The Richest Man Who Ever Lived Book 소설 & 이야기

Instead, they only stoked the resentment burning inside him. Grayson spoke through gritted teeth, his voice barely controlled. "That's Emmett Harlow, the son of the wealthiest man in our city!" Maeve froze. A flash of envy crossed her eyes involuntarily. The son of the wealthiest family! Countless socialites would kill for a chance with him, yet somehow, Calla had managed it. Impressive…

The old feud lingered, unseen but unforgotten. Money was never truly an issue. Over the centuries, I had gathered wealth beyond any human measure, carefully moving it between banks as Britain's currencies shifted, exchanging, concealing, and multiplying it with a patience only immortality could afford. Gold, coins, assets—hidden in safes across the country, untouched and untouchable. If I chose to, I could vanish anywhere and live without ever worrying about the next meal, the next roof, the next danger. Far from the struggles of mortals, my fortune was mine alone, a silent testament to the life I had meticulously built and the independence I refused to surrender.

I recounted the family's history, Edward's legend, and the challenges and efforts we've faced over the years. Discussing these topics took very little time. James had coached me. "Keep their imagination of Aesthete alive. What do people associate with a tycoon? Money, champagne, luxury cars... How many would imagine a tycoon waking up early for work and working long hours? Your explanations that don't fit their expectations might make them doubt everything else you say." The key point to focus on next...

“Mandy, your live-in husband is certainly interesting! “Did he say that he was Prince York just to save his honor? “Do you know who Prince York is? “The former heir of the Yorks in South Light! “The person who manages the 150-billion-dollar enterprise has unimaginable wealth and has risen to the top circle of Country H! “Adding up all these together, he is such a legendary figure. How could he ever be a loser? “Hahaha…”

"Mr. Anthony, yeah?" I stared at the image before nodding. "Yes. Mr. Richard," I corrected. "But there’s no way this man is the third richest person in the world." The words came out more to myself than to her. If I had been walking around town with the third richest man in the world, I would’ve known. There would’ve been signs—paparazzi, high-level security, entourages. Richard had none of that. He drove himself around, stayed in relatively low-profile places, and barely had anyone hovering over him.

Vane Industries felt like a giant, glass cage, a place built on greed and cold hearts. The elevator dings; Val froze. Nobody was supposed to be on the sixty-second floor this late. The "big bosses" usually left by seven to go to their fancy parties. She tucked herself into a dark corner behind a large potted plant, holding her breath. Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Thud. Thud. Thud. A man walked into the light. He was tall, wearing a suit that probably cost more than Val’s entire life. Even from the back, she knew that frame. She knew the way he carried his shoulders, like he owned the very air he breathed.

Before I could even get to the dining room, my eyes caught a glimpse of something on the table and the thing seemed like a letter. Awen So sweet!'. I mumbled…. Before running as fast as my feet could carry me, toward the dining room. I ran like a wild beast, and then I grabbed the white envelope and opened it without letting my breath out. Immediately I was successfully able to open the envelope…… I brought out the piece of paper that was inside and quickly opened it to read what Edward had written. 'Three hundred million dollars!'. That was the first thing that I saw and it was written in capital letters.

It left me wondering what had happened during the years when I was “dead.” Not only does he own companies, but malls, resorts, subdivisions, and apartment complexes all over the country. Every day I discovered something new. Every day I felt more overwhelmed. But then I remembered who we were talking about—Nathan Pendragon, the richest man in the entire country. To him, all these things were normal. To me, they were like scenes from a dream I wasn’t supposed to be inside.

Madam Ritz’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the silver card in her hand. “Dustin Crawford?” she wanted to say aloud, but didn’t dare to. Her face paled as her eyes locked onto the name etched into the card. She knew exactly who he was. A close friend had once told her about this man—how he could buy an entire city with just the snap of his fingers. Eighty percent of the world’s banks were under his name. That’s why they called him “The Golden Zillionaire”—the first ever zillionaire in history, with a wealth estimated to be in the 30-digit range. Only a select few knew that truth.

Isaiah handed over the keys like he was used to it. I followed carefully as he entered a private room. Through the partially open door, I saw several young men dressed in sharp suits. They looked like the typical rich heirs you would see in tabloids. Pretending to be on a phone call, I loitered in the hallway near the room. From where I stood, I could see the table piled with dishes like lobster, king crab, and caviar—things I would only ever see on cooking shows. "Isaiah, seeing you in those cheap clothes cracks me up. You're the heir to billions, for crying out loud!"