed. I think so, too. Here are five restructuring options. Study them and tell me which one is best. I don't know anything about chemical manufacturing. I
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need your intuition. I did not want to back down in front of her. All right, I'll give you an answer. After breakfast, Olivia unexpectedly made me pay the bill. Then she took me to Maison Laurent and bought me a business
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briefcase for $40,000. Why spend so much money? The head of sales shouldn't attend negotiations with a worn-out bag. She wanted to throw away my old briefcase, but I took it for Jake. When we returned to the car, Eric
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Palmer, the current head of sales, called me. "Mr. Hayes, could we meet over dinner?" I agreed.
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"Isn't he angry about the transfer?" I asked Olivia. "He'll probably be grateful. Eric understands marketing well, but he knows almost nothing about antiques and precious stones. That's why the appraisers don't listen to him." I understood the problem. The sales
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department wanted to lower prices on stagnant inventory, while the appraisers resisted because they would lose bonuses. Conflicts constantly arose between the departments. My knowledge allowed me to manage both sides. I looked at the new briefcase. So, this isn't a promotion.
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It's a gift that comes with a headache. Talented people are trusted with more work. It seemed Olivia had been calling me a genius all along only so I would be unable to refuse. Olivia explained why she had chosen me. Before I arrived, the
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sales department and the appraisers were constantly in conflict. Eric lowered prices on inventory that was not selling, and the experts became angry because they lost bonuses. Several items sold at a discount sharply increased in value soon afterward, and the company
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missed out on significant profits. The appraisers organized a collective protest. Olivia had to compensate their losses with her own money, and Eric completely lost their trust. I understood the merchandise and had already earned the experts' respect.
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Raising the prices of popular items brought them additional income, so they were now prepared to listen to me. "They simply won't accept anyone else," Olivia concluded. "This position only suits you." It sounds as though I've been lured into a trap. "Are you afraid you
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can't handle it?" "I'm more afraid that you'll disguise a pay cut as a promotion. Your appraiser's salary will indeed be removed. My mood immediately worsened.
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But your annual salary will increase to $200,000. You'll also receive a share of the department's profit. Commissions from your personal appraisals will remain as well.
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Then I'm prepared to sacrifice myself for the company. Olivia smirked. I never doubted it.
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You treat me so well that I don't even know how to repay you. I'm not going to support a single man. Then she unexpectedly added, but if you prove your abilities to more people, you may have a chance. She blushed slightly. My
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heart began pounding. Can I receive an advance? Olivia braked sharply outside Empire Towers. Get out. You have the afternoon off. I was left at the entrance with my new briefcase and the folder containing the Millbrook chemical plans. Her words gave me hope, but the
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difference between us remained enormous. Olivia was the heiress to an international corporation, while only a month ago I had been unable to find a job. At home, I gave my old briefcase to Jake. He had wanted one like it for a
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long time. "Generous," he said. "What happened?" I told him about my conversation with Olivia. Jake immediately laughed. I don't know if she likes you, but you're definitely in love. It's difficult not to fall in love with her.
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The problem is that she already has everything. That's exactly why she doesn't need money. Women like her are impressed by ability, not bank balances, and she constantly calls you a genius.
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His words made sense. Perhaps Olivia was not simply trying to make me work harder. "Want to get lunch?" Jake asked. I'm meeting Eric Palmer. I see. The The manager is having dinner with the old one. I called Eric.
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I live with a friend and he hasn't eaten either. Can I bring him? Of course. The fact that you're asking means you consider me one of your own. I'll be glad to meet him. After the call, I understood why Eric had managed sales
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for so many years. He could turn even a simple answer into a gesture of friendliness.
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He agreed. I told Jake. We changed clothes and had already left the apartment when my phone rang again. It was Mr. Wilson. The appraisers had decided to organize a belated welcome dinner for me. When you arrived, we considered you an inexperienced kid,
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he admitted. Now everyone wants to celebrate your promotion. I could not refuse, but meeting the appraisers and Eric at the same time would have been a bad idea. Their conflict was not over yet. So we moved the dinner with the
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experts to Sunday. Jake and I took a taxi to meet Eric. He met us in a private room at the restaurant. Ryan, I'm glad you came. I introduced Jake and we ordered dinner. After the first few drinks, Eric began speaking openly. The
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Quinn family paid for my education. I was trained as one of the people who were supposed to help Olivia manage Empire, but I failed at the pawn shop.
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Olivia doesn't blame you. She admitted that she changed the prices too abruptly herself. My job was to stop her if the decision was wrong. I didn't. Eric had grown up without parents, received a scholarship from the Quinn Foundation, graduated
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from university, and spent several years working at different Empire companies. For him, the current transfer was not merely a change of position, but a personal defeat. Later, he unexpectedly asked, "What kind of man do you think the Quinn family would accept beside
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Olivia?" I understood the implication. They don't need money. They would probably choose a capable and reliable man who wouldn't try to take control of Empire. Eric raised his glass. Exactly.
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I no longer fit. Try not to miss your chance. His feelings toward Olivia combined love, loyalty, and almost familial concern. He did not seem like an enemy. After that, we stopped discussing work. By 10 in the evening, I brought a completely drunk
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Jake home. In the morning, he saw me changing clothes and asked, "Where are you going?" "Madison's store opens today. Can I come with you?" He clearly wanted to expand his social circle but felt embarrassed about his position. Of course, the more guests,
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the better. We ordered a flower arrangement and went to the opening. Madison had rented a three-story building on one of the city's most expensive shopping streets. Inside, the store sold designer toys, collectible figures, and gifts. She noticed us
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immediately at the entrance. "Ryan, Jake, I'm glad you came." We entered the main hall. I placed two gift boxes on the table. "One is from me, and the other is from Jake. You shouldn't have brought anything." Jake looked at me
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gratefully. He could not afford an appropriate gift for Madison. So, I had signed the second item from Thomas's collection with his name. I noticed Emma in the hall. She was helping the employees, accepting boxes, and writing down the guests' names. Until recently,
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she had followed me everywhere. Now, she was working independently in New York. "Ryan," she said happily. "Hi, Jake." Emma attached cards with our names to the gifts and carried them toward the storage room. When she turned around, she collided with a tall man. "I'm
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sorry," she said in alarm. When Emma saw his face, she turned pale. She had not turned pale because of the man, but because of the long line she had accidentally drawn across his new suit with the marker. "I'm sorry." The
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man turned around. "Do you understand how much this suit costs?" I recognized Victor Hale, the owner of Hale Jewelry. We had met during the first gemstone appraisal. Jake and I had already started toward Emma when Olivia approached. "Emma,
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you've already started working?" "Olivia, I ruined everything." Olivia hugged her and then looked at Victor.
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"How much does the suit cost? I'll pay, but you shouldn't have shouted at her." "I didn't know she was with you." Victor immediately softened. "I'm sure the marker stain can be removed." Madison noticed the argument, too. "Victor, did you decide to frighten my employee
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on opening day?" I already said everything is fine. He clearly did not want to quarrel with both Olivia and Madison. However, Emma truly was at fault, so I intervened. "Emma, apologize to Mr. Hale." "I'm sorry. I'll pay for the dry
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cleaning." Victor looked at me in surprise. Thanks to my intervention, he had saved face.
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"You don't need to pay anything. Just be more careful next time." After a short pause, he took out a metal card. "This is a Hale Jewelry Privilege Card. It gives you a 70% discount. Consider it a gift to mark our introduction." Emma
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looked at me questioningly. I turned to Olivia, and only after she nodded did my sister accept the card.
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"Thank you, Mr. Hale." "If you want to save up a dowry, use it to buy only gold." I advised her. "The store will be selling it to you at a loss." Victor's face fell. "Ryan, are you trying to bankrupt me? I'm
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joking. The conflict ended peacefully. Olivia looked pleased. I had protected my sister but had not allowed her to use someone else's influence to avoid responsibility. After everyone moved away, Jake asked, "Why didn't you intervene immediately?" This is Madison's celebration. If I had
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started an argument, I would have put her in an awkward position. Olivia could stop Victor with a single sentence. And after Emma apologized, no one lost face.
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Jake was silent for a moment. It feels like I'm falling further and further behind you. I patted him on the shoulder. We promised to help each other. Your chance will come, too. By noon, the guests headed to a nearby
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hotel for lunch. I wanted to remain with Emma, but Madison insisted that I come.
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My sister stayed behind to watch the store and the expensive gifts. Olivia, Madison, Jake, Daniel, and I sat at the same table. This time, Daniel did not provoke me. After lunch, Madison asked, "Will you help appraise the gifts? I
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need to know their value so I can return an equally valuable gesture later." Of course.
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I also want to check the prices of the merchandise in the store. I'll check, but I'm warning you. I'll tell the truth even if someone doesn't like it. Madison smiled.
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That's exactly why I'm asking you. I had warned them in advance that I would be honest because I noticed Daniel's tension. He was responsible for purchasing the inventory. We walked through the store, after which I said, "Most of the modern products are
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mid-range items being sold at premium prices." Daniel frowned. You know about modern merchandise, too?
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Enough to see the difference in quality. Madison turned to him. You said you purchased the best products. The The supplier has worked with our company for many years. Perhaps he deceived me. I'll deal with it. We moved on to the accessories.
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Belts, hair clips, brooches, and jeweled clasps. After examining the displays, I asked "Daniel did you inspect this shipment?" "Of course." "Then why are around 60% of the stones artificial?" Madison crossed her arms.
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"I'd like to know that, too." Sweat appeared on Daniel's forehead. "The goods arrived yesterday. I haven't had time to complete a full inspection yet." "Let's continue," Madison said coldly.
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The situation was no better in the section selling antique-style decorative items. They were not considered fakes because the store made no claims about their antique value, but the quality was so poor that selling them at the listed prices was impossible. "At least
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everything here is honest," I remarked. "They look cheap, and they truly are cheap." Daniel gritted his teeth.
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Most of the other products were genuine, but their purchase prices were inflated. Less than a third of the inventory was in acceptable condition. Daniel's reaction made it clear that this was not simply the supplier's negligence. He had most likely been receiving a commission
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on purchases and had demanded too much this time, so the partner had compensated for the loss with cheap merchandise. Madison said nothing in front of the guests, but her expression turned cold. Daniel immediately called the supplier and demanded that every
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questionable item be replaced. A few hours later, the problematic merchandise was removed, and the new shipment was considerably better. After that, we moved on to the gifts. I gave the approximate value of each one while Emma wrote it down. Almost every item was
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worth several thousand dollars, and Madison visibly cheered up. Then Emma opened the box containing Daniel's gift.
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Inside was a pearl necklace. Ryan, how much is it worth? He asked. I examined the jewelry carefully. I don't know. After everything you've identified today, this particular necklace is too difficult?
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If I name the price, it'll look as though I'm deliberately trying to humiliate you. Madison's family is in the jewelry business, so she understands everything herself. Madison closed the box. Gifts from people close to us don't have to be appraised. It's the thought
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that matters. Daniel immediately relaxed, deciding she had called him someone close to her. But then Madison looked at the visibly nervous Jake and gave him an encouraging smile. The next two boxes placed on the table had our names on them. Madison
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opened the box with Jake's name. Inside was an antique brass counter bell on a dark oak base.
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Bells like this stood on the counters of American stores in the 19th century, I explained. This one was made by the Boston workshop Bellamy and Sons. It's perfect for a store opening.
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I did not mention that I had found it among Thomas's belongings and paid to have it restored. Madison carefully rang it. Clear melodic sound rang out. A wonderful gift. Thank you, Jake. He finally relaxed. Daniel smirked. Just an
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ordinary old bell. Maybe it'll even become valuable in another hundred years. It's already worth at least as much as your pearl necklace, I replied.
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Very few works by Bellamy and Sons have survived. The smile disappeared from his face.
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So you gave your friend a valuable item and brought a cheap fake yourself? Emma opened the box with my name. Inside was an old restored vase. Cracks covered its surface and several fragments had been carefully glued together. Jake gave me a
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guilty look. He had decided he had received the better gift. Original. Daniel drawled. The restorer must have worked hard to put that garbage back together. Madison ignored him.
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Ryan said he'd bring an example of a high quality imitation. Is this it? Yes.
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I carefully turned the vase around. An intricate painting appeared on the other side. Scraps of letters, theater tickets, old engravings, dried flowers, and fragments of maps. Everything looked real, although it had been painted onto the ceramic. The vase's cracks became part
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of the composition. At the bottom was the signature Etienne Marceau. I've seen that name somewhere. Emma said. How convenient.
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Daniel said with a smirk. The sister immediately recognized the artist on her brother's gift. Madison continued examining the vase. It's amazing. The longer you look at it, the more details you notice. At that moment, Emma opened Olivia's gift. The French folding fan. A
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similar composition of old letters, photographs, and sheet music had been painted on the silk. The same signature appeared in the corner. Olivia looked at Daniel. Is my gift garbage, too? He fell silent.
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This is a rare trompe l'oeil technique. She explained. Marceau turned images of old scraps into a single composition.
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Few of his works have survived. And his paintings on ceramics are almost never seen. Madison hugged the vase to her chest. Ryan.
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Why didn't you explain that immediately? I looked at Daniel. I was told it was garbage. What was there to explain? An elderly visitor overheard our conversation. He stepped closer, saw the signature, and froze.
