Chapter 37. Invitation
Lucious wiped his fingers on his jeans, the scent of cheap ramen still lingering in the air. His old kitchen chair creaked beneath him as he leaned back, the plastic phone warm against his cheek.
"Lucious," came Mr. Weng’s voice, smooth and crisp, like silk over glass. "You free this week?"
He slurped the last of the broth, set the bowl aside, and reached for a paper napkin. "Depends. Why?"
"There’s an event being hosted by the Huang family. One of the oldest, wealthiest names in the capital. A fashion gala—invitation only. Top-tier guest list."
Lucious raised an eyebrow. "And you want me there... why?"
"Networking," Weng replied. "This isn’t just a party. It’s where power moves silently. Where partnerships are born over champagne flutes and exchanged glances. You’ve made noise. That makes people curious."
Lucious let the silence stretch a beat. "I’ll think about it."
"Do more than think. You’ve got a seat. Use it." The line clicked dead.
He dropped the phone on the table and stared at the peeling wallpaper, the faded lemons and flowers pattern curling from age. His apartment was small—two rooms and a water heater that whined like an old dog—but it had been home.
He pulled out his phone again and opened his banking app.
Balance: $7,326,218.04.
He exhaled hard, rubbing a hand down his face.