What?!
A Mercedes G500?
Jordan had been acting completely indifferent, but it was as if someone had punched him in the gut—he froze, and the corner of his mouth started to twitch.
A moment ago, all his attention had been on showing off, so he didn't even notice the car beside him. He thought it was just some ordinary Bora or Ford or something. But, it actually… it really was a G500?
"Is a Mercedes G500 expensive?" a girl asked timidly.
"Over two hundred thousand," Matthew said.
"Ah?" The girl inhaled sharply and fell silent.
"What's wrong?" Brandon, with Quinn and the others, strolled over. He had gone to fetch his own car; when he didn't see Jordan and the others for a while, he came looking for them. When he saw the scene before him, he froze too.
"Holy shit, that's a Mercedes G500—over two hundred thousand. The rear fender's paint has been scratched off; if we want to fix that, it'll cost around two thousand dollars," Brandon said in astonishment.
Don't look down on them just because they drove Audis or BMWs—none of those cars were bought with their own money; their families bought them. If someone suddenly had to come up with two thousand dollars in compensation, they'd feel it in their hearts.
"This side's dented too."
"Damn, without at least ten grand, we can't get this fixed," Jordan lamented, slapping his thigh in frustration.
"It's that expensive?"
"Why didn't you look at what kind of car it is?"
A few boys and girls from the tennis club whispered among themselves.
"Hey, man, jackpot!" Just then, a convertible sports car cruised by. A few young guys inside saw the scene, entertained by the show, and started cheering, "Bro, that's not a two-hundred-thousand G500—it's the Euro-spec 4×4 'Big Benz,' and it goes for almost a million dollars!"
After saying that, they drove off laughing and joking.
"Holy shit!"
Now Jordan felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him—he stood there, dazed, unable to speak.
Everyone else was equally stunned.
"A million-dollar car? Holy shit, that's so rich."
"I wonder who owns that car."
"You think someone who can drive a car like that—what sort of person would that be? Someone you can't afford to offend."
"Look at how domineering that Benz is. The driver must be some big shot in the underworld. I think we should just get out of here; if that big shot comes out and sees his car scratched, and he loses his temper, we'll be in for it."
"Relax, let's just watch—we're just here for the spectacle."
A few people whispered quietly. Just minutes ago at dinner, they had been sucking up to Jordan and Brandon, but now that something like this had happened, they thought it best to keep their distance. A couple of them were silently thankful that they hadn't been sitting in Jordan's car when he backed up; otherwise, they might have shared responsibility and ended up paying too.
"I think we should just leave before anyone notices," Brandon said, pushing Jordan. "A million-dollar car, messed up like this—he'll want tens of thousands in compensation. Let's get out now while no one's around."
Jordan was already thinking the same. Goddamn, if he had to pay tens of thousands of dollars, he didn't have that kind of money. Hearing Brandon egging him on, he decided to make a run for it.
"Run? Can you actually leave?" Quinn suddenly snorted, pointing at a surveillance camera overhead. "Can't you see there's a camera up there? Besides, even if you run, someone who can afford a car like that—given his status and connections—finding you will be a piece of cake. I think we'd better stay and wait for the owner to show up."
Saying that, Quinn glanced around. Then she saw a familiar figure standing not far off. At that sight, Quinn's face went red with fury.
"Grayson, why are you still here?!" Quinn glared angrily at Grayson, who had just been spotted.
Sure enough, it was Grayson. Of course he wouldn't have left—his car was still here. So Grayson had hung back, waiting for a while. He assumed that once Jordan and the others saw him waiting, they'd all have driven away, and then he could approach the parking lot to find his car. He never expected that this group of people would still be standing by his G500.
Grayson was puzzled, watching from a short distance, and eventually realized that Jordan must have hit his car. Grayson felt a sting in his gut—damn, he'd been trying to avoid these people, but fate had shoved them right in front of his G500. Still, he wasn't too upset about the scratch; he'd simply take it to the repair shop later. Therefore, he wasn't planning to reveal himself. He intended to find a place to sit and wait until Jordan and the others left on their own, and then come back to drive his car away.
Who would have guessed that Quinn would spot him? Now he couldn't hide; he had to come forward.
"Didn't I already tell you to get out of here? Why are you still here—don't you have money for the bus?" Quinn looked down on Grayson with contempt, then suddenly pulled out two dollars. "Here, take this and catch a bus!"