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Incredible. This is an unknown work by Etienne Marceau. The elderly visitor's exclamation attracted the shoppers' attention. Several people recognized Marceau's style. I recently saw something similar in a video with Adeline Moreau. Emma quickly found a recording from the private birthday
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celebration of influential producer Evelyn Grant. Every year, Grant selected one young actress to mentor personally.
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Adeline and Celeste Harlow were considered the leading candidates. Celeste was the first to present Evelyn with a portrait specially painted by a famous artist who had almost entirely stopped accepting commissions. The guests decided it would be impossible to
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surpass such a gift. Then Adeline walked onto the stage carrying the dark red vase. A young appraiser found it for me in the antiques district, she explained.
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Celeste immediately smirked. You gave Ms. Grant something from a street market? Evelyn examined the vase and shook her head. It's a crude imitation.
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Even the original would not have been very valuable. Your appraiser deceived you. Adeline turned pale, but replied, He warned me that if the vase was called a fake, it should be broken. The guests thought it was a joke, but Adeline
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picked up a small hammer and struck the body. The vase shattered. Inside the thickened base was an oval medallion protected by a layer of wax. Adeline cleaned it and handed it to Evelyn. A miniature composition of letters, musical notes, theater posters, and
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dried flowers had been created on the gold plate. At the bottom was the signature, Etienne Marceau. Evelyn immediately summoned Leonard Ashford. He studied the medallion under a magnifying glass for a long time before saying, "This is a genuine late work by Marceau
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and it is signed with his real name. This isn't merely an expensive object." Ashford continued, "It's a museum piece.
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It's value will only increase." Evelyn took Adeline's hand. "You found a gift that cannot be bought from a catalog.
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From today onward, I'll personally oversee your career." Celeste's expression changed instantly. The video ended there. Madison turned to Daniel. "Do you understand now why people are advising you to have your eyesight checked?" He did not reply. The elderly visitor had not taken his eyes
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off Olivia's fan the entire time. "Please allow me to examine it more closely." He asked. "If the signature is genuine, we're looking at another unknown work by Marceau." I gave him my place. The old man sat down, put on his
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glasses, and carefully picked up the fan. In truth, I had not known exactly what was inside the vase. My ability had only shown its total value of around $1 million. The unusually thick base had made me suspicious. The narrow neck also
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seemed deliberately designed to prevent anyone from looking inside. The answer came after I met Thomas. Among his family's belongings were damaged works in Marceau's style. And before dying, his father had managed to say, "It's not the vase that's valuable,
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but" He had probably meant the medallion. After Evelyn Grant's birthday, the video quickly spread online and the value of Marceau's other works rose sharply. Meanwhile, the elderly visitor carefully moved his finger above the painting on the fan. "A genuine work
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by Marceau. I've searched for it my entire life." A young woman standing beside him supported him by the shoulder. "Grandpa, the doctor told you not to get excited.
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She introduced him as Julian March, the famous artist whose portrait Celeste had given Evelyn. I met Marceau several times when I was a child, the old man explained.
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He lived with my father after an argument with his business partner. He was the first person to teach me to paint. March then admitted that the portrait Celeste had given Evelyn had not been a new commission.
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He had painted it for her grandfather 12 years earlier. They had simply hidden the real date at the celebration. Young people love shortcuts too much, he sighed. March looked at the fan again.
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Miss, would you agree to sell it? His granddaughter added, price doesn't matter. Grandpa has spent his entire life searching for a work bearing Marceau's real signature. Madison shook her head. I'm sorry, but this is a gift for my best friend. I
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won't sell it for any amount. The old man did not argue and slowly stood up.
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Daniel then pointed at my vase. Would this work interest you? The granddaughter immediately asked, how much? Daniel raised one finger, clearly intending to name a small sum. $150,000?
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She clarified. We're prepared to pay right now. He froze. Madison moved the vase away. This one isn't for sale, either. March's disappointment was too obvious. I have several more works in a similar style at home, I said. They're
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damaged and unsigned, but you can look at them. Really? Wait half an hour. I returned with a box containing four objects.
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A crystal perfume bottle, a porcelain teapot, a small box, and a miniature wooden panel. All of them were damaged, and the paintings had worn away in places. March carefully examined each object. The materials are cheap and there are no signatures, but this is his
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hand. I recognize the lines. He touched the objects as carefully as if he had met an old friend. Daniel decided that the old man was disappointed, but his granddaughter understood him better. Name your price for all four objects.
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I paid around $30,000 for them. That's all I'm asking. Daniel could not hold back. Ryan, this is going too far. Are you trying to profit from an elderly man? 30,000 for this broken junk. Daniel had become a vice president at a young
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age and was accustomed to considering himself the most capable person in the room. My appearance had struck both his pride and his hopes regarding Madison.
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Ryan, you're exploiting an old man's emotions. He continued. This is plain extortion. I did not reply. The granddaughter and I packed the four objects, after which she transferred $30,000 to me. Daniel tried to stop her.
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You'll regret this. You can't pay that much simply because your grandfather likes some old things. The granddaughter smiled politely. Thank you for your concern. I suggest studying the subject before speaking with such confidence.
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March looked at me. You're a good young man. I'd be happy to have a grandson like you. Grandpa!
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The granddaughter said blushing. Ryan and I attended the same university. She added. I'm studying art history. I hope we'll meet again.
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After they left, Daniel said. It seems she appreciated my caution after all. She called you ignorant. Madison explained. He immediately took out his phone. After the viral video of Adeline's gift, prices for every verified Marceau work had risen sharply.
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Even damaged and unsigned objects sold for tens of thousands of dollars. That meant I had asked for only the amount I had paid Thomas myself. People nearby were already whispering.
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"When is he finally going to get his eyes checked?" Daniel put away his phone and did not say another word. By evening, Madison suggested celebrating the store opening. "Ryan, you've been promoted. You're treating us today." Olivia immediately said, "Let's go to
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the night market." The thought of street food alone made me feel sick. "Could we choose somewhere else?" "No." They replied in unison. Madison turned to Daniel. "You'd better deal with the supplier problems." We left him at the store and headed to Riverside
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Night Market. After taking a table by the water, Olivia and Madison began discussing what they wanted to try. Jake pulled me aside. "You're a genius. Other men take women to expensive of restaurants, but you won over two heiresses with cheap
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street food. Learn from me." We bought several dishes and returned to the table. Emma sat between Olivia and Madison and tried to figure out which of them was my girlfriend. Before the trip, Mom had instructed her to determine
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exactly that. The problem was that both women cared about me and constantly defended me. At the same time, they got along perfectly with each other. Emma's phone rang.
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"Mom, have you seen Olivia and Madison?" "They're beside me right now." "So, which one of them is dating Ryan?" "You didn't even ask how I'm doing." "Fine. How are you doing?" Emma remembered how both women had defended her at the store.
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"I'm doing great. They're treating me very well." "Because one of them is your future sister-in-law. So, which one?" "I don't know. How am I supposed to figure that out?" From the other end of the table, Madison called "Emma
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the food is ready." Olivia added, "Come back before it gets cold." "Coming." Emma raised the phone to her ear again.
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"Mom, my sisters-in-law are calling me. We'll talk later." She ended the call. Laura stared at the screen for several seconds.
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Sisters-in-law, plural? When Emma returned, the table was covered with her favorite food. Madison tried everything while Olivia, as usual, limited herself to a few bites. After dinner, Madison opened her phone. The guests were already posting videos from the store
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opening. "Ryan, Olivia, thank you. You saved my reputation today." She showed us a message from her father. "Even a small store demonstrates a manager's abilities. You did well. I'm proud of you." Madison replied that everything had worked out because of her friends.
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"Choosing the right people is also a talent." he wrote. As a reward, her father ordered the sports car she had wanted for a long time. Jake and Emma silently exchanged looks. In Madison's family, a car was an ordinary gift for
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one successful day at work. "I'm sorry about Daniel." she told me. "He kept trying to humiliate you today.
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He considers me a rival. It's no big deal." Olivia explained. Madison's father deliberately appointed Daniel as her deputy. He's capable, but he has a difficult personality. This is a test for her.
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Can she use his strengths and control his weaknesses? If she simply fires him, her father will decide she doesn't know how to manage people.
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"I wanted to throw him out several times." Madison admitted. "Olivia stopped me." Then she unexpectedly moved closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
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Maybe I should steal Ryan away? Olivia replied calmly. I can give up anything else, not Ryan. Emma became alert. The conversation was finally becoming useful for her investigation. You always used to share.
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Madison complained. Things, yes, but Ryan isn't a thing. Everyone laughed. If you need help, I can lend him to you.
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Olivia added. Madison immediately pressed herself even closer to me. Then help me. How can I make my store profitable?
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I mentally considered several options. My ability now worked with more than objects. Whenever I imagined a detailed business plan, the approximate future value of the project appeared. One option was clearly the most promising. Right now, you simply sell expensive designer toys,
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accessories, and decorative objects. People only buy them when they happen to notice something interesting. So, what should I change? Turn it from a collectible store into a premium gift house. Offer rare products, personalized selection, gift wrapping, delivery, and
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gift sourcing for a specific person. The customer shouldn't come for a vase or a figurine. They should come for a complete solution. Olivia immediately supported the idea. That's the right direction. You'll need a team to develop the product range, service, and
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marketing. Madison thought for a moment and then smiled. If my store becomes the place people go for the best gifts, demand will be constant. Exactly.
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Ryan, I adore you. She hugged me again. Olivia looked at her arm, but said nothing. Emma became completely confused. Both women clearly cared about me, yet instead of competing, they sat peacefully at the same table. Late in the evening, we went
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our separate ways. Madison invited Emma to stay with her. I agreed. My sister could learn a great deal around her and Olivia. At Empire Towers, Jake immediately went up to the apartment.
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Olivia stopped me beside the car. My heart beat faster. After everything that had happened that day, I thought she wanted to talk about us. Olivia looked me in the eyes. "Have you studied the five restructuring plans for Millbrook
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Chemical?" I stared at her in silence. It seemed I had let my imagination run too far once again. I fell asleep on the way to Millbrook. Olivia, however, was nervous.
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Of the five restructuring plans, I had chosen the riskiest, a complete replacement of management. Martin Caldwell had run the plant for decades, placing his people in every important position. The day before, I had assured her, "Don't worry. I'll help strip him
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of his influence." That did little to reassure her. Recently, the pawn shop appraisers had asked how I managed to find things whose value no one else noticed. I couldn't tell them about my ability, so I replied, "A true
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masterpiece can be hidden beneath dirt or a cheap exterior, but an experienced person will still sense its value." I was simply improvising, but the appraisers decided they had heard a profound truth. When I woke up, we were already approaching Millbrook Chemical.
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Enormous workshops, tanks, and pipelines covered hundreds of acres. The plant had once been the pride of the county, but now its rust and empty buildings revealed its condition better than any report could. An entire delegation was waiting for us at the entrance. Banners,
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music, employees lined up in formation. Caldwell had put on a real show. When he saw me beside Olivia, his expression darkened for a moment.
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Most of the plant's executives owed their positions to him. Caldwell was certain that even after the deal, Empire Group would leave management in his hands. By noon, both sides had signed the documents, and Milbrook Chemical officially came under Empire Group's
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control. After the officials left, the department heads and employee representatives remained in the conference hall. Olivia stepped up to the podium. As of today, Milbrook Chemical is part of Empire Group. We will retain valuable specialists and raise the pay of those who deliver
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results. But there will be no more positions awarded through family ties, connections, or personal loyalty.
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Caldwell was the first to rise and applaud loudly. Everyone else immediately followed his lead. He was showing them who the plant truly answered to. Olivia calmly waited for silence. All managers will be placed on temporary status and undergo an
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independent evaluation. We will also audit the payroll. Anyone who receives a salary but never comes to work will be dismissed. The room instantly erupted in noise. We were promised our terms would be preserved. We gave this plant decades
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of our lives. Director Caldwell said there wouldn't be any layoffs. Caldwell himself stood as well. Ms. Quinn, these people may have made mistakes, but many of them are loyal to the company. Don't they deserve a chance to make things
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right? Olivia gave him a cold look. What gives you the right to speak on their behalf?
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After Olivia spoke, more than a hundred workers rose from their seats. Caldwell has the right to speak for us. If he's removed, we'll go on strike. We gave this plant the best years of our lives.
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Their shouts were far too coordinated. Caldwell had clearly arranged the performance in advance. I walked over to him.
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We need to speak in private. Are you trying to buy me? He sneered. This plant runs because of me. Nothing here will change without my consent. I showed him a photograph on my phone. His smile vanished.
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We went into the adjoining office. There, I placed a folder prepared by Empire Group Security Service in front of him. It contained evidence of ghost employees, jobs being sold, kickbacks, and illegal deductions from workers' pay. There was also testimony from a
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woman Caldwell had been seeing behind his wife's back. He stared longest at the documents concerning his daughter. She had received one of the highest salaries at the plant for several years despite never once showing up for work.
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What do you want? He asked quietly. Help us clean house and resign voluntarily. Otherwise, the auditors and prosecutors get these files. Caldwell immediately understood that he had no choice. When we returned, the hall was still in an uproar. He took the microphone.
