Riverfront Hotel

Toby quickly cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the quiet awe that had settled over the group. He adjusted his collar, slipping back into his professional persona despite the heavy judgment hanging in the air. Pointing toward the majestic gates, he introduced the property with quiet reverence.

"This is the most expensive house in the entire region," Toby explained, his voice carrying a mix of professional duty and genuine awe. "It's called the Grand Estate of Oakhaven. The property is a peerless masterpiece, currently valued at an astonishing thirteen hundred million dollars. Inside, it boasts a state-of-the-art recreational room, a massive billiard room, a custom-built indoor swimming pool, and a sprawling sunroom. I heard through the company grapevine that its ownership is about to be transferred soon."

Sylvia and Nadine gasped in unison, their eyes practically bulging out of their heads. The sheer scale of the wealth on display was incomprehensible.

"Thirteen hundred million?" Sylvia marveled loudly, her voice piercing the tranquil air of the estate. She clutched Warren's arm even tighter, her nails digging into his expensive suit jacket. "Who on earth would be able to buy something like that? The buyer has to be a top-tier financial magnate, right? No ordinary person could even dream of it."

"No ordinary person can fork out thirteen hundred million to buy a house, that much is true," Toby replied. He offered a polite, somewhat pathetic smile, bowing gently toward the women in a desperate attempt to remain in their good graces. He needed this commission.

Warren, however, was not impressed. He scowled, his jaw tightening as he stared at the colossal palace before them. The grand estate was a flawless, god-like display of wealth, and it was visibly annoying him. Just minutes ago, he had been the center of attention, bragging about his ninety-seven million dollar purchase. Now, his massive flex was being heavily overshadowed by a property worth over ten times as much.

His eyes glinted with irritation. He turned his gaze away from the mansion and swept it over Toby in pure, unadulterated disdain. He sneered cruelly, his voice dripping with venom.

"Whoever it is, that's none of your business," Warren spat, aiming to crush Toby's spirit in front of everyone. "Your monthly salary is just three thousand and six hundred."

The words hit Toby like a physical blow. He flinched visibly. The polite smile froze on his face, turning into a strained, painful grimace, but he swallowed his pride. He did not dare to counter back. He just lowered his head, accepting the humiliation to keep the potential sale alive.

Sylvia and Nadine eagerly chimed in, smelling blood in the water. Their voices dripped with malice as they giggled in unison.

"Yes, Toby. You shouldn't worry about multi-billionaires," Sylvia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Instead, think about how you can sell the house today to earn a little more commission. You need every penny you can get."

"Commission?" Nadine snorted loudly, covering her mouth in a mock display of shock. "Hmph, let's call it what it really is. It's more like you're receiving alms. We are just throwing some spare change to a beggar."

Vance took a step forward, his jaw set. He had remained quiet during the tour, observing the ridiculous display of arrogance, but he was not going to stand by and watch his friend get verbally abused for doing his job. His voice was steady and cold as he cut through their laughter.

"Toby is a professional salesperson," Vance stated, his gaze locking onto Sylvia. "He works grueling hours to find these properties and secure these deals. How could you possibly deem the results of his hard work as mere alms?"

Sylvia's laughter died in her throat. She glared contemptuously at Vance, scanning him from head to toe. She scoffed loudly at his cheap, unbranded attire. His jeans were faded, and his plain shirt looked like it came from a discount bin. She mistakenly wrote him off as just another lowly, pathetic real estate agent tagging along with Toby.

"Who do you think you are?" Sylvia retorted snarkily. "His outfit is worth less than two hundred dollars, and he still has the audacity to stand up for someone in front of us? That's none of your business either. In my opinion, it's your friend's sheer luck that Mr. Ford is even willing to give him a commission. Since Mr. Ford can easily pay nearly a hundred million for a house, he could directly discuss the offer with the owner of the estate himself. You guys are just leeches. You aren't really helpful to him at all."

"There's no such thing as equality in this world," Nadine added coldly, looking at Vance as if he were dirt beneath her shoes. She desperately wanted to win Warren's favor, knowing that praising him and belittling the two poorly dressed men was the fastest way into his wallet. "Warren is way better than you. You should learn your place and keep your mouth shut."

Warren waved his hand dismissively, though a smug, satisfied smirk played on his lips. He loved seeing Vance and Toby get put in their place. "All right, that's enough. Let's talk about business-related matters now. I don't have all day to waste on poor people."

Vance narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing as he prepared to retaliate. But before he could speak, Toby quickly reached out. Toby tightly tugged at Vance's sleeve, silently and desperately urging him to drop the futile argument. Toby's eyes pleaded with him. If Vance angered Warren any further, the deal would fall through, and Toby would go home empty-handed to face Rita's wrath.

Vance looked at his friend's desperate face, sighed quietly, and fell silent. He unclenched his fists and nodded once.

