Chapter 176: Choosing a Gift

Chapter 176: Chapter 176: Choosing a Gift

"Of course it’s fake!" Mark denied instantly, his tone thick with the indignation of a man wrongly accused.

"This is just Irene not understanding the industry and buying into online rumors! She’s a director. She deals with actors and scripts every day. What does she know about finance? High-risk investments are volatile by nature.

If you cut losses now, all the previous investment is wasted. Wait a little longer. Once the market warms up, not only will we break even, we’ll make a huge profit!"

"Wait?" Irene cut straight through his lie.

"Wait until you’ve moved the rest of the assets and we have nowhere to go for justice? Mr. Mark, I’ve already consulted financial regulators. The projects you recommended are either unregistered illegal private placements or fake targets. The so-called ’high returns’ are castles in the air.

Now, you have two choices: recover all transferred assets within three days, terminate every high-risk project, and move the funds into low-risk, stable investments—or we go straight to the police and let regulators trace your fund flows."

Mark’s face went completely pale. His earlier composure vanished.

He hadn’t expected Irene to dig this deep, uncovering shell companies and personal connections. He opened his mouth to argue, but her icy gaze stopped him cold. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in her eyes. She clearly wasn’t bluffing.

Nicholas watched Mark’s panic and finally understood.

He stood, anger simmering in his voice. "Mark, I’ll give you one last chance. Do what Irene said. If a single cent of my assets disappears abnormally, I’ll make you pay."

Mark looked at their faces, knew excuses were useless, and could only grit his teeth. "Fine... I’ll try. But some projects are already committed. I can’t guarantee full recovery."

"Then recover what you can." Irene stood and pulled Nicholas out. "I want clear records of funds received in three days. Otherwise, we’ll see you in court."

Outside the café, Nicholas’s expression was still grim. He turned to Irene, shaken. "Thank God you warned me. Otherwise I’d have been swindled down to nothing."

Irene patted his shoulder, her tone serious. "Got it now? Don’t trust people so easily, especially with money. After the funds come back in three days, don’t rush to invest. The market’s volatile right now. Stop dreaming about ’high risk, high return.’"

Nicholas nodded heavily, inwardly grateful. He was older, yet less reliable than his cousin who was barely over twenty. If this got out, it would be humiliating. Luckily, they’d stopped it in time.

He looked at Irene beside him, his smile full of gratitude. "Irene, thank you for today. Lunch is on me. Order whatever you want. Afterward, let’s pick out a gift. I have to make sure you’re happy."

Irene raised an eyebrow and smiled, not standing on ceremony. "Le Mer. I heard their new truffle foie gras is excellent."

Nicholas nodded repeatedly and drove there at once.

The restaurant was elegantly appointed, soft jazz playing in the background. The two sat by the window, looking out at the neatly trimmed garden.

Nicholas let go of his earlier tension, excitedly telling Irene about embarrassing moments on set and a film he’d once planned to produce.

Irene sampled the exquisite appetizers, occasionally teasing him about his old-fashioned ideas. Laughter filled the table.

After the meal, they headed straight to Rodeo Drive. In 2001, it was a hub for the world’s top luxury brands. The new pieces in the windows dazzled, radiating wealth and prestige.

Irene walked confidently into a boutique marked "Hermès," the golden sign gleaming in the sun. It was currently one of the most expensive luxury stores in the U.S.

In her past life, lying in a hospital, she’d spent her days online watching people flaunt Hermès bags. In the future, you’d have to queue and buy other goods just to get a bag. She’d longed for one then, envied others.

But in this life, when she’d worn Chanel since elementary school, Hermès was, to her, just a decent clothing brand.

Before she and Nicholas reached the entrance, someone opened the door for them. A mixed scent of leather and perfume hit them—not unpleasant, just strong. The sales clerk in a crisp uniform glanced at Nicholas and Irene, and a flicker of recognition and surprise crossed her eyes.

Nicolas Cage’s box office had been cold the last two years, but his name recognition was still high.

As for Irene, though she worked behind the scenes, her nomination as the youngest Oscar Best Screenplay contender and the recent news about her boyfriend’s infidelity made her more famous than most fourth- or fifth-tier actors.

"Mr. Nicholas, Irene, welcome." The clerk greeted them respectfully, warm but measured.

Irene nodded and walked straight to the new bag section.

Nicholas dropped onto a sofa casually, glancing around. "You girls love buying bags, but don’t they all look the same? Maybe a slight color difference. Why buy so many?"

"If you have the guts, say that to Lisa. No matter what, a bag is better than your bone scraps. At least I can carry it shopping. If you walk down the street clutching those, tomorrow the news will say Nicolas Cage went unstable after his box office failures." Irene shot back without turning her head.

"I told you, they’re fossils! Antiques! They have collection value!" Nicholas argued, but Irene ignored him. Her gaze locked on a haze-blue crocodile Birkin, its latest metal hardware catching the light. She picked it up and held it against herself..

"This one’s nice. Much better than that black bag last time." She casually lifted a creamy white Kelly next to it, feeling the leather, murmuring, "This one’s good too. It’ll go perfectly with the trench coat I bought last week."

Seeing Irene not even respond, Nicholas nearly choked in frustration and sipped the water a waiter had poured, pretending indifference.

The attentive clerk whispered beside Irene, explaining the material and limited status of each bag. As for price—people who walked in here never looked at the price.

Irene listened, her eyes moving between pieces.

Just as she hesitated between the two bags, a polite greeting came from behind: "Welcome."

Irene turned instinctively to see who had entered, but the moment she saw the person’s face, her smile vanished.