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Milbrook Chemical is on the verge of closure because of people who have spent years collecting money without doing any work. Every ghost employee, including my daughter, will be dismissed. His former supporters erupted at once.
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Are you going to fire yourself, too? Give us back the money you took from us.
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Caldwell waited for silence. I also accept responsibility for the state of the plant, and I am resigning.
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After that, the resistance quickly collapsed. Several of his closest associates left the hall, and the rest finally began listening to Olivia. That evening, we gathered in the director's office. Eric Palmer was appointed interim manager for the transition period. A team of engineers would
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oversee the technical side of production, while he would handle finances, personnel, and reorganization. I handed him a list of employees with recommendations. During the general meeting, I had mentally pictured each person in different positions. Red figures appeared above some of them,
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showing that their contribution to the plant's development would grow. Black numbers appeared above others, warning of future losses and conflicts. That was how I determined who should stay, who should be transferred, and who was best let go immediately. Eric flipped through
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the list. How do you know so much about people you've only just met? My father worked at this plant for many years. I gathered information in advance. It was a weak explanation, but I had no other one. Follow Ryan's recommendations,
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Olivia said. If everything is done correctly, the plant can double its capacity utilization within a year. I looked at her. And if the forecast doesn't come true, then you lose your annual bonus. And if it does?
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You'll receive a separate bonus. Eric nodded. Agreed. At that moment, one of the directors present spoke up. Miss Quinn, in my opinion, you're making decisions that are far too important based solely on Ryan's word. The man who objected was
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named Damian Roe. He had traveled with us and kept custody of the deal documents. He was probably the one who had led the investigation into Caldwell.
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My ability showed that his net worth was only $15,000. That was strangely little for someone at his level. It appeared the Quinn family had paid for his education and career, preparing him to become Olivia's personal assistant. She was not
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especially fond of him, but she listened to his opinion. What exactly do you believe is a mistake? Olivia asked. Mass transfers will disrupt production. Ryan is an excellent appraiser.
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But why should we trust him to reorganize a chemical plant? I invited him as a consultant. His abilities are not limited to antiques. Damian remained impassive. Decisions should be based on facts. It would be safer to leave the
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employees in their current positions and evaluate their performance over the course of a year. The proposal was reasonable. A mistake could cost the plant millions. However, Empire Group had given Olivia only 1 year to turn the company around. If she failed to deliver
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results, the project would be handed to another executive. An evaluation would take too long, she said. Ryan has never let the company down. This time, the cost of a mistake is almost 200 million dollars. I intervened. If the
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plan fails, I'll leave. Damian smirked. Your salary is insignificant compared with the value of the plant. Olivia made her decision.
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We proceed with Ryan's plan. If his forecast is correct, he will receive a share of the profits. If it isn't, I will cover the losses from my own trust, and the project will pass to Damian.
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For the first time, his composure vanished. He looked at me with undisguised jealousy. That evening, Olivia and I stopped at a restaurant near the hotel. She put several pieces of braised lamb on my plate. Eat. Your stomach was bothering you again after
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that street food. Actually, Jake took the leftovers home, and I spent several days finishing them. Why?
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I didn't want him eating after you. Olivia stared at me for a long time. You could have thrown them away. I fell silent. She was right. I could have.
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After a brief pause, I asked, "My parents want to meet you. Will you have dinner with us?" It was all Emma's fault.
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After the night market, she went to Madison's place. Madison lived alone in a huge apartment and was glad to have company. As soon as they stepped inside, Madison opened her walk-in closet.
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"Choose anything you like. Most of the clothes were new and still had their tags." Emma was flustered. "They're too expensive. Everyone will think I'm showing off or wearing counterfeits." Madison chose a simple summer dress and a pair of shoes. "Then we'll start with
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things that don't have conspicuous logos." After trying on several outfits, Emma hardly recognized herself in the mirror. That night, Mom texted her, "So, which one of them is Ryan's girlfriend?" Emma answered honestly, "Neither one yet, but I think they're both interested
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in him." The next day, Dad saw Olivia and me at the plant and told Mom. After that, my parents insisted that I invite her to a family dinner. Olivia thought for a moment. "We'll have to focus on hiring over the next few days. Let's
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meet them after that." "Deal. And leave the recruitment of new employees to me." Hiring was what worried her most. After the dismissals, the plant needed workers, technicians, and several managers. "If you pull it off, I'll even promote your father." Olivia said,
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"There's no need. Let him stay in his current position. He has worked hard enough already." She immediately understood why. I did not want to burden Dad or give anyone grounds to accuse us of nepotism. Late that evening, I drove
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Olivia back to her hotel and returned home. Dad opened the door before I could even take out my key. "Why are you so late?" "My boss invited me to dinner." "You don't have to brag. Mom was waiting in
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the living room. So, which one of them is my future daughter-in-law? Neither. We're just friends. Emma said they're both fighting over you. I'm warning you.
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I won't let you date two women at once. It might be nice to start dating at least one of them first. Mom had already grabbed a slipper, but Dad stepped between us. Our son simply inherited my charm. Go to sleep, Michael. A minute
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later, he was already snoring on the couch. The next morning, I went to the plant and posted a notice recruiting trainees for production and warehouse positions. Experience and a college degree are not required. The company provides training. Selection will be
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based on practical tests. Licenses and relevant education were still mandatory for engineering and hazardous production roles. As soon as he heard about the notice, Damian Rowe went straight to Olivia. Did you really authorize Ryan to hire people without degrees? We're
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talking about positions where aptitude and discipline matter more. Even restaurants require at least a high school diploma. This is a chemical plant. Olivia looked at him calmly. My grandfather founded Empire Group without a prestigious education. My father didn't attend an elite university
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either, yet you work for him. A diploma certifies education, not talent. Damian fell silent.
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Ryan will test the candidates in practice, she continued. We'll train the best of them. That is how companies find people everyone else overlooks. Damian left dissatisfied. Olivia's trust in me was clearly getting under his skin. He decided to inspect the recruitment
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process personally. Salaries at Millbrook Chemical were above the county average, so the human resources department was packed. I invited candidates in groups of 20, asked a few questions, and studied the indicators above their heads. Sometimes my ability showed that a person would achieve
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better results in another position. You applied for the warehouse, but quality control would suit you better.
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I told one candidate, "The pay is higher there. Are you willing to undergo training?" "Of course." "Then welcome aboard." Damian watched me from the hallway. He was particularly irritated that I transferred experienced warehouse workers to quality control and
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sent some inspectors into production. He went to Olivia again. "Ryan barely looks at the resumes and changes people's positions arbitrarily. But he isn't accepting unqualified candidates." She replied. "That doesn't justify his methods." Olivia handed him several personnel files, then explained
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something else. "Ryan believes these specialists must not be allowed to work at the plant. Every one of them came from headquarters with you." Damian quickly looked through the documents.
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His expression darkened when he saw Naomi Whitley's name. He and Naomi had grown up in the same Empire Group corporate program and regarded each other as brother and sister. "They are the company's best specialists. Ryan is simply trying to get rid of my people."
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"He warned me there was a risk of an accident. Now he can predict the future, too?" Olivia herself did not understand how I had reached that conclusion, but I had seen black indicators above those employees' heads, plunging sharply downward. They were
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qualified and loyal to the company, so an industrial injury remained the most likely cause. "A chemical plant is no place to experiment with safety." Olivia said, "I won't risk people's lives." "Then keep at least one of them. We'll
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see whether Ryan really can see the future. After a moment's thought, she agreed. All right, you choose.
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Naomi stays. Over 3 days, we completed the hiring and placement of employees. The practical tests and training were handed over to the relevant specialists. On Friday, I picked up my parents after work and drove them to the restaurant at the best
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hotel in Millbrook, where Olivia was staying. She met us personally at the door. It's good to see you again. We met at the plant, Dad said, but I didn't want to interrupt your work. At the plant, I'm your boss. Here, I'm simply Olivia.
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Dad beamed. Over dinner, Olivia thanked me for helping with the reorganization. My parents exchanged a glance and finally decided that they were looking at their future daughter-in-law. Mom could not hold back any longer. Olivia, do you have a boyfriend? I have too much
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work right now. There's no time left for a personal life. At that moment, her work phone rang. Olivia excused herself and stepped outside. Damien was calling.
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There's been an accident at the plant, he said quickly. One of the employees is being taken to the hospital. Who was hurt?
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After a short pause, he gave her the name. Olivia's expression changed. I'll be there immediately. When she returned, she explained what had happened. I stood at once.
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You had wine. I'll drive. We left my parents at the restaurant and hurried to the plant. In the car, Olivia called Eric Palmer. What happened?
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After her shift, the new engineer decided to inspect the equipment. She found dangerous pressure in one of the hydrogen reactors. The emergency shutdown failed. The engineer ordered everyone out of the workshop and tried to release the pressure manually. A
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spark ignited followed by an explosion. The unit was destroyed and the neighboring lines were damaged. The engineer had been taken to the hospital in serious condition. "This is my fault." Eric said. "You only just appointed me manager and I've already
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allowed an accident to happen." "No, the responsibility is mine." Olivia ended the call. She looked devastated. "Who was hurt?" asked Naomi Whitley. I understood immediately. "The same specialist I asked you to keep away from the plant?" Olivia nodded. Tears
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appeared in her eyes. "Damien insisted that we keep one person. I agreed. I'm sorry." I opened the window and lit a cigarette. I usually never smoked around her. Of course, Olivia was not obligated to trust me blindly, but only a few days
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earlier she had risked her own money on my plan and then she had still backed down under Damien's pressure. "I hope Naomi survives." I said. "Everything else can be rebuilt. This will never happen again. It's no longer my
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responsibility. After I take you to the plant, I'm going back to New York. Work has piled up at the pawn shop." Olivia realized that I was hurt, but she did not argue. At the plant, she assigned me a driver. I got into the car and left
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without saying goodbye. The next morning, I was already back at the Empire pawn shop. The appraisers welcomed me especially warmly. Since our last meeting, they had begun calling me master and asking me to examine disputed items. A young assistant was waiting in
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my new office. "Good morning, Mr. Hayes. I'm Sarah Moore. I'll manage your schedule and documents." She placed a cup of coffee in front of me. "Thank you. Bring me the reports on the items that couldn't be appraised without me.
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Left alone, I looked through the glass wall at the sales department employees. In just a few months, I had gone from an unemployed graduate to a department head. Perhaps I should have been satisfied with that and stopped involving myself in Olivia's problems.
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Just then, Emma called. You're back already? Yes. Why didn't you text? I thought you'd stayed with your girlfriend. Her joke stung more than it should have. Stop calling her my girlfriend. I was only joking. Actually, I wanted to say that Madison suits you
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better. You'd have a more peaceful life with her. Emma, stop interfering in my personal life.
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She took offense and hung up. I immediately regretted my harshness. My sister had only been trying to help.
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Meanwhile, after inspecting the damaged workshop, Olivia went to the hospital. I later learned that Naomi's operation was still underway. Damian was sitting outside the operating room. His clothes were rumpled and his hair disheveled.
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"What are the doctors saying?" Olivia asked. He lowered his head. "Her condition is critical. This is all my fault." Olivia could barely contain her anger. "You don't even understand what we've lost." "I do," Damian replied.
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"The direct damage exceeds 1 and 1/2 million dollars. Because production has stopped, the company may lose another 15 million. I'm prepared to take responsibility for that." "This isn't about money. We lost Ryan's trust. I would have paid far more for that." "I
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still don't believe he foresaw the accident. It was a coincidence." Olivia showed him the expert report on the ATM Marceau medallion found inside the old vase. At her father's request, several independent specialists had examined it.
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Both the age of the ceramic and the authenticity of the medallion had been confirmed. Ryan has repeatedly found things the best experts overlooked. She said, "You studied his file, but you've never worked with him. Isn't what happened enough?"
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Damien fell silent. Then Olivia handed him the internal investigation materials. The reactor's pressure sensor had been disabled, the manual valve damaged, the alarm system disconnected from power, and the security footage erased. The accident had been an act of sabotage.
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"The former chief engineer did this," Damien said. "Possibly, but there's no proof. We suspended him and failed to block his access to the system. Ryan advised us to keep him in his position until the investigation was complete.
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What do we do now?" "Go back to Ryan's personnel plan. The only question is how to regain his trust. Punish me and pay him a bonus." Olivia gave Damien a sharp look.
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"You still don't understand. You owe your career to the Quinn family. Ryan owes us nothing. He can make millions from auctions, gemstones, or investments. We need him far more than he needs us." Damien finally grasped the scale of his
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mistake. At that moment, the doors of the operating room opened. "Naomi survived," the surgeon announced, "but she suffered severe burns to her face. She will need lengthy treatment and several reconstructive operations." Olivia exhaled in relief.