With the tension simmering just below the surface, the group moved on. Toby led the way out of the estate and toward a nearby luxury high-rise building. They rode the private elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor. The doors slid open to reveal a pristine hallway, and Toby guided them to the ninth apartment.

He knocked on the heavy oak door. A few moments later, a middle-aged man opened it. The man, Mr. Dawson, looked wan and sallow. Deep bags rested under his eyes, and he carried a deeply stressed aura that spoke of sleepless nights. Despite his haggard appearance, he welcomed them in.

The interior of the apartment was lavish. It occupied three hundred square meters and came fully furnished with high-end designer pieces. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, and a sprawling private balcony wrapped around the living area.

"Come in, come in," Mr. Dawson said, gesturing for the group to enter. He quickly assessed the visitors, his gaze bypassing Toby and Vance, landing squarely on Warren and the two women clinging to him. After working in the brutal business industry for many years, Dawson accurately figured out who held the financial power in the room.

"If not for a severe problem in my capital chain, I wouldn't be selling this apartment," Dawson explained, his voice tight with anxiety. "I need the funds immediately to resolve my issues. The total price is exactly ninety-seven million. We can sign the contract today if you have the funds ready."

Warren walked around the massive apartment, his hands clasped behind his back. He put on a brief, arrogant inspection, stopping to nitpick every minor detail. He tapped the marble countertops, frowned at the plush leather sofas, and shook his head intermittently at the expensive light fixtures. He wanted to make sure Dawson felt the pressure.

Finally, Warren turned back to the owner. "I'm quite satisfied with your house. It needs some work, but it's acceptable. Nonetheless, I'll have to consider it for a while. I'll give you a reply by tomorrow. Is that fine for you?"

Dawson looked desperate but nodded in compliance. "Sure. Tomorrow is fine."

Then, a sly, greedy glint appeared in Warren's eye. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped closer to Dawson. "Could you give me your direct contact number?"

It was a blatant, unethical move. By asking for the direct number, Warren was planning to completely cut Toby out of the deal. If they communicated privately, they could finalize the sale without paying Toby a single cent of his rightful commission.

Toby realized what was happening instantly. Panic surged through his chest. He thought of the endless nights pacing his small apartment, the relentless abuse from his wife, and the sheer desperation he felt to make this sale. Desperate to protect his livelihood, Toby stepped forward quickly.

"Mr. Dawson," Toby interjected, forcing a polite but strained smile. "You can just contact me. Why don't I help you coordinate the entire deal myself? It will save you the hassle."

If Dawson gave Warren the number, Toby would lose everything.

Dawson, wanting to avoid any unnecessary complications in his fragile state, bobbed his head in hasty compliance. "All right. That's the rules of the industry. I understand that. We will go through the agent."

Upon witnessing his scheme being ruined, Warren's face darkened. The arrogant smirk vanished, replaced by a deep, threatening scowl. He stepped toward Toby, closing the distance between them to intimidate the shorter man.

"Toby, did I allow you to speak?" Warren demanded darkly, his voice laced with an explicit, heavy threat. "What are you afraid of? Are you afraid that I won't give you your fees?"

Toby panicked. His hands shook slightly as he took a step back, wilting under Warren's aggressive posture. He stuttered, his professional mask crumbling. "No, Mr. Ford. You're mistaken. I... I just meant..."

"What?" Warren barked, stepping even closer. "Speak up."

Before Warren could bully Toby any further, Vance stepped up immediately. He placed himself directly between Warren and Toby, acting as a physical shield. His gaze turned incredibly frosty, devoid of any warmth or patience.

Sylvia, who had been about to sneer at Toby again, caught sight of Vance's eyes. The sheer intensity and raw danger radiating from his expression made her physically shiver. She instinctively took a step back, suddenly feeling very small in the massive apartment.

"It's the rules of the industry," Vance stated, his voice a low, commanding rumble that suffocated the room. "Even the owner knows the regulations. Why don't you understand them? Toby searched for the property and contacted the sellers by himself. He had a hard time doing so. Are you going to completely disregard his contribution like this?"

Warren glared at Vance, but he found himself unable to maintain eye contact with the intense, piercing stare. He gritted his teeth, his face flushing red with anger.

Unsettled by the sudden, terrifying tension crackling in the air, Dawson decided to put an end to it before the deal blew up in his face. "All right, please," Dawson intervened quickly, wiping sweat from his brow. "Let's stick to the standard procedure. I will communicate solely through Toby. Let's not make this difficult."

Warren's scheme was ruined. He let out a harsh breath, shooting a venomous glare at Vance.

Toby let out a shaky sigh of relief. He turned to the owner. "Thank you, Mr. Dawson. We won't disturb you any longer then."

The group filed out of the apartment and rode the elevator down in heavy, uncomfortable silence. Once they walked out of the high-rise and back onto the pavement, Toby tried to salvage the mood. He peeked nervously at Warren.

