Chapter 412: Five Hundred Million

Bennett placed him the second his eyes locked onto hers.

Caspian.

A few years back, when a seller tried to gut a contract at the eleventh hour, Caspian had stepped in and pinned the terms down for her client. They weren’t friends. In her line of work you didn’t make friends. You collected people who picked up the phone when things went sideways and didn’t leave a mess behind. Caspian was one of those names.

She smoothed the front of her jacket, stood from the leather armchair, and held out her hand.

"Long time."

Caspian crossed the thick carpet and took it without missing a beat. His grip was dry and automatic.

"It has been," he said.

His eyes slid past her shoulder to the young man in the chair beside hers. Less than a second. Whatever he saw there didn’t look like someone who could afford the car they were talking about. By the time Caspian looked back at Bennett, his face was clean again.

"What brings you up to this floor?"

"Buying a car for my client."

His gaze flicked to the chair. "He’s the client?"

"Yes."

No extra explanation. No soft cushion around it.

Caspian slid one hand into his pocket. "And what are we looking at today?"

"The Bugatti Chiron Profilée."

The room went quiet in a way that felt deliberate. The climate control hummed a little louder against the glass.

Caspian didn’t laugh. He just watched her, waiting for the joke that never came.

"You’re serious."

Bennett nodded once.

"Moretti," Caspian said, turning. "Let me see the spec sheet."

Moretti moved fast. He picked up the spare leather dossier from the corner of his desk and held it out with both hands, a level of care he hadn’t shown Lucas earlier.

Caspian took it. The spine gave a soft creak as he opened it. He didn’t need the pages. Anyone in this bracket already knew the Profilée~the numbers, the scarcity, the kind of names that usually sat across from it. He turned two glossy sheets anyway, slow, letting the paper whisper. Then he shut the cover against his palm.

He looked at Bennett with a thin smile.

"Are you sure your client isn’t taking you for a ride?"

Behind his shoulder, Trent snorted.

"Just wasting an innocent woman’s time. Kid walks in here dressed like that and thinks he can touch a car that costs more than his whole life."

Bennett didn’t answer. The line sat there, ugly and loud. Her fingers pressed into the armrest. She kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the place to start swinging. She was here for the car. She sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and kept her face even.

Caspian’s smile didn’t move. Trent was still grinning behind him, waiting for the kid to fold or start explaining himself. The room stayed quiet except for the low hum of the climate control against the glass.

Lucas still hadn’t looked up.

He had the other copy of the book open across his knees, turning pages like the room around him was background noise. Woven leather. Engine shots. Spec columns. Another page whispered over.

His thumb rested on the bottom edge of the paper.

"And who was that," he said, eyes still on the numbers, "talking about me wasting her time?"

The temperature in the office dropped.

Caspian’s smile disappeared. The polished surface went with it.

"You’re telling me you’re the buyer?"

Lucas raised his chin. His eyes met Caspian’s, flat and awake.

Caspian didn’t give him room.

"Man, stop embarrassing yourself and get the fuck out of here."

The curse sat heavy in the glass-walled office. Moretti stiffened behind the desk. Bennett’s fingers pressed a little tighter into the armrest.

Lucas only smiled.

Small. Dry. No heat in it. The look of someone listening to noise that had already failed.

He closed the book, leaned forward, and set it in the center of Moretti’s desk. One palm smoothed the leather once.

"I like the car," he said. "What’s the ask?"

The question hit harder than the insult had.

A muscle jumped in Caspian’s jaw