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"Empire will pay for the best specialists. Once Naomi recovers, she will work directly with me." The meaning was obvious to Damien. Naomi would remain on the team, but Olivia no longer wanted him by her side. "Meanwhile, I decided to make peace with Emma. We'll
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buy you some fall clothes tonight. I texted. No need. Madison already gave me an entire wardrobe. Then how about dinner together? Madison promised to take me out for lobster. I texted Madison. I hear lobster is on the menu
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tonight. Can I come? She replied immediately. You're back already? Then forget the lobster. We're going to the night market. The plan worked. After that, Sarah brought me the reports that had accumulated on disputed items. I usually couldn't see an object's value
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from a photograph, so at first I assumed I wouldn't be able to help. But one old pendant caught my attention. I concentrated and unexpectedly saw the moment when the photograph had been taken. I heard the owner's story and the
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appraisers' discussion. A number appeared above the pendant. $220. I checked the rest of the photographs.
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My ability had changed again. Through a photograph, I could now glimpse a short fragment of the past and determine an item's value. Within a few hours, I appraised everything that had piled up during my absence. Then I reviewed the merchandise prices and
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instructed the sales department to update the online catalog. At the end of the work day, I was about to buy Emma a gift when I received a message from Sophie March, the granddaughter of the famous artist Julian March. We had met
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at the opening of Madison's store, where I sold her grandfather several rare works by Etienne Marcel. Ryan, can we meet? I need your advice. I'm having dinner with my sister today. Let's meet tomorrow. Perfect. See you tomorrow. I
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put away my phone and left the pawn shop. That evening, I picked up Madison and Emma. My sister was still angry, but Madison immediately began telling me about the store. Sales had grown after the change in concept. She had signed
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direct agreements with several workshops and cut purchase costs by almost a third. However, the upscale gift house still lacked unique merchandise. "I can help with two categories." I said.
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"Which ones?" "Art glass and original works of art." An abandoned workshop where laboratory glass had once been produced still stood on the grounds of Millbrook Chemical.
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During recruitment, an elderly craftsman named Harold Gray had applied there. He had once been a renowned glass blower, but had closed his workshop because of his age. Now he wanted to restore the facility and train young craftspeople. His salary barely
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interested him. He wanted a percentage of sales. "So I'll be able to commission exclusive pieces from him?" Madison asked eagerly. "Yes. Everything from affordable collections to handmade collector's pieces." "And what about paintings?" "I'm meeting Sophie March tomorrow. Her
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grandfather, Julian March, knows almost every prominent artist in the region. If he supports the project, some of them will agree to create small collections of paintings, sketches, and prints for your store. Many artists rarely sold their work directly. Galleries took
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large commissions, while none of the artists wanted to handle sales themselves. Madison's store could provide them with a ready-made venue and a steady clientele." "You've already arranged a meeting with Sophie?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.
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"Or did you simply find an excuse to see a beautiful girl?" "Why not? I'm young, successful, and single." "There's already a beautiful girl sitting beside you." I looked around.
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"Where?" Madison punched me in the shoulder. Emma finally laughed. That was exactly what I had been trying to achieve. At the entrance to the night market, I took out a small box. This is for you. Emma played hard to get for a little while
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longer, but accepted the gift. Inside was a pendant made of lavender-colored stone. Under different light, it shifted from a delicate violet to a cool pink.
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"It's beautiful," she said. "Thank you." Madison examined the pendant carefully. "Olivia really is generous. Is this part of that rare stone from the auction?" I had found the jewelry in a drawer of my new office. Olivia had probably
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commissioned it from a jeweler in advance and left it for me with the rest of the gifts. "Is it expensive?" Emma asked warily. "Custom work. A rare stone. I'd say at least $250,000," Madison replied. Emma nearly dropped the
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box. "Ryan, I can't take this. Give it back to Olivia." "It's my gift to you.
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Keep it safe and don't wear it just anywhere." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely." My sister hugged the box to her chest.
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Her resentment vanished completely. Madison looked at me with a hint of jealousy. "So, your sister gets a precious stone and I get nothing?" "I just found you a master glass blower and an entire network of artists." "Fine. I forgive you this time." The
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three of us headed toward the rows of food stalls. While I was buying food, Emma asked Madison, "Do you think Olivia gave Ryan such an expensive pendant because she likes him?" Madison frowned.
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"Olivia knows how to reward valuable employees generously, but $250,000 is too much even for a bonus." Emma decided to test her reaction.
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"So, Olivia isn't interested in Ryan?" "I don't know. Olivia never used to spend time alone with men, but she's come here with your brother several times, and when I joked that I would take Ryan for myself, she refused
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immediately. Emma was completely confused. After dinner, we decided to walk around the night market. Before long, we noticed a crowd around three Asian street performers, an elderly man and his two grown grandchildren. The young man performed tricks with a heavy
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saber, while the girl tossed a bundle of bamboo sticks into the air. With several strokes, he cut them into pieces. The spectators applauded. I noticed an important detail. Every stick had been cut exactly in the middle. The difference between the two halves was no
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more than a few millimeters. The elderly man walked around the circle with a ceramic bowl, but collected only a few dollars. "May I take the sticks?" I asked the girl. "Of course." I asked her brother to hold the saber horizontally,
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then arranged the severed halves along the blade. The perfectly even cut line immediately became visible to the entire crowd. For several seconds, there was silence. Then the spectators applauded again, much louder this time. Every strike landed exactly in the center,
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someone exclaimed. "Now, that's true skill." The elderly performer made another round of the audience. This time, people gave him 20 and 50-dollar bills. The young man finally understood what I had done. "Thank you. Without you, no one would have noticed." "I only
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helped people see your work." When I returned to the girls, Madison immediately linked her arm through mine.
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"How did you see that?" "An appraiser's professional habit." The girl performed next. Her saber dance did not look as spectacular, so the audience quickly lost interest. But, I noticed that her movements were far more complex than her brother's technique. When I
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concentrated, a scene from the past appeared before my eyes. The girl, still very young, was training under the old man's supervision. "This technique is called the willow form," he said. "Our ancestor created it after watching branches bend in a storm without
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breaking." In a matter of moments, I witnessed years of her training. When I returned to the present, I understood the meaning of every movement and could spot even the smallest mistakes. My ability had evolved again. Now it showed
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me not only the value of objects, but also the origins of skills. I looked at the donation bowl. A number appeared above it. $12,000.
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When I concentrated, I saw its history. The bowl had been made in a small American workshop at the beginning of the previous century. Despite the wear, it remained a rare collector's piece.
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"Wait here for me," I told Madison and Emma. When I returned, the girl was just finishing her performance. The audience had given her almost nothing. She noticed me and froze as though expecting something. I stepped into the center of the circle again.
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"And now, allow me to show you one more trick." The crowd laughed and settled in to watch. I was holding a bag of flour mixed with green dye. "Don't move," I told the girl. She froze in the center
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of the circle. I began scattering the mixture around her feet. Gradually, slender willow branches bent by gusts of wind emerged on the dark ground. The girl stood at the center of the image as if she were part of it. This was the
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very image at the heart of the willow form technique she had just performed. The spectators pulled out their phones.
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Flashes began going off one after another. Money rained down onto the drawing. The grandfather and his grandchildren finally smiled. Suddenly, one passerby ostentatiously called the police. People are waving real weapons around at Riverside night market. The mood soured at once. A permit was
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required to perform with real blades, and the family did not have one. "Pack up quickly," I warned them. "Otherwise, the weapons will be confiscated." Madison and Emma helped gather the props. The grandfather took the money, and I carried the old
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ceramic bowl. We managed to leave before the police arrived. The girl sat beside me. A few minutes later, her stomach growled loudly, and she turned toward the window in embarrassment. First, I drove Madison and Emma home. Then, I
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stopped at an all-night cafe. "We'll eat, and then decide what to do next." I ordered soup, fried chicken, and several side dishes. The men ate as if they had not tasted food all day. The girl was hungry too
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but tried to maintain her manners. The old man's name was Kenji Yamamoto. His grandson was Ren, and his granddaughter was Aiko. They came from a Japanese family that had preserved an ancient sword art for several generations. Kenji Yamamoto had taught the technique to
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both grandchildren, but Aiko was the one with true talent. She had enrolled at the same university as Emma. However, the family could not afford her tuition and housing.
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So, her grandfather and older brother had come to New York with her and started earning money through street performances. "This can't continue for long," I said. "Without a permit, you'll constantly be chased away. If they confiscate the blades, you'll lose all
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your props." Ren sighed heavily. "In the city, you have to pay for everything. Back home, we did almost everything ourselves. Aiko can apply for a scholarship and financial aid. You can find steady work, and once you're settled, it would be best for Mr.
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Yamamoto to return home. I offered to cover their first few months, but the family immediately became wary. Kenji took out the money they had earned, paid for dinner, and told Ren to give me half of what remained. We don't want to be in
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anyone's debt. I understand. I did not argue. You can spend the night at my place. If you don't trust me, I'll find you an inexpensive hotel.
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After a brief discussion, they agreed. When we entered the apartment, Jake was lying on the couch wearing only shorts.
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You're finally back. We have guests. Put some clothes on. He jumped up and dashed into his room. You could have warned me you were bringing Olivia. A minute later, Jake returned fully dressed. When he saw Aiko, he visibly brightened and
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hurried to take her bag. It was packed with heavy metal props. Jake barely kept his balance. Ryan, you could have warned me it weighed as much as a safe. Aiko laughed for the first time that evening. Rubbing his
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lower back, he eyed the heavy bag suspiciously. Are you part of some film crew? Those props look far too serious.
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We're not actors. Aiko replied awkwardly. These are real weapons used for performances. Jake decided she was still in character. You play the part really well. With looks like yours, you should be in movies. Aiko gave me a confused look, clearly unable to tell
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whether he was serious or joking. I showed Kenji and Ren to the guest room, while Aiko got the bedroom I usually kept for Emma. I showed them where the towels were and invited everyone to take a shower. Ren waited until his sister
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had closed her door before going to his own room. His caution did not surprise me. In his place, I would have watched over Emma the same way. After the guests had left, Jake asked, "Did they really come from some isolated community?" I
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told him about the performance at the market and how Aiko did not have enough money for university. "And I used to think my childhood was hard." He muttered. A little while later, Aiko came out of her room. Jake and I both
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fell silent. The dark tone I had mistaken for a tan had disappeared from her face and hands. After the shower, her skin was fair and Aiko looked like a completely different person. Jake opened his mouth but said nothing. "May I wash
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my clothes?" she asked. I took her to the laundry room and showed her how to use the machine. Noticing my gaze, Aiko explained, "The dark color wasn't real.
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Grandfather makes a protective paste from herbs and minerals. It conceals our appearance and protects the skin from the sun." "Is that why I didn't notice anything?" Aiko brought over a small bamboo container and opened the lid.
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Inside was a thick, dark mixture with a faint herbal scent. I concentrated. A figure appeared above the container.
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$25,000. That was what the formula could be worth after laboratory testing and a proper market launch. "Do you make it yourselves?" "The recipe has been passed down in our family for several generations." I remembered Kenji's large bag. "And what's in the other
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containers?" Aiko brought over a small bottle of herbal capsules. "They're taken for joint and muscle pain. The mountains are cold and damp, so grandfather always prepares a supply." A new number appeared above the bottle. $350.
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My ability showed me more than just the value. Images flashed before my eyes. The plants, the preparation process, and people whose chronic pain the capsules had genuinely helped. "Were you planning to sell them?
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For $15 a bottle, but no one believed us. People thought it was a scam. "They were right not to buy them." I said.
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"You can't sell something like this as medicine without a composition analysis, a license, and proper labeling. You could have gotten into serious trouble." Iko lowered her eyes in disappointment.
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So, no one needs them? "I didn't say that. The ingredients need to be tested first. If the product is safe, the recipe can be registered and manufactured legally." I raised the bottle.
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The rights to a formula like this could bring in far more than $15. How much? I held up three fingers.
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30? 300 for each bottle in this batch, and the formula itself could be worth much more. Iko quickly shook her head.
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You've already done too much for us. "This isn't charity. I'm a professional appraiser. If I say something is valuable, I have good reason." She looked at me closely.
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But you just said these capsules can't be sold. I fell silent. Iko seemed naive, but she had caught the contradiction instantly. "All right." I admitted. "They really can't be bought right now. Tomorrow, we'll take samples in for analysis. If everything is
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confirmed, I'll help you legalize the product." "I need to ask grandfather." G listened to her, but refused the offer of more money. He believed it would be dishonest to accept more than the original price for me after everything I
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had already done for them. "Grandfather says city people gain your trust first and then deceive you." Iko relayed awkwardly. "But I'm sure you're not like that." "Reasonable caution never hurt anyone. Tomorrow, we'll go to Empire and sort everything
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out." Iko thanked me and returned to cleaning. Despite the late hour, she wiped down the kitchen and tidied the living room. Jake watched from the side at first, then silently picked up a mop.
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Earlier, he had flirted with her shamelessly. Now, whenever Aiko smiled, he blushed and looked away. When she finally went to bed, I yawned. Stop sitting around. It's late. Jake kept staring at the closed door.
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I won't be able to sleep. Why? I've never met a girl so beautiful and kind. I only shook my head. It seemed that in a single evening, Aiko had made a stronger impression on him than any woman before her. The
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apartment gleamed the next morning. Aiko had managed to clean everything. And for the first time in ages, Jake got up before I did and brought breakfast. At the table, I addressed Kenji. The university payment problem can be solved. The bowl you used to collect
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money is an antique. He looked skeptically at the old dish. How much is it worth? Enough to cover Aiko's initial payment and expenses.
