Chapter 28 - .28 Move forward
Lucious adjusted his shirt collar in the restaurant’s restroom mirror, scowling at his reflection. "A meal," he muttered. "That’s what a favor with the wealthy is worth now?"
The restaurant was a sleek, high-end establishment tucked discreetly into the heart of Riverstone’s financial district—an enclave of wealth where deals were inked over $90 steaks and loyalty was measured in power, not kindness. Walnut-paneled walls framed the space like a private club. Chandeliers shaped like glass vines dangled from the ceiling, catching the light in cascading prisms. Waiters drifted noiselessly between tables in black vests and starched cuffs, as if choreographed by some invisible maestro.
Lucious stood just inside the entrance, his delivery uniform making him feel like graffiti scrawled across a Renaissance painting. The scent of seared lamb, buttered lobster, and aged wine curled in the air, doing nothing to soothe his nerves. He didn’t belong here. But he’d come anyway.
Not for the meal.
Not for the company.
Because this was a game now.
The system hadn’t spoken—not yet. No floating numbers, no crisp blue panels detailing quests or bonuses. But Lucious knew better than to ignore open doors. And Harrison Weng? He was one hell of a door.
That morning, the man had called. Thanked him again for the flat tire help. Offered lunch. Lucious had grunted, feigned appreciation. Played the role.
He didn’t want thanks.
He wanted opportunity.
Now, he sat across from Harrison, the table between them a polished slab of black marble. Weng had already ordered a filet mignon, rare. Lucious had gone with fries and water. The waiter’s arched brow hadn’t escaped him, nor had the subtle sneer at such a plebeian choice. But Lucious didn’t care. Harrison didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he simply didn’t care either.