Chapter 175: Fake Investment

Chapter 175: Chapter 175: Fake Investment

"Do you actually have a handle on things?" Irene raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp.

"That art project you jumped into a couple of years ago—didn’t you lose nearly a million? All that junk is still sitting in your old house. You said it would appreciate, but now no one wants it. If you really had a handle on things, you wouldn’t have watched that money go down the drain."

Nicholas was left speechless, his face flushing. "That was just an accident! Who could’ve predicted the market would shift that fast?"

"One accident is bad luck. Constant accidents are your own problem." Irene softened her tone, concern in her eyes.

"I’m not trying to control your money. I have a friend on Wall Street who told me that since last year, tech stocks have been tanking. The Nasdaq is down 40%, and a ton of tech companies have gone under.

You never check your investments—what if yours are in there? I don’t want to see you buried in debt and forced to take terrible films just to pay it off, wrecking your reputation. You’ve got talent and resources. Why play a winning hand this badly?"

She paused, then continued, "That Beverly Hills house was your mother. It’s your safety net, and you need to protect it. Either mortgage it for stable cash flow, or find someone reliable to manage it for you.

Stop letting shady managers swindle you. If you trust me, I can connect you with a professional wealth management team. They charge a flat commission and won’t steal from you."

Eleanor took Nicholas’s hand, her tone gentle. "Nick, Irene only wants what’s best for you. It’s not easy working out there on your own. As your family, we just want you safe, not caught up in debt disputes. Listen to Irene. Check your investments carefully. Don’t be careless."

Nicholas looked at Irene’s earnest gaze, then at his parents’ worried faces. The impatience in his chest faded, replaced by a touch of gratitude.

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, I understand. I’ll go through those investments when I get back. If there’s a problem, I’ll ask you to put me in touch with that team."

A hint of a smile touched Irene’s face as she picked up her knife and fork. "That’s more like it. Remember, stop investing on gut feelings. Your money didn’t blow in on the wind. Don’t let it line someone else’s pockets."

The next morning, thinking that if she was going to help, she might as well see it through, Irene skipped the Disney studio. Instead, she went with Nicholas to a coffee shop in Beverly Hills to meet his financial advisor, Mark Stanley.

Last night Irene had asked a contact to compile a "Financial Risk Checklist." It arrived by email this morning, and she handed it to Nicholas right away.

When Mark pushed the door open, he was in a suit and tie, meticulous as always, with a professional smile.

"Nick, long time no see. You’ve been busy with your new film, right? And this must be the great director Irene? First time meeting you. Hello." He sat down naturally, greeted them smoothly, and ordered an Americano as if nothing was unusual.

Irene nodded casually.

"Mark, I asked to meet today because I want to go over my finances." Nicholas didn’t even wait for the coffee, trying to keep his tone calm.

"Especially the investments you recommended in the last year. I want to see the specific cash flow and profit details."

A flicker of panic crossed Mark’s eyes, but he recovered instantly and pulled a printed report from his briefcase.

"Don’t worry, your assets are very stable. Here are the details. See, the new energy project from last year is down 15% on paper, but that’s just a cyclical industry adjustment. It’ll rebound. And that overseas real estate fund—no profit yet, but the location is prime. It will appreciate long term."

Nicholas stared at the dense numbers, more confused the longer he looked. He pointed to one line. "This ’Emerging Tech Equity’—I put in four million. Why is there only 1.2 million left? You said the risk was controlled. How did it lose that much?"

"Nick, investing isn’t about short-term gains." Mark set down his coffee cup, a note of reproach in his voice.

"Emerging tech is high-risk, high-reward by nature. The industry’s reshuffling, so losses are normal. Look at the Silicon Valley big shots—who didn’t endure short-term losses before making it big?"

At that, Irene reached over, took the report, and flipped through it quickly.

"Mr. Mark, are you sure this is just a normal loss? I found that the ten million Nick gave you to invest last year was transferred to a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands. And this new energy project? The actual controller is your distant cousin. The so-called ’cyclical adjustment’ is just a precursor to a busted capital chain, right?"

Mark’s face darkened, and his look toward Irene turned impatient.

"Ms. Irene, I’m discussing professional wealth management with Nick. What does a filmmaker know about this? High risk means high reward. That’s basic finance. Nick trusts me—that’s why he put his assets under my management. This short-term fluctuation isn’t worth a fuss."

"Short-term fluctuation?" Irene sneered and set a screenshot from her investigation on the table.

"That shell company hit a regulatory blacklist last month. Your so-called ’high return’ is just cover to move Nick’s money into your own pocket. And that overseas real estate fund you pitched at 20% annualized? It won’t even return principal. These aren’t high risks. This is fraud."

"You’re talking nonsense!" Mark’s voice rose, agitated.

"You don’t understand how complex the financial market is. I spent three years building Nick’s portfolio, and now you question me over a little temporary loss? A layman lecturing an expert!" He turned to Nicholas, softening his tone, cajoling.

"Nick, we’ve worked together five years. When have I cheated you? Didn’t the blue-chip stocks and bond funds I recommended make you money? We’re just hitting a small setback. Don’t let an outsider’s meddling wreck our long-term plan."

Nicholas frowned, his eyes moving between Irene and Mark, hesitation written across his face. He had made money on Mark’s earlier picks, and a sliver of wishful thinking lingered.

"Mark, is what Irene said true? Did you really invest the money into a shell company?"