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After breakfast, I drove the family to Empire. Since the Yamamotos already considered me an acquaintance, I assigned the appraisal to Mr. Wilson.
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He examined the bowl carefully. Japanese pottery from the early 20th century. It's well preserved and has a rare glaze. The retail value is around $12,000.
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We can offer nine and a half. Kenji could not believe the family bowl was worth that much. He only relaxed a little after signing the contract and receiving the check. We deposited part of the amount into Aiko's account. Kenji
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kept the rest for travel and current expenses. I also bought the girl an inexpensive phone and saved my number in it. By noon, I arrived at the cafe where I had arranged to meet Sophie March. She was already waiting for me. I told her about
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Aiko and asked for help navigating the university's financial aid system. Given her circumstances, she'll almost certainly be approved for assistance.
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Sophie said, "I'll find out who she needs to contact." Then we discussed Madison's store. I suggested asking artists her grandfather knew to produce limited edition collections. Sophie promised to speak with Julian March.
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After that, she turned to her own request. "Grandfather's students have assembled several works attributed to Etienne Marceau. Some of them are almost certainly fakes. Grandfather wants you to examine everything. Bring them to Empire. I'll conduct an appraisal and
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offer a fair price." Sophie took out her phone and showed me a video from the night market. "That's you, isn't it?" In the recording, I scattered flour around Aiko, creating willow branches. I wanted to help them attract an audience.
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"Someone else would have simply given them money. You showed people their true skill." She asked whether I had studied drawing. I had to explain that the image had merely reproduced the traces of Aiko's movements. After the meeting, I
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returned to Empire Towers and noticed Aiko at the entrance. "Where are Kenji and Ren?" "They went home. The city is too expensive and they can't perform with weapons. Grandfather decided to gather herbs and send samples for testing. There was still some time
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before the dormitory opened and Aiko had nowhere to go. I fed her and took her to Madison's store where Emma worked. Over the phone, Madison agreed to let Aiko stay with her temporarily. When I returned home, I saw
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the market video on social media. Olivia had commented beneath it, "As always, your eye didn't let you down." I replied, Talent is worth nothing without someone who notices it. Thank you for your support, Ms. Quinn. To outsiders, it
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looked like ordinary courtesy. But Olivia immediately sensed the distance in the words, Ms. Quinn. I slept until 4:00 and woke to a call from an unfamiliar number. Ryan? This is Daniel Whitmore.
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I woke up completely. A call from him was the last thing I had expected. How can I help you?
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I wanted to apologize for our previous misunderstanding. Let's have dinner. I can show you a few things at the same time.
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His overly polite tone immediately betrayed his intentions. Get to the point. I need a professional appraisal of several items. We agreed to meet at an expensive seafood restaurant near Empire Towers. When Jake heard about the dinner, he asked to come with me.
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Daniel's paying. I warned him. All the more reason for me to go. Daniel had reserved a private room. When he saw Jake, he was taken aback for a moment, but quickly smiled. I'm glad you didn't come alone. A locked leather case stood
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beside him. Order anything you want. He offered generously. Jake and I exchanged a glance. I chose king crab, lobster, and sea bass. Jake added oysters and a rare fish he had spotted on the special menu. With each order,
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Daniel's smile grew more strained. Don't hold back. He continued. I wasn't planning to. Jake replied. When the waiter offered drinks, I ordered an expensive aged whiskey. Daniel nodded silently, though he was clearly already calculating the final bill. Throughout
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dinner, he worked hard to appear friendly and called us brothers several times. We let him play the part. When the main courses were served, Daniel placed the case on the table.
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Now, down to business. Tell me, are these genuine? Inside was a set of delicate porcelain cups and plates. I put on white gloves and took out a magnifying glass. My ability did not require them, but Daniel needed to see a
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professional appraiser at work. After examining the pieces, I shook my head in admiration. Where did you find these? Things like this rarely appear on the open market. Daniel's face brightened. So, they're genuine?
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Yes, their condition is excellent. The collection is certainly worth serious money. Are you sure? Absolutely.
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Daniel relaxed and raised his glass. To a new partnership. After that, he stopped being stingy with the whiskey.
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After dinner, Daniel left happily in a taxi. Jake watched the car drive away. Is the collection really valuable?
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If he overpaid by less than a hundred thousand, he was lucky. But you said the porcelain was genuine.
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It is. Genuine Limoges porcelain from the late 19th century. Just ordinary mass-produced patterns that survive in huge numbers. Daniel had heard the name of a famous French porcelain center and decided on his own that he had found a
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treasure. He never asked about the value. Jake laughed. You've become a dangerous man. I didn't lie once. On the way home, he confessed that he wanted to open an antique shop.
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One of his colleagues was prepared to invest and give Jake 30% of the company if I became their expert. I don't have any startup capital, Jake said, but I don't want to work for a salary my whole life, either. Then open the shop. I'll
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help with the money and merchandise appraisals. But we must own the controlling stake. Jake was silent for several seconds, then hugged me.
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Brother, I won't forget this. Pushed him away. Keep your distance. I still need to find a girlfriend. The next day, Sarah placed the accumulated reports on my desk. The employees want to organize a welcome dinner. Many of them hardly know their new manager.
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All right, Friday. I'm paying. Cheers immediately erupted behind the glass wall. Meanwhile, the laboratory completed its initial testing of the Yamamoto's herbal capsules. No dangerous impurities were found, so I sent several packages to my parents. A few days
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later, Mom called. Ryan, what is this supplement? What happened? Nothing bad. I've been sleeping better, and my back pain has noticeably diminished. Your father says his knee has stopped aching.
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I considered that. My ability valued one bottle at $350. It seemed that the Yamamoto family formula truly could become a successful product. The Yamamoto's herbal capsules could become a highly sought-after product. Plenty of remedies for back and joint pain were sold, but most offered
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only temporary relief. I tried the capsules, too. There was no miraculous cure, but my sleep improved, and I recovered more quickly after training. When I focused on one capsule, I saw its manufacturing process and ingredients.
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The formula itself was not unique. The difference lay in the raw materials. The Yamamotos gathered wild plants far from industrial areas. The number above the bottle now read $500, and the red indicator promised further growth. I began repeating the exercises
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I had seen during Aiko's performance. Within a week, my coordination and endurance had improved noticeably. I had no intention of preparing for street fights, but the ability to protect myself and those close to me could not hurt. One
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morning, Sarah entered my office. There's a commotion in the appraisal department. A visitor insists on seeing you personally. I immediately knew who it was. Daniel was arguing with Mr.
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Wilson near the counter. Ryan said it was an excellent collection, and you're offering pennies for it. Wilson remained calm.
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The porcelain is authentic, but these are mass-produced Limoges patterns from the late 19th century. The purchase price for the entire collection is around $35,000.
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With a successful sale, it could bring in 50. When he saw me, Daniel demanded an explanation. You called these good pieces yourself. They're genuine and well-preserved. Did anyone say otherwise? No. Then what's the problem?
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They're worth almost nothing. You never asked me the price. Daniel realized he had no grounds to accuse me. Then he pulled me aside and lowered his voice.
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Help me sell the collection to Empire. You're the manager. No one will challenge your decision. If the company loses money, I'll be held responsible. He paused, then told me that he had previously purchased a shipment of counterfeits for
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the family business. The supplier had disappeared, and there was very little time left before an internal audit.
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Trying to cover the loss, Daniel claimed he had sold his car, and invested his last $500,000 in the porcelain. If I don't recover at least some of the money, I'll have to sell my apartment. I pretended to hesitate. The
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collection's real value is no more than 50,000. How much can you offer? 120,000. I won't be able to justify anything more to the finance department. Daniel shook my hand firmly. I won't forget this. The appraisal department employees were
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surprised when they heard the price, but I personally approved the purchase. After the contract was signed, $120,000 was transferred to Daniel. He left convinced he had outsmarted me. In fact, the collection had cost him only 50,000.
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He had invented the story about the missing supplier, the debts, and the sale of his car in advance. Now, Daniel intended to give Empire's manage- -ment the documents showing the inflated purchase price and destroy my professional reputation.
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After leaving Empire, Daniel took a taxi to the industrial district. Vincent Crow was waiting for him on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse, a notorious con artist with a long scar on his temple. He specialized in schemes
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that destroyed appraisers' reputations. "Did it work?" Crow asked. "Ryan paid 120,000. Now, all that's left is to give the documents to Empire's management." "And the bait items?" Daniel showed him the empty leather case. "I took the case.
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Ryan got only the porcelain and the packing materials." Crow's expression changed. "What packing materials?" "The black wooden slats between the plates." Crow opened the case, made sure the slats were not inside, and struck Daniel.
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"Idiot! They were worth more than a million." Meanwhile, Empire's appraisers crowded around me. "Ryan, why did you pay 120,000 for a collection worth 50?" Mr. Wilson asked. "Even one mistake like that could destroy your reputation." I arranged the dishes on
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the table and took out the six black slats that had separated the plates inside the case.
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"The porcelain really is worth almost nothing. I bought these." My colleagues exchanged skeptical glances. "Before signing the contract, I had insisted that the inventory include not only the cups and plates, but every piece of packing material as well. Each item had
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been photographed and added to an appendix to the agreement. I carefully scraped away some of the black coating from one slat. Old wood and a barely visible maker stamp appeared underneath.
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These are disassembled 19th century French violin bows. Their metal fittings were removed and they were coated with cheap varnish to make them look like spacers. Mr. Wilson examined the stamp closely. The Tourte workshop? One of them. The others also belong to renowned
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French makers. After restoration, their combined value could exceed $1 million. The room fell silent. The scammers had expected the appraiser to notice the hidden value and overpay for the entire collection. After the deal, they planned to reclaim the case along with the
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packing materials, leaving the buyer with nothing but cheap porcelain and proof of an inflated appraisal. But I had included every slat in the contract. So, the 120,000 wasn't a mistake, Wilson said. It was an extremely profitable purchase. After
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everyone else had left, he called Olivia. Ms. Quinn, Ryan has made the company a considerable amount of money again, but there's a problem. Someone deliberately set a trap to destroy his reputation. Olivia immediately understood how serious it was. This was
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not an ordinary seller of counterfeits acting against me, but a professional who specifically hunted appraisers. Long after Daniel left, the appraisers continued examining the six bows coated in black varnish. To explain their value, I asked Sarah to locate the archives of a Parisian
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auction house. In a photograph from 1908, the famous violinist Adrien Morrell was holding a case containing the same bows. The maker's stamps, their shapes, and even the traces of old restorations all matched. Individually, they were already worth a fortune.
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Confirmed provenance raised the price of the entire collection to at least one and a half million dollars. As soon as I returned to my office, Daniel called.
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Give me back the things I sold you. I'll pay twice as much. The deal is closed.
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Every item belongs to Empire. At least return the black slats between the plates. Those? I think they were thrown out with the packaging.
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Silence hung on the other end of the line. In reality, the bows were already in the safe. I had warned Mr. Wilson and asked the employees not to reveal the discovery to anyone. Then Madison's father called and told me that Daniel
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had confessed to manipulating Carter Jewelry's purchases with the help of his family company, Whitmore Jewelry. That was enough for her father to open an internal investigation. The partnership and friendship between the two companies was now destroyed. That evening, Daniel was
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waiting for me beside the G-Class. His face was battered and his suit torn. You don't understand who you've crossed.
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He hissed. Vincent Crowe won't let this go. You tried to take away my job and reputation. What kind of reaction did you expect? Daniel blocked the car's exit. I showed him my phone. The cameras recorded everything. The police are
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already on their way. When he heard the sirens, he ran for the garage exit. The police now had Daniel's name, a recording of his threats, and his connection to a con artist no one had known about before. A few days later,
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Daniel disappeared. Carter Jewelry turned the materials from its internal investigation over to the police, and a warrant was issued for him.
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I was not worried about myself, but about Emma. So, I asked Empire security team to keep a closer watch on Madison's store, and I told Ico to report suspicious people immediately. She was skilled in self-defense, but relying on
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that alone would have been foolish. In early September, my parents came to New York to help Emma and Ico move into the dormitory. After the move, we went to a restaurant near campus. During dinner, a stranger showed me photographs of my
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parents, Emma, Madison, Ico, and Jake on his phone. I followed him outside so I would not frighten my family. Vincent Crow was waiting for me in the alley with four men. "You have two options," he said. "Return my collection or start
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working for me. If you do, you can keep the bows." "They belong to Empire, and I have no intention of working for you." Crow displayed the photographs of my family. "Then one of them might get hurt." The phone in my pocket was
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already recording the conversation. When his men pulled out telescopic batons, I threw a tray at them, broke through between two attackers, and ran onto the busy street. Training with Ico's movements helped me keep my balance and avoid being struck. I called the police
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and gave them the recording. Crow tried to leave through the neighboring courtyard, but Empire security was already waiting there. After Mr.
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Wilson's call, Olivia had ordered them to follow me discreetly. The guards did not start a fight. They blocked the exits and waited for the patrol officers. Crow and his men were detained with weapons. The recording of their threats gave the police grounds to
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open a full investigation into their previous schemes. I returned to the restaurant as if I had simply been delayed. A few minutes later, Olivia called. "Are you hurt?" "No. Thank you for the help." "Stay with your family.
