Chapter 174: Back to Malibu

Chapter 174: Chapter 174: Back to Malibu

"Personal business?" Irene pressed.

"I remember you complaining to me before that your new girlfriend, Lisa, hates your old-fashioned lifestyle. If she knew you were still holding on to this old house full of memories of your ex-wife, and hadn’t even changed the furniture, would she flip out on the spot? At that point, forget dating—she probably wouldn’t even walk through the door."

That hit Nicholas right where it hurt. He frowned and shot back, "Lisa isn’t that superficial! Besides, my mother left me this house. Changing the furniture would be disrespectful to her."

He paused, then changed the subject, defiance in his voice. "Anyway, it’s better than you. You don’t even have your own house and still rely on your parents. When you’re filming, do you bring Mom and Dad to set with you?"

"Stop talking nonsense," Irene rolled her eyes. "I just haven’t had time to look. I’ll move out once I finish Pirates of the Caribbean."

Logically, Irene had shot plenty of movies and had more than enough savings. She should have bought property long ago. Aside from being busy, another reason was that the U.S. would hit an economic crisis this year. Add in the September crisis, and housing prices were bound to plummet.

Next year would be the best time to buy. Not just real estate—her business investment plans would officially kick off next year too.

"By the way, since no one’s lived here for so long, is it even okay? Why don’t you come to Malibu with me for a while? My parents happen to be there, so at least you’ll get real meals. Otherwise, if you stay here tonight, you’ll definitely end up ordering takeout," Irene said seriously.

Nicholas thought about it and figured she had a point, so he didn’t stand on ceremony. After putting his precious fossils in the bedroom, he quickly packed a bag and got back into Irene’s car.

Irene drove, taking Nicholas toward the house in Malibu.

The evening breeze along the coastal highway carried a salty dampness, fogging the car windows. In the distance, the sea was dyed orange-red by the setting sun, blending into the clouds on the horizon.

"Beverly Hills is nice, but Malibu’s still more comfortable. Seeing the ocean every day clears my head," Irene muttered, hands on the wheel.

Nicholas leaned back in the passenger seat and rolled his eyes.

"What do you know? A Beverly Hills address is a status symbol. It’s convenient for business and connections." Even so, as he looked at the ocean view outside, a flicker of longing crossed his eyes.

Irene pulled up in front of her house. Unlike Nicholas’s history-heavy mid-century mansion, Irene’s place was simple and bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the endless sea. Several bougainvillea bloomed passionately in the courtyard.

As soon as she pushed the door open, the rich aroma of roasted beef hit her. Her mother, Eleanor, came out smiling.

"Nick, we’ve been waiting for you! You didn’t even think to stop by your uncle’s house when you got back to L.A. It’s so inconvenient with your place sitting empty. Your uncle had the staff go to the market for the tomahawk steaks you like as soon as Irene called. Come in."

Her father, Francis, sat on the living room sofa reading a newspaper. He glanced up at Nicholas with a hint of teasing. "A rare guest! What brought you home? Run into trouble again?"

"Uncle, I’m your own nephew!" Nicholas feigned grievance as he set down his camera bag. "Can’t I just miss you guys? Besides, Irene dragged me here. She was afraid I’d starve alone in Beverly Hills."

At dinner, the table was covered with dishes: tomahawk steaks seared crisp outside and tender inside, golden roasted potatoes, fresh vegetable salad, and an apple pie Eleanor had baked herself.

Francis poured two glasses of red wine and handed one to Nicholas. "I heard your latest movie’s box office wasn’t ideal? It’s fine. As an actor, there are ups and downs. Just pick better scripts next time."

Nicholas took a sip and sighed. "Don’t mention it. Good scripts are hard to find right now, and the agency keeps pushing me to take films. It’s tough."

While cutting her steak, Irene suddenly remembered her past life—how Nicholas had been swindled by his financial manager, left with massive debt, and forced to churn out bad movies to stay afloat. Her chest tightened, and she spoke up.

"By the way, Nicholas, I forgot to ask this afternoon. How much is that old mansion of yours in Beverly Hills worth now? A house that big in a prime location must be worth a lot, right?"

Nicholas blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I’m not sure exactly. It was appraised two years ago—around twelve million, maybe? Why do you ask?"

Irene’s eyes widened. "Ten or twenty million? Beverly Hills houses really aren’t cheap! It’s such a waste for you to live in one that expensive alone."

Even though Irene now earned tens of millions a year, she hadn’t bought property yet, so she didn’t have a real sense of these assets.

"There are cheaper ones in Beverly Hills too. Mine’s pricier mainly because of the lot size and the history. When Patricia and I got married, we talked about having four or five kids, so a bigger house made sense." At that, Nicholas drifted into memory of better days.

Irene frowned and bit back a comment. She set down her knife and fork and shifted topics.

"Speaking of which, since you’re sitting on an asset that big, you need to manage it properly. Is your financial manager reliable? I’ve heard a lot of them aren’t. They target artists like you who don’t understand finance, dump money into all kinds of sketchy projects, and before you know it, everything’s gone."

Nicholas waved a hand dismissively. "Don’t worry. Mine’s been with me for years. He’s reliable. A few projects he recommended even made some money."

"Making a bit of money doesn’t mean it’s safe." Irene frowned.

"Think about it. Even though you gave up a lot in the divorce, you still have plenty of liquid assets. You’re a financial idiot yourself—you can’t tell stocks from funds. If your manager digs a hole for you, you won’t even know how you fell in."

Francis nodded. "Irene’s right. Nick, you’re too trusting, and you’re often indecisive. With finances, you have to be cautious. I know a few reliable advisors. I’ll introduce you another day. Have them review your investments."

If it were just his uncle saying it, fine, but being lectured by a sister seventeen years younger stung Nicholas’s pride. "It’s my own money. I know what I’m doing."