The tension in Alex's shoulders finally melted away, like frost thawing under the morning sun.
That cold, invisible weight—the dread that had followed him since he opened his eyes in this new life—evaporated as his screen lit up with the number that changed everything.
$6,108,223.17. From a meme token.
"Six million," Alex whispered, his voice somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.
"That's enough. More than enough."
He didn't need to liquidate all of it. Just a portion. He could even spread it out, cashing out slowly to avoid destabilizing the token's market cap.
Or better yet—convert a portion into stablecoins, send to an account in any exchange wallet and sell for fiat.
He could handle this without any problem.
What mattered was simple: he now had the firepower to unlock a Core Knowledge—his ticket to freedom.
He could finally move.
Alex stood from the bed, the silk sheets sliding off his frame like spilled water, grinning to himself.
In his previous life, he learned something an that is:
"When you have a chance to win, you grab it. With both hands. Immediately."
It was a lesson he'd learned during bitter winters on the street—when a free meal, a loose dollar, or a warm shelter was the difference between life and death. Opportunities didn't come often, and they sure as hell didn't wait around.
He strode across the polished marble floor, barefoot, his pulse racing with adrenaline and clarity, with a different kind of fire now burning in his chest.
He stopped by the ornate wall-mounted control panel beside the bed and pressed a small black button etched with gold trim. A soft chime rang through the suite.
Seconds later, a voice responded, through the ceiling speaker.
"Yes, Young Master?"
"Alfred," Alex said clearly. "Come to my room. I have instructions for you."
"At once, Young Master."
Alex stepped back, inhaling deeply as he straightened his posture. This was it.
A few moments later, the double doors of the master bedroom opened. Alfred, the long-serving Palmer family butler to Alex, walked into room, with his usual poise.
"Your instructions, sir?" Alfred asked, glancing around the room subtly.
Alex suppressed a laugh. He could already tell what the man expected. With the original Alex's reputation, any unexpected summons likely meant one of three things: drugs, women, or another PR disaster.
He was about to surprise him.
"I want you to liquidate some of my assets," Alex said, stepping forward. "Start with the Lamborghini and the Mercedes. I want them gone by the end of the week, if possible."
Alfred blinked. Once. Then again.
"I beg your pardon, Young Master?"
"You heard me," Alex said. "Also, I want every accessory, watch, sculpture, and luxury item in my name appraised and sold—anything I'm not actively using. If it holds value but isn't essential, it goes."
Alfred stared for a beat longer, his expression unreadable. Then he took a careful step forward, lowering his voice slightly.
"Are you… feeling alright, sir? Should I call the estate physician?"
Alex smiled.
There it was. The concern. The disbelief and the mild panic. And honestly, he didn't blame the man.
The last time the old Alex Palmer made sudden, dramatic decisions, he nearly purchased a tiger and an abandoned football stadium in Dubai. In the same week.
"I'm fine," Alex said gently. "Really."
Alfred's brow furrowed. "Then may I ask what has prompted this… austerity?"
"I need the money," Alex said simply. "For something important."
Alfred hesitated, then let out a long, tired sigh. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Alex claim something was 'important'—usually right before crashing a $300,000 yacht into a marina wall.
But something was different now.
There was no alcohol on his breath. No lazy smirk. No manic energy or devil-may-care grin. The boy—no, the young man—standing in front of him looked composed. Serious.
Alfred inclined his head slowly.
"Very well. I'll begin the process immediately."
He turned to leave, but paused as Alex spoke again.
"And one more thing," Alex added. "Reach out to the trust manager. I want to secure a one-time loan against my future quarterly disbursements. Minimum $1 million."
That made Alfred stop mid-step.
He turned back, eyeing Alex carefully.
"Sir, you're aware that doing so will incur a penalty fee of—"
"I'm aware," Alex said. "And I don't care. I need that money. Just make it happen."
Alfred's eyes narrowed slightly. Not in suspicion, but analysis.
He was trying to read Alex—to see if this was a bluff, a ruse, a buildup to some new scandal.
But the only thing he saw… was calm and determination.
After a moment, he bowed again.
"Understood, Young Master. I'll handle the necessary calls discreetly."
"Keep it between us," Alex added. "At least for now."
Alfred gave a slight nod, then his voice lowered as he added, "You do realize, of course, that the trust manager is still obligated to report all loan activity to the family board. Your father may find out."
Alex met his gaze.
"Let him. I'm not hiding anything."
Alfred didn't argue. He gave one final bow and exited the room, leaving Alex alone.
.....
Once the door clicked shut, Alex sighed, shoulders slumping as he collapsed onto the bed.
The adrenaline was fading. The rush of action replaced with silence and calm.
He stared up at the ceiling, the golden chandelier above casting soft, ambient light across the room.
"I've done what I can. Now… I wait."
He hated waiting. He was used to the scramble, the hustle, the desperate push for the next meal or warm bed.
But now?
Now he had to trust other people to move money. To sell assets. To pull strings.
He hated feeling idle. But he also knew—he had made the right decision.
If he wanted to access the knowledge that would change his future, he had to pay the price now.
He reached over to the nightstand and picked up his phone, scrolling one last time through the system interface.
The glowing list of Core Knowledges hovered in front of him and below that, the unlock button.
The unlock button of each core knowledge was grayed out. For now.
But not for long.
"Soon," he whispered to himself. "Soon, I'll unlock it."