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The lawyers and police will handle the rest. She hung up before I could ask how she had learned everything so quickly.
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During dinner, Mom asked Aiko about the Yamamoto's herbal supplements and protective cream. My parents had noticed better sleep and reduced joint pain, but they did not want to accept the products for free. "First, we need complete laboratory studies," I said. "If the
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formula is safe, we'll arrange a license and a contract with your family. No gifts or verbal promises." Aiko agreed to speak with Kenji. That approach suited everyone. Later, Emma returned to Madison's place with Aiko. Dad went to bed, and Mom sat me down beside her.
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"What is going on between you and Olivia?" "Nothing. She's my boss." "Bosses don't spend 2 weeks with an employee's parents." At first, I did not understand what she meant. After I left Millbrook, Olivia had visited my parents almost
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every evening. She helped arrange their health insurance after the plant changed owners, organized transportation during repairs to the workshops, and had dinner with them several times. When Dad had to work late, she personally drove Mom home.
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"She asked us not to tell you," Mom said. "She didn't want you to think she was trying to buy your forgiveness." That explained a great deal.
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Her call after the attack, her constant help, and why my parents spoke of her as if she were part of the family. "She was trying to correct her mistake," Mom continued. "But this clearly isn't just about work." I remembered our
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conflict after the accident and her formal message on social media. Perhaps all this time I had seen only half the picture. I had trouble falling asleep that night. My parents stayed in New York for another 2 days before returning
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home. Before leaving, Mom reminded me again that Olivia, Madison, and Iko deserved honesty, not uncertainty. The next 2 weeks passed quietly. I worked at Empire during the day and discussed the future antique shop with Jake in the evenings. On
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Sunday, Madison insisted that I visit her. The boutique was crowded. Emma and Iko were helping customers, and the collections of glass, graphic art, and designer gifts were selling much better than before.
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Madison proudly told me that she had made about $150,000 in profit during the first full month.
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Then she handed me a check for 20,000. "This is your share for the concept and the suppliers. Keep the money in the business. I helped as a friend." Nathan Ward, Empire's board of directors had sent to assist Olivia, stood nearby and
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smirked. "Sensible. Advice to a friend isn't exactly consulting." Madison gave him a cold look. It was clear that Ward attributed the store's success to family connections, not to her work. I walked over to the wall displaying original graphic art. Most of the works were
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unsigned. Customers were invited to judge the style, and the artist's name was revealed after the purchase. An elderly man stood by the wall commenting on every work. He was Henry Bennett, a former museum curator and chairman of the New York Calligraphy Society. Beside
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him was his nephew, Ethan, a young artist with an excessively high opinion of himself. I paused in front of two anonymous sheets. My ability showed me the moment of their creation. "I didn't expect such a forceful line from her,"
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I murmured. Bennett became interested. "You know the artist?" Ethan laughed. "Even we couldn't identify them. He's just trying to impress people." I was about to leave, but Ethan continued mocking me. So I proposed a wager.
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If I named the artist behind the two works, he would buy the entire wall. If I was wrong, I would pay for it. Ethan agreed. At that moment, the door opened and Olivia entered the store. Olivia heard the terms of the wager and said
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calmly, "If Ryan loses, I'll pay for everything." Then she walked over to me. "First, I need to say something else. At Millbrook Chemical, I went against your plan and put people at risk. It was my mistake. I'm sorry." She apologized in
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front of everyone without trying to shift the blame. I was about to reply when Damien Rowe stepped forward. "The decision to keep Naomi was mine. I've resigned, and I ask your forgiveness." His intervention once again turned a personal conversation into a corporate
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report. "You don't owe me anything," I said coolly. "This is Empire's business." Damien flared up.
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"Olivia did everything she could to correct the mistake. Isn't that enough?" "Damien, stop." Olivia cut him off.
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"You're only making things worse." Ethan interrupted the tension. "Are we going to continue the wager?" I pointed to the two anonymous sheets.
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Their artist had clearly studied Julian March's technique, but had deliberately made the lines heavier and sharper. Beneath the show of force lay a habit of softer, more precise movement. "These works were created by a young woman," I said. "A
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student or relative of Julian March. She is trying to escape his influence, but so far she has only changed the outward style." Ethan objected at once.
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"You can't determine an artist's age and sex from a line." "Usually you can't. But here you can see years of March's training and an attempt to conceal the artist's own style." Ethan demanded a name. I looked toward the back of the store.
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Sophie March. Sophie was standing among the customers with a portfolio in her hands. She had come to deliver new pieces and arrived in time to hear the entire conversation. "Ryan is right." she admitted. "These are my works." The store fell silent. Ethan was not
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about to surrender. "She's your acquaintance. You could have arranged this in advance." Sophie went pale at the insult and for the first time, Henry Bennett looked at his nephew with genuine disappointment. "If my word isn't enough, I'll reproduce the work."
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Sophie said. Madison brought paper, ink, and a broad nib. Sophie gathered her thoughts for several seconds, then reproduced the same rhythm of lines and characteristic shifts in pressure.
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There was no room left for doubt. Henry Bennett confirmed her authorship and turned to his nephew. "You didn't lose because you lack talent. You lost because you stopped listening to others.
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I will no longer use my name to protect you." Ethan was supposed to buy every work on the wall, but I stopped the sale.
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"Let him answer for his own behavior. You owe me nothing." Bennett still wanted to keep his promise. I proposed a compromise. Instead of paying, he would leave several of his own works with the boutique and help Madison establish
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relationships with young artists. He liked that solution better. The public demonstration attracted customers. People began buying the works they had only been studying moments earlier. Both of Sophie's sheets sold as well. When the excitement subsided, Bennett asked me to evaluate his new
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composition. "The technique is flawless." I said. "But you're trying too hard to live up to your title and reputation. The work looks correct rather than alive." Then I turned to Sophie.
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You have the opposite problem. You're trying to write more forcefully than you feel because you're afraid of remaining in your grandfather's shadow. Don't imitate his strength. Use your own precision. They both fell silent for a long time. Sophie was the first to take
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a fresh sheet. This time, she stopped pressing down on the nib and allowed the line to move naturally. The result was calmer but more expressive than her earlier work. Bennett also tried to abandon his calculated museum style. His
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next inscription was simpler and freer. It seems you've just accomplished what years of practice could not, he admitted. I felt awkward. I had only put into words what my ability had shown me.
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After the demonstration, Henry Bennett refused payment for his works. Instead, he arranged a series of monthly exhibitions with Madison and promised to invite members of the calligraphy society. For the boutique, that was far more valuable than a one-time sale.
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Nathan Ward no longer claimed that Madison's family name was responsible for her success. In a single day, the store gained new customers, several artists, and free publicity in the professional community. Sophie thanked me separately. For years, I tried to
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write the way people expected me to. Now, for the first time, I understand what my own style could become. Don't exaggerate. I only pointed you in a direction. Sometimes that is exactly what a person needs. Olivia had kept her
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distance the entire time. When we were alone for a few minutes, she asked, "Are you still angry?" Less than before.
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That's some progress, at least. She did not demand immediate forgiveness, and that was precisely why the tension between us finally began to ease.
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Madison came over with the sales figures. Nearly the entire exhibition wall was bare, and several clients had placed orders for future works.
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"Will you finally take a percentage now?" she asked. "No." "Then I'll decide how to thank you myself." Her smile told me that arguing was pointless.
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Meanwhile, Henry Bennett was studying me with increasing interest. "You understand other people's work remarkably well, Ryan, but can you create something yourself?" I immediately regretted giving such confident advice. The last time I had seriously practiced calligraphy was in
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school. Neither Bennett, nor Sophie, nor the customers gathered around us would let me refuse.
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"Just one line." Sophie asked. My ability allowed me to understand artist styles and mistakes, but that did not mean my hand could reproduce what I saw. So, I asked Madison to bring over a work by Etienne Marceau. In his collages, old letters,
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newspaper clippings, and handwritten fragments merged into a single illusion. One sheet contained several historical styles of handwriting at once. I focused on it.
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Marceau's hands appeared before my eyes. The movement of his pen, its angle, and the sequence of strokes. I did not merely see the finished work. It was as though I lived through several minutes of its creation.
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When the vision faded, Sophie had already laid out the paper, and Bennett had prepared the nibs and ink. I began with a simple phrase, "Act boldly." The first version was executed in formal Roman lettering. The second was flowing Spencerian. Then came
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blackletter italic uncial copperplate, and two more original variations. Eight sheets, eight entirely different styles. No one in the store spoke.
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Sophie was the first to step closer and compare the lines with fragments of Marceau's work. You aren't copying him, she said quietly. You understood the principle and immediately adapted it to your own style.
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Henry Bennett stared at me as if he had forgotten every question he had prepared. A red number slowly appeared above the final sheet. My ability had changed again. I divided the sheet into eight sections. A scorched letter, a
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cracked poster, a faded photograph, a scrap of a map, a theater ticket, and other traces of strangers' lives appeared on it. Each fragment was rendered in its own style of lettering.
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But together, they formed a single story. When I set down the pen, the store was silent. I had already decided the work was a failure. In some fragments, the letters seemed too rigid.
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In others, almost careless. But that very contrast was what connected them. One object looked as though it had been found in an attic. Another as though it had survived a fire. And a third as though it had been torn from an old
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family album. This is no longer an exercise, Henry Bennett was the first to say. It's a finished work. Sophie looked at the drawing with tears in her eyes.
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Her grandfather had spent his entire life striving for exactly this blend of calligraphy, painting, and old printed graphics.
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Teach me, she asked. Not like a student in a course. For real. I've only just begun to understand it myself. Then we'll figure it out together. I should warn you right away.
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I don't have a proper curriculum. I don't need a curriculum. I want to see how you think. Henry smirked. Sophie, I'm afraid that is the one thing he won't be able to teach you. Madison claimed the first work. Henry, Sophie,
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and even Olivia demanded copies, and I had to promise to create more. Why does she get the first one? Olivia asked.
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"Because I drew it in her store." "Fine. Next time you'll draw in my office." Madison immediately clutched the sheet to her chest. "Too late. The first work is already mine, and I have no intention of selling it." At that moment, a man in
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a work jacket entered the store. He pulled two sheets from a tube, supposedly written by Walt Whitman.
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Several expert seals appeared on the back. "500,000." the seller announced. Henry bent toward the paper, but I stopped him immediately. "Don't waste your time.
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It's a forgery." The man went pale, but he had no intention of leaving. Instead, he raised his voice and demanded that Henry personally authenticate it.
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Several customers gathered around the table. Judging by the way the seller kept glancing at Bennett, the manuscript had been brought specifically for him.
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The seller insisted that the manuscript had belonged to his family, and that he needed the money for his son's education. The story sounded far too polished, and the seals belonged to experts who had lost their licenses long ago. On my phone, I showed him a
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photograph of an authentic document sold at auction 4 years earlier. The text was copied directly from this one. Even the stains match. The seals on the back proved nothing. Two of the experts who had signed it lost their licenses after
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a forged autograph scandal, while the third had never worked with literary archives at all. "But I was told it was a family heirloom." the man muttered. "5 minutes ago, you claimed it had been passed down through your family for four
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generations." He realized he had tangled himself up and began talking about his son and college again. The man made a scene and drew a crowd. To end the performance, I offered $20,000.
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He agreed suspiciously quickly. When the visitors dispersed, Emma pounced on me. "You just paid 20,000 for a forgery." For the top sheet, yes. I moved the manuscript to a work table, dampened the edges, and carefully removed the later
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restoration backing. Another sheet was hidden between the layers. An authentic Whitman draft concealed beneath the skillful copy. Henry could hardly believe what he was seeing. "It's a paper splitting technique." I explained.
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At some point, the document was separated into layers and then reassembled badly. The forgery served as both camouflage and bait. Some of the original ink had seeped into the inner layer of the old paper. A restorer later reinforced it with a second backing and
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pasted the copy over the top. Over time, the edges had bonded so tightly that the construction appeared to be a single sheet. "If you had pulled any harder, the document would have crumbled." Henry said. "That's why I didn't pull." Emma
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looked at the wet tools and scraps of backing. "And I thought you had simply decided to destroy $20,000 in dramatic fashion." The seller was bait, too. He had been hired by Ethan Bennett, Henry's nephew. Ethan knew his uncle felt guilty
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about an old family manuscript he had once helped sell too cheaply, and he hoped to extract a large sum from him.
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The authentic document was worth several times what I had paid. Henry grimly put away his phone. "I'll speak to Ethan myself." He admitted that he had helped his nephew for years out of guilt. When the family first sold part of its archive,
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Henry had misjudged one document's value. Ethan grew up believing that his uncle was obligated to compensate them for every loss. "I wanted to correct an old mistake and raised a man who learned to use it against me." Henry said
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quietly. This time, no one tried to comfort him. Olivia asked me to sell her the restored manuscript. My father's birthday is coming up. He collects American poetry. Then it's my gift. She wanted to object, but I would not let
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her. After our quarrel, I wanted to take a step toward her myself. 20,000 is too expensive a step. The real price is higher. My eyes are rarely wrong. I'm not talking about the market price. Her tone told me it was best not to argue
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further. Nathan Ward overheard the conversation. He was the new advisor Empire's Board of Directors had sent to assist Olivia. Only a few years older than me, he had graduated from two prestigious universities and had already completed several profitable deals. An
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expensive gift for an ordinary department manager. He remarked. Ryan has made more money for Empire than many executives do in several years. Olivia replied coldly. Nathan apologized, but he did so in a way that left the insult intact. I'm only trying to understand
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the compensation system. He added. Empire has hundreds of strong employees. If personal affection influences gifts and appointments, the board should know about it. Olivia stepped toward him.