"Mr. Ford, what do you think about the house?" Toby asked, his voice tentative.

Dismissive and highly irritated that he couldn't bully them into submission, Warren didn't even look back at Toby. He marched toward his parked BMW. "Let's meet up at noon. We can chat over lunch and finalize the discussion."

Troubled, Toby glanced at Vance. He noticed that Vance had a mocking expression on his face, clearly unimpressed by Warren's temper tantrum. "We should go," Vance said calmly.

Toby nodded and inquired to Warren's retreating back. "All right. Where shall we go for lunch?"

Warren unlocked his car. "Riverfront Hotel," he declared haughtily. Without another word, he slid into the driver's seat.

Sylvia and Nadine didn't even bother to bid Vance and Toby goodbye. Rolling their eyes in disgust, they climbed into the luxurious vehicle. The BMW's engine roared to life, and the car sped away down the avenue, leaving Vance and Toby standing on the curb.

Toby let out a long breath, expressing his deep apprehension. "Warren seems so arrogant. I wonder what our lunch will be like later. He's going to make this as difficult as possible."

Vance adjusted his collar, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We should go and have lunch with him. Who knows? Maybe we'll gain something unexpected."

Toby rubbed his temples, his anxiety flaring up again. "It appears that Warren is really rich to arrange for lunch at the Riverfront Hotel. That place is highly exclusive. The hotel was founded and is strictly controlled by the successful businesswoman, Diana Maxwell. She is ruthless. I heard she doesn't tolerate any nonsense in her establishments."

Hearing her name, Vance stopped walking for a second. He smiled wryly to himself. Diana Maxwell. The highly successful, billionaire businesswoman who had been relentlessly pursuing him. He silently hoped he wouldn't run into the clingy woman while he was just trying to help Toby secure a real estate commission. Dealing with Warren was headache enough.

A few minutes later, Vance and Toby arrived at the opulent, gold-trimmed lobby of the Riverfront Hotel. The interior was a testament to extreme wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung from the soaring ceilings, casting a warm, brilliant light over the polished marble floors. Rich mahogany accents and plush velvet seating areas filled the expansive space.

As they walked through the revolving glass doors, they found a highly embarrassing scene unfolding right in the center of the lobby.

Warren was standing at the front desk, his face red with indignation. He was loudly and aggressively berating a terrified young receptionist. A crowd of about twenty people, including Sylvia and Nadine, stood nearby, watching the spectacle.

"I'm very sorry, sir," the receptionist apologized profusely, her hands trembling as she clutched a tablet. "We are at full capacity in the main dining hall today. You didn't reserve a table in advance, and we simply have no open tables available."

Desperate to impress the two women standing behind him, Warren slammed his hand flat against the marble counter. He snorted in loud disbelief. "Is this how you manage your hotel? Do you know who I am? I've heard that there is a private room on the ninth floor that is currently empty. Why can't we use it?"

He arrogantly demanded immediate access to the exclusive, legendary ninth-floor private room.

The receptionist widened her eyes in sheer panic. She nervously stammered, trying to explain the strict rules. "Sir, please. That room is not available to regular customers. The ninth-floor space is strictly reserved solely for Oakhaven's absolute highest elites. It is mandated by Ms. Maxwell's personal decree. She only receives her personal guests there. I'm just doing my job. Please don't make things difficult for me."

The ninth floor was notorious in Oakhaven. It housed only two private dining rooms, alongside a state-of-the-art bowling alley, a luxury gym, a high-tech meeting room, a private karaoke lounge, and a personal movie theater. It was designed exclusively for the city's most powerful tycoons, A-list celebrities, and billionaires. It was not a place where a man who just bought a ninety-seven million dollar apartment could simply walk in.

Refusing to back down and look weak in front of Sylvia and Nadine, Warren leaned in close across the counter. He lowered his voice into a heavy, menacing threat.

"Listen to me carefully," Warren hissed, making sure the women behind him could hear his flex. "I'm an executive of Tommy's Antiques!"

Tommy's Antiques.

The name carried heavy weight in the city. The receptionist instantly sucked in a deep breath, her face paling. She was visibly intimidated by the mention of the city's powerful underworld figure, Tommy Shaw, who owned the company.

"P-please wait for a while, sir," she stammered, stepping back from the counter. "I'll hurry to the back office and call someone to ask for instructions from upper management."

She scurried away, disappearing behind a set of frosted glass doors.

Left waiting, Warren straightened his suit jacket. He turned away from the desk and scanned the massive lobby. A smug, victorious smile spread across his face. He felt like a king holding court. He basked in the respectful and admiring gazes of the wealthy onlookers who had overheard his threat. Sylvia and Nadine looked at him with stars in their eyes, practically swooning over his display of raw power and influence.

He crossed his arms, thoroughly satisfied with himself, completely unaware of the massive humiliation that was about to crush him.