Her expression and action made it look like she was shooing off a beggar. Naturally, Grayson refused to take it, saying, "Uh, no, I'm just wandering around."
"Wandering around? What's there to 'wander'?" Quinn shot back, annoyed. "Did you see Jordan hit the car and come over here to gloat? You're so petty. Just look—Jordan even treated you to dinner earlier."
"It's not like you're saying…" Grayson frowned, thinking, Does Quinn really have to treat me like this?
"Ain't it like that? Then what exactly are you doing here? This is a parking lot—do you even have a car parked here? If you're not here to watch the spectacle, what are you here for?!" Quinn pressed on aggressively.
Grayson didn't bother arguing—this would never end if he tried. His main priority now was to get this group of people to leave so he could take his car to the repair shop.
"Look, weren't you guys heading to the bar? You should really get going now," Grayson said to Jordan.
"Are you stupid? You just hit someone's car—how can you leave?" Quinn stepped forward again, her words cutting. The others pointed at Grayson and sneered.
"That doesn't matter—just go, that's all," Grayson said, wanting desperately to shoo them away. Even though repairs would cost tens of thousands of yuan, Grayson didn't plan to make Jordan and the others pay. A few ten thousand yuan were worth his anonymity.
"Do you think you can just say 'go' and we'll leave? Who do you think you are?" Quinn rolled her eyes at Grayson, thinking, "What an idiot. You're poor and have no backbone—maybe you're the type who breaks things and then runs away. No responsibility at all; poor in money and poor in ambition—exactly like you!"
Honestly, Quinn's words sounded righteous. But did they really apply to Grayson? Of course not—the one who actually hit the car was Jordan, not Quinn. In the end, Jordan would be the one to shoulder any costs and responsibility. So Quinn could say as many lofty things as she wanted.
Besides, Quinn had another motive in her heart that no one knew. She had become intensely interested in the owner of this G500. When she first thought the G500 was worth only two hundred thousand, she already had some ideas. Then when she heard it was the Euro-spec version worth a million, her heart started racing even faster. Wow, the owner of that car is definitely a super-rich tycoon. Meanwhile, Brandon only drives an Audi A4 worth fifty thousand—one of those G500s could buy ten of Brandon's Audis! If she could meet this mega-rich person and sit in a G500, cruising around campus, the prestige would be incomparable. Her own social circle prevented her from ever reaching the absolute top tier of wealthy heirs. But now, here was an opportunity—even though it started as a car accident. As soon as the G500's owner showed up, the two sides would have to negotiate over insurance, compensation, and repairs. Then she could naturally strike up a conversation, show off her beauty, maybe even exchange contact information. Quinn was very confident in her looks. She guessed in her mind that the G500's owner must be a middle-aged tycoon in his forties. She didn't usually like older men, but so what—he was so rich. Money can make up for an age gap. Once she made up her mind, that was why, when Brandon urged Jordan to slip away quietly, Quinn refused to let them go. So now Grayson told them to leave, and Quinn was even less willing to let them go. Not only did she refuse to leave, she added one more self-righteous sentence, as if she really were a responsible, socially conscious young woman who never shirks her duties. In fact, if she didn't have all those ulterior motives—if she had been the one who'd hit the car—she probably would have run away faster than a rabbit.
"Exactly—just run!"
"Sigh, there's no helping it. He's just poor. If he'd hit it, he'd be working the rest of his life to pay for repairs."
The others chimed in, echoing Quinn's scorn of Grayson.
"Come on, Grayson, let's go!"
Suddenly Lauren came up to Grayson, grabbed his arm, and tried to leave with him. Lauren couldn't stand it anymore—she felt bad for Grayson.
"Hey, Lauren, don't go! Wait a bit—Jordan's going to take us to a bar later." Quinn was taken aback and called out anxiously.
"I'm not going. I'm going to hang out with Grayson."
"Hey, Lauren, your school is pretty far. If you go with Grayson, you'll have to take the bus. Why not wait until this is settled and let Jordan drive you in his BMW?" Quinn's voice trailed off from behind.
"No need. I like taking the bus; I don't like fancy cars," Lauren said, tugging Grayson's hand. "Come on, let's go!"
Grayson's mind leapt. Yeah, he might as well go with Lauren—just leave the big Benz here; let them wait all night, they'll never see the owner. Thinking that, Grayson didn't care anymore.
As Grayson was about to follow Lauren and leave the parking lot, the valet who had parked the cars earlier came sprinting over, hurriedly running toward them.