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Ryan found assets for the company that your reports did not even notice. His position is justified by his results.
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And my personal gifts are none of your concern. My ability showed me his past.
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A brilliant career, flawless calculations, tens of millions in profits. Against that background, my achievements looked like a random collection of lucky finds. Olivia seemed to read my thoughts.
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He knows how to work with numbers, she said. You know how to see what others overlook. Don't compare things that can't be compared. Your father seems to be comparing them. My father only believes what can be put into a report.
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For now, you appear in those reports too often as an exception to the rules. And Nathan appears as the rule. Exactly.
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That's why he's here. Nathan said nothing, but his look made one thing clear. The comparison had already begun.
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At 5:00, Olivia closed Nathan's laptop. The work day is over. I can manage on my own from here. He reminded her that the board of directors had assigned him to accompany her. The board instructed you to advise me, not supervise my dinner.
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We went to Madison's place. Emma, Iko, and Sophie had gathered around the table. After several tense weeks, Olivia finally relaxed. Iko brought a jar of the herbal cream her family produced in small batches. Olivia had already sent a
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sample to an independent laboratory. If the formula is safe and stable, this could become a good product, she said.
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But there will be no promises of treatment, only verified properties. Iko immediately asked whether the corporation would take the family recipe away from them. Not if the contract is fair, Olivia replied. You can grant a license for a limited period and retain
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the right of oversight. And what if the company changes the terms later? Then Ryan will be the first person to come and argue with me. Why me? Everyone at the table laughed. Olivia did not even bother to answer. Late that evening, we
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returned to Empire Towers together. I want more than the manuscript for my father, Olivia said in the elevator.
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Create one of your new works for him. Two weeks ago, you were still doubting me. That's why I want him to see now what I nearly lost. On her floor, we discovered that she had left her electronic key in the office. I offered
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to call the building manager, but I phrased it so ambiguously that we both blushed. "I only wanted to ask you to go with me to the concierge." she said. "That's exactly what I meant." "Of course." In the empty elevator, our
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hands accidentally touched. We pulled them back at the same time and apologized at the same time, which only made it funnier. A minute later, we were already laughing. At last, the old Ryan and Olivia had truly returned. Jake
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overheard part of the conversation by the elevator and gave me a thoroughly indecent version of events the next morning. "One more word, and you'll be looking for a new apartment." So, it didn't go as well as I thought.
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He patted me on the shoulder and with a serious expression, advised me to be less nervous, exercise more, and not be embarrassed to consult specialists. "What specialists?" "Ryan, we're adults. I won't tell anyone." Only then did I understand
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exactly what he had imagined. I threw a pillow at him and left for work.
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Over breakfast, Olivia admitted that her father had sent Nathan. The board wanted to see whether she was ready for greater responsibility.
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"And Nathan believes your success in marketing is based on luck." she added. At lunchtime, he confirmed her words.
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Sarah brought me an order suspending my dynamic pricing system and instructing me to prepare a new plan within 24 hours. The document was flawless.
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References to risks, potential brand damage, and the absence of statistical justification. If one ignored the results, Nathan appeared absolutely right. He also warned that the department would lose its bonus if we didn't prepare a new strategy. Sarah said, "People aren't angry because of
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the money. They work themselves to the bone all month, and now they're being told it was all a mistake. I called Olivia. If Nathan is certain he understands the market better, let him run the department for a month. I'll go back to appraising
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objects. She agreed, but set one condition. His results would be compared with my previous month. If revenue fell, Nathan would return to headquarters. When he saw the reports, his confidence cracked for the first time. Before I arrived, the department had delivered average
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results for years. After the price changes, turnover had nearly doubled, and stagnant categories had begun generating profits for the first time.
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Nathan quickly regained his composure. One successful month proves nothing. Then the next one will, I replied. My decisions looked chaotic. He did not know that I could see the future price of every item. Nathan quickly identified a pattern.
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Everything whose price I raised sold first. He decided to repeat the tactic and increased the prices of stagnant merchandise. The first few days were triumphant. Regular customers were accustomed to trusting my recommendations and bought out the display. I wrote in the private customer
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group that I was temporarily not managing sales and could not take responsibility for the new offers. I explained nothing more. Questions immediately began appearing in the group. One client wrote that he would not buy anything without my appraisal.
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Another reminded everyone that he had already made money several times from my recommendations. But as soon as Nathan displayed bright expert's choice signs, the doubts began to fade. People don't trust him, I told Olivia. They trust the trail I left behind. He doesn't
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understand that. He's using your reputation, Olivia said, and soon he'll learn its real value.
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Most of the items sold were destined to fall in price. When that happened, the buyers would return not only for their money, but for explanations. Meanwhile, Olivia showed me the plan for a new cosmetics brand. The Yamamoto family
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formula could become the foundation of a small premium line. I immediately set boundaries. First come laboratory tests, stability testing, allergen testing, and licensing. The family receives a fixed payment and a share. No miracle claims.
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That is exactly why I called you. We decided to produce the product in limited batches and avoid depleting the rare plants. For once, the business looked not only profitable, but honest.
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Olivia wanted to open a chain of expensive salons, but I suggested starting with a single treatment room and online sales. If the demand is real, we'll have time to expand. If it isn't, we won't have to close 20 beautiful
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locations. Sometimes you reason more cautiously than my finance department. Because it isn't my money. Usually, that's exactly what makes people bolder. At last, I was able to describe how my ability had changed. First, I saw value. Then I saw
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the movement of prices. Later, I learned to read the origins of objects. Now, I could understand and combine other people's skills. But knowledge did not replace practice. I could see a perfect brushstroke or movement, yet my hand and
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body still had to learn how to reproduce it. The ability did not turn me into another person. I did not receive someone else's memories, nor could I replicate the career of a successful entrepreneur. It showed me the path to a
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skill, but it could not provide patience, connections, or years of experience. That was reassuring. Without limits, I would have stopped understanding long ago where I ended and the people I studied began. I needed more examples for the gift to Olivia's
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father. I asked for access to the family's collection of graphic art. "Father spent 30 years assembling it himself," she said. "If you damage anything, I'll have to change my last name." That evening, Jake told me he had found premises for the decor and antique
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store. "His partner was investing more money, but was leaving all purchasing and sales to Jake. On paper, the company would belong to the partner, too. I'll have 49% under a separate agreement," he explained. "Marcus said it would be
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easier to set it up that way. Easier for him. If you fall out, the official documents say you're nobody." "He won't cheat me." "A good contract isn't needed because you plan to cheat each other. It's needed for the day you stop remembering
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your agreement the same way. This isn't a partnership. It's an expensive job without a salary." Jake admitted that he had already paid a deposit and did not want to back out. I transferred $20,000 to him, but warned him, "I'm giving you
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money once. From here on, either you learn to calculate risks, or you pay for them yourself." The Quinn estate was several hours from New York. Olivia rarely visited and arrived without warning, so the visit would not become a
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family event. The house stood far from the highway, surrounded by woods and old orchards. There was no ostentatious luxury inside. Expensive objects were used as ordinary things. Keys rested on a console beside a 19th-century letter.
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And an armchair in the living room turned out to be older than the building itself. "Now I understand why you calmly set coffee beside antiques," I said. "If an object can't be used, father considers it a museum's problem." While
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she changed clothes, I saw Frank Doyle, the head of security, training in the yard with a young employee named Sam. My ability broke their movements down into simple elements. Weight shifts, the angle of a shoulder, a delayed step.
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"You keep watching his right leg." Frank observed. "Do you see a mistake?" I explained it. Sam suggested that we put it to the test. The sparring session lasted less than a minute. I understood every attack in advance, but my body
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could not keep up with my mind. Several times I found the perfect opening, and each time I was a fraction of a second too late. Sam quickly noticed my weakness. He began varying the tempo, forcing me to react to feints. I
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recognized the deception, but still tensed too early. When his glove touched my chest for the third time, I asked him to stop. "In my head, I already won." I admitted. "A great place for a victory." Sam laughed. "Too bad we're
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fighting in the yard. Your technique is better in your head than in your muscles." Frank concluded. "Work on your mobility and reaction time. Otherwise, knowledge will only get in the way." The advice was more useful than a hundred beautiful
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legends about martial arts. After the training session, Olivia took me to the family archive. Posters, letters, illustrations, and rare examples of American printing were kept behind a secure door. The collection had begun with several objects accepted by the
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Quinn's old pawn shop back when Olivia's grandfather ran it. Her father preserved not only valuable works, but also the records of every purchase.
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Who brought in the object, why they sold it, and how it came into the family's possession.
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"To him, this is the history of empire." Olivia said. "When business is going badly, he comes here and remembers that the company once fit inside a single room, too. Look at everything," she said. "Just don't take anything away and
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don't forget to eat." The last request proved the most difficult. I went back to Sam once more. This time, instead of trying to copy dozens of techniques at once, I focused on three simple movements. This time, we ended in a
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draw. In truth, Sam stopped his final punch a few inches from my face, while I only managed to touch his shoulder, but he generously called it a draw.
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"You know where I'm going to move before I do," he said. "But sometimes you choose an answer that's too complicated.
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Because I see several options at once. In a fight, the best option is usually the shortest one. In a month, I'm not working with you anymore," he grumbled.
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"You learn too fast." Frank only smirked. "In a month, he'll understand that rapid progress has its limits, too." He was right. The ability provided a map, but I still had to walk the path myself.
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A different task awaited me in the archive. I studied illustrator's handwriting, the composition of old posters, newspaper printing, book covers, and restoration techniques.
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Every artist solved the same problem differently. How to make a motionless image preserve time. By evening, the individual techniques no longer felt foreign. A language of my own had taken shape in my mind. I understood why my first work had
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impressed Sophie so much. Before, I had precisely repeated other people's solutions. Now, I could choose.
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Take rhythm from one artist, space from another, and then reject both wherever they interfered with my idea. For the first time, my ability did not merely show me the past. It allowed me to argue with it. Olivia brought dinner and found
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me sitting in front of a blank sheet. "You've been staring at the paper for 3 hours?
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No, at 30 years of other people's work. She set the tray down beside me.
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Then try not to ruin the next 30 minutes. For the first time, I drew a line without looking back at the masters of the past. I spent almost 3 days in the archive. I slept on the sofa in the
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break room, ate the food Olivia brought, and returned to the collection. She tried several times to drag me out for a walk, but each time she found me in front of a new display case. Do you even know what
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day it is? Tuesday. Thursday. After that, Olivia set alarms on my phone and ordered security not to bring me coffee after midnight. On the third evening, instead of a copy of an old technique, I produced a work of my own.
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A city map, letters, newspaper clippings, and silhouettes of buildings came together to tell the story of one family. Olivia studied it for a long time. Is this for father?
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Yes. Inside the composition, I had hidden the phrase, "Distance changes the route, but not the choice." She found it almost immediately. Is that for father, too?
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He might not read the small print. She traced a finger above the letters without touching the paper. Do you always hide important things so you can later pretend they were never there?
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Only when I'm not sure anyone wants to see what's important. Coward. A cautious man. A coward with a good vocabulary. Olivia blushed and walked out, forgetting to open the archive door. I sent her one message, then another. Her reply came 10 minutes
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later. Don't move. I need to calm down. While I waited, I drew several more sketches. For the first time, my ability did not dictate the result. It merely gave me the tools while the decision belonged to me. That realization
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frightened me more than any price that had ever appeared before my eyes. When Olivia returned, she found three portraits beside the main work. In the first, Aiko was training in the rain. In the second, Madison was laughing behind
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the counter of her store. In the third, Olivia stood by her office window while my reflection appeared in the glass with a sketchbook in hand. Each portrait was less about appearance than about a moment. Aiko seemed calm even with a
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sword in her hands. Madison lit up the entire store. Olivia looked powerful, but lonely amid the glass and high-rise buildings. "So you drew everyone?" she asked. "Only the people I remembered well." That answer was a mistake. Olivia looked first at Madison's portrait, then
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at mine. "Her picture contains only her. Aiko's does, too. Why are you in mine?" "Because that is how I first saw you." She stopped smiling.
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"You barely knew me then. Sometimes a first impression is more honest than anything that follows." "And what did I seem like to you?" "Someone everyone was afraid to approach." "And you weren't afraid?" "I was. That's why I drew you
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from a distance." I showed her an old photograph of the terrible pencil sketch I had made during my first days at work.
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Olivia laughed. "I look like the villain in a cheap movie." "I didn't know how to draw back then, but you were already looking." She took all three portraits, declaring that the paper I had used belonged to the Quinn
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family. I did not argue. Her smile made it clear that this had nothing to do with the paper. At home, Jake spread a 40-page business plan across the table.
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I flipped through it and handed it back. "You're trying to open a gallery, an antique shop, an online store, and a design studio all at once. You only have enough money for one. We reduced the idea to a clear model.
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Affordable interior decor, a small online storefront, and several carefully verified objects that would establish the shop's reputation. I suggested dividing the inventory into three clear categories.
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Items under $100 for casual visitors, quality vintage pieces for regular customers, and a few expensive objects with complete provenance. People need to understand why they should visit your store specifically, I explained. If the same shelf holds a museum-quality bronze, a plastic cat,
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and a fake Rolex, they won't trust any of the prices. And expensive antiques, only for a specific client. Don't freeze your money on the shelves. I agreed to give him two of my works each month at wholesale price. Jake thought I was
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joking until Sophie offered to buy the first one before the store even opened. You could have told me your paintings were worth that much. Then you would have built the business around me instead of learning for yourself. He
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took offense, but quickly understood the point. Fine. Two works as insurance. I'll do everything else myself. One more thing.
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Don't tell your partners I'll appraise any purchase they make for free. Jake looked away. You already told them?
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I may have phrased it a little more optimistically. I had to explain that helping a friend and working for someone else's company for free were not the same thing. That was exactly what I wanted to hear. Jake's partners turned
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out to be Marcus and Vanessa Reed. Marcus traveled frequently for work, while his wife was supposed to manage the store. They seemed friendly at the meeting, but I insisted on a new agreement.
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Each ownership stake had to appear in the company register. Major expenses would require two signatures, and both partners would receive access to the accounts. Vanessa wanted to handle the displays and customers, while Jake would oversee purchasing and online sales.
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Marcus was investing the main sum, but would barely participate in the work. After some discussion, we specified compensation for labor separately, so an active partner would not work for free simply because he owned a stake. "I thought friends settle these things
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verbally," Jake said. "Friends, especially, should put their agreements in writing. Then it's harder for business to ruin the friendship." "Distrust is a poor foundation," Vanessa remarked. "Unclear rules are worse." After a pause, Marcus agreed.
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That evening, we met Madison, Emma, and Aiko. I told them about Empire's proposal to license the family formula.
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"The laboratory has confirmed that the cream is safe, but it needs additional testing before it can be sold," I explained. "Your family will retain the rights and receive a percentage from every batch. I also proposed a guaranteed minimum payment. If Empire
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decided to shut down the project after a year, the family would still be paid for its time, materials, and exclusivity." Aiko reread that section several times.
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"Grandfather expected a large company to offer a one-time payment and take everything. Large companies often do exactly that," Madison said. "That's why the large company isn't the only party reading the contract. Aiko asked for more than money. Several women from their
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community needed jobs and training." Over the phone, Olivia approved an internship program and a separate fund for local infrastructure. After dinner, Madison, noticeably cheered by the wine, kissed me on the cheek. "That's for finally helping people without trying to
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pay for everything out of your own pocket. You could have simply said, "Thank you." I could have. But this way, Emma will have something more interesting to put in her report to Olivia. My sister indignantly declared that she did nothing of the kind. At the
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same time, she quickly turned her phone face down. I noticed Emma hiding a smile. Within 5 minutes, she would almost certainly be texting Olivia. The next day, Aiko introduced us to several women from her community. They lived on the
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outskirts of New York, survived on odd jobs, and were largely unfamiliar with the city's rules. Most had arrived recently. Some spoke little English.
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Others were afraid to sign documents after bad experiences with intermediaries. They knew how to grow plants, prepare traditional family mixtures, and give massages, but in New York, those skills meant nothing without training and licenses. We can't promise that you'll become qualified specialists
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tomorrow. I said, but the company will pay for certified courses. Until you complete them, you'll work only in production and under supervision.
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Instead of lofty promises, I showed them Empire's draft contract. Paid training, housing for the first 3 months, insurance, and the right to leave after the internship without penalties. And the formula?
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The eldest woman asked. It will remain the property of the Yamamoto family. Empire receives a license, not the right to take it forever. Aiko translated several complicated clauses for her grandfather over a video call. Kenji remained silent for a long time,
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then agreed on the condition of an annual independent audit. Grandfather says he trusts people, but he doesn't trust time. Aiko translated. A company has one executive today and another tomorrow. The paper must protect us from both.
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Reasonable, Olivia replied. "We'll add the right to suspend the license if we violate the standards for harvesting the plants or alter the formula without the family's consent." Olivia accepted that demand as well. "Now I understand why you trust her,"
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Aiko said after the call. "It took me a while to understand, too." She smiled but immediately grew serious.
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"Two of my older cousins disappeared from here several years ago. No one has heard from them since. We're still searching for them. I promised to bring in a private investigator and check the old records of charitable organizations.
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For the first time, helping the Yamamoto family was not simply about money or work. They had a story that still needed an ending." Aiko admitted that she had not chosen architecture by chance. She wanted to return home, rebuild the
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community center, and construct a proper road so young people would not have to leave solely to find work. "Then our task isn't to take everyone away from there," I said. "It's to give them the choice to stay or leave." The women's temporary
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home consisted of rooms attached to a small recycling center. Its owner, Luis Morales, had turned an old warehouse into a legal collection facility after a leg injury and allowed new arrivals to live there for a nominal fee. A murky
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canal stretched in front of the warehouse while piles of metal and old furniture rose beyond the fence. For the first time all day, Madison stopped joking.
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Emma stayed close to Aiko as though afraid she might lose her in that place.
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The women did not ask for pity. They wanted to know whether the dormitory had hot water, how many shifts they would work each week, and whether they could send part of their wages home. The conditions were harsh, but Luis was not
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profiting from his tenants. He simply could not afford the repairs. While Aiko discussed the move, I noticed a paint-covered bracelet and several shards of colored glass on a tray. The bracelet was an early arts and crafts workshop piece with its maker's
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mark still intact. The shards came from an old stained glass panel and also had collector's value. From the outside, the bracelet looked hopeless.
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Oil had soaked into the wood and blue paint had dried over it. But my ability showed me the workshop, its first owner, and an old photograph in which the piece appeared on the wrist of a famous stage actress. Its value came from more than
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the material. The object had traceable history. "Can I buy it?" I asked. Louise shrugged. "It was found in the trash.
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Take it." I insisted on a receipt anyway and offered to invest in renovating the recycling center. Not as a gift, but as a repayable loan with a share of the profits until it was paid back. Louise refused a permanent partnership. "Once I
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repay the money, you give my share back." he demanded. "I spent 20 years building this business piece by piece." "Agreed. But from now on, photograph anything more than 50 years old and send it to me first." "Now, that sounds like
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a deal." "Why are you doing this?" Jake asked. "They sort through objects from old houses here. Sometimes history turns up among the garbage." He smirked. "You finally admitted you have a business interest, too." At that moment, Olivia called. Negotiations to purchase the
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cosmetics factory had reached an impasse. The factory owner wanted to sell Empire more than the building and equipment. He demanded that the company buy the stagnant inventory, preserve the old formulas, and pay him 15% of all future profits. The warehouse
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reports explained his insistence. Thousands of jars nearing their expiration dates, raw materials of unknown quality, and packaging with the old logo were stored there. Disposal alone would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
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"He isn't selling us merchandise," I said. "He's trying to sell us the cost of destroying it. So, we finance production, take on the risks, and share the income with him for life," Olivia summarized. "Because he's convinced the factory is useless without his
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technicians." I studied the documents. Most of the brand rested on advertising rather than unique formulas. The building and production line were valuable. The warehouse was not. "Offer him two options," I said. "Either a clean asset sale without the old
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inventory or royalties or a joint company. But, then he contributes the factory, working capital, and the cost of his specialists.
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He'll choose the ownership stake. Let him. The contract needs to separate the old products from our developments.
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He'll receive income only from what he actually brings into the company. And if his specialists try to copy the new formula, divide production into stages.
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The Yamamoto family will prepare the key concentrate in a separate area. The remaining employees will receive only the finished component with an internal code." "You sound as if you've been planning a cosmetics empire for years." "I simply don't like people demanding a
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percentage for someone else's idea." Olivia looked at me for several seconds, then smiled. "He expects to make money from our formula, but he'll end up owning a share of an empty warehouse. If he signs the contract without reading it carefully,
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that's no longer our problem." Olivia nevertheless insisted that the terms be explained to the seller at a separate meeting. She wanted to win the negotiation, not create a future lawsuit. The owner protested for nearly an hour, but finally agreed. The factory
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was losing money, the bank was demanding payment, and he had no other buyers. "That is the difference between a trick and a good contract." Olivia said after the meeting. "After a trick, a person goes to court. After a good contract, he
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goes home to calculate how much he'll still make. This time, we both knew that the important part was hidden not in a trick, but in the precise wording of the terms." After the negotiations, Olivia unexpectedly asked, "Did Madison
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really kiss you?" "On the cheek." "And she also let you finish her glass." Emma truly worked faster than any news service.
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"She also reported that you finished two glasses." "One and a half." "Thank you for clarifying. That makes everything look much better." "She'd had too much, so I took the wine away to stop her from finishing it." "Very noble."
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I showed Olivia photographs of the finds from the warehouse. Once cleaned, the bracelet could be worth more than $100,000, while the glass had come from a renowned New York workshop in the early 20th century. "You changed the subject
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again." "No, I'm demonstrating that I spent the entire evening thinking about work." "Of course, that's why you let her kiss you." I put down my phone. "If it bothers you, say so directly." Olivia looked out the window. For several
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seconds, only the sound of traffic could be heard. "Madison has a simpler family. If she likes someone, she can simply bring him home. For me, every decision turns into a question of inheritance, board votes, and Empire's reputation." "I'm not asking you to announce a
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decision, but you're not obligated to wait forever, either." It was the first honest sentence in the entire conversation. Olivia fell silent. She had obligations to her family and the board of directors. I had my pride, which kept me from taking the first
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step. I'm only concerned about the company's reputation. She finally said. Then the company has nothing to worry about. And you?
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I'm not a company yet. She smiled almost imperceptibly. A draw did not seem so bad after all. We both understood that the conversation had ended in a draw. I ran into Sophie at an art supply store.
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She reminded me about the lesson I had promised and came with me to Empire Towers. I had only intended to finish the three portraits.
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But when Sophie saw them, she forgot about her tea and nearly dropped the cup. You combined an old technique with modern perspective. She said, "No one I know works like this." As I worked, she silently followed every movement. Then
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she asked me to draw her portrait. Before I began, I gave her several of my own sketches and asked her to find their weaknesses. Sophie was afraid to criticize them for a long time, but eventually pointed out an overly
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crowded corner of one composition. "Correct." I said. "Did you leave the mistake there on purpose?" "No. I deliberately asked someone capable of seeing it." After that, she finally stopped looking at me like an infallible machine. "It won't be a copy of Olivia's
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picture." I warned her. "Draw me the way you see me." I depicted Sophie at a worktable.
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On the sheet in front of her, the very complex composition she dreamed of mastering gradually emerged. When the drawing was complete, she did not speak for a long time. "You didn't draw me." She finally said. "You drew the person I
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want to become." "Then now you know the direction." She decided to come twice a week. I agreed on one condition.
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No bows, titles, or talk of genius. Will there be homework? 50 variations of a single letter and 10 compositions made from three objects. I already regret asking. Then the real training has begun. Sophie promised to try. Her expression made it clear that this would
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be the hardest condition for her to fulfill. Jake saw the finished works for the first time and quickly calculated the potential profit. At market price, one painting would cover a month's rent.
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Sophie immediately offered to buy the entire first series. Jake looked at her, then at me, and finally believed for the first time that I was not exaggerating their value. And what if their price rises in 6 months? Then you'll be happy
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for the buyers. The store should earn money through an honest markup, not hold everything back in the hope of a miracle.
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That's why you'll get no more than two. The store has to survive without me. He wanted to argue, but Sophie supported me. A limited quantity will only increase interest. If you flood the market, Ryan's name will mean nothing. I
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asked them not to display the artist's name in large letters. The works should attract buyers through their quality, not through a story about a miracle appraiser. Over the next several days, Sophie learned to construct a composition instead of copying the
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movements of my hand. She wanted to master everything at once, but I made her draw the same scrap of a letter again and again. Meanwhile, Jake assembled shelving and photographed merchandise for the website. Several times, he tried to involve Sophie in
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selecting the inventory, but she replied that she would not do an art director's job for free. Learn from that, I told him. Good relationships don't eliminate the need to pay for someone's work. Technique begins not with inspiration, but with repetition,
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I told Sophie. You learned in just a few days yourself. That is exactly why it's so easy for me to give irritating advice. By the end of the week, her work was still imperfect, but it already belonged to her rather than to her
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grandfather or me. For a first lesson, that was enough. The laboratory completed its testing of the Yamamoto family's cream. The formula was stable, contained no prohibited ingredients, and retained moisture well.
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Every other property would still need to be confirmed through clinical testing. The initial results were more modest than the family stories, but they could be trusted. The cream reduced dryness and irritation, but it did not erase wrinkles overnight
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or cure illnesses. Olivia was actually pleased. A genuinely good product is better than an impossible promise. A brand grows quickly on impossible promises and dies even faster. Olivia finalized the deal.
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Empire gained control of the factory, while the previous owner received a stake only in the old product line, which the company had no intention of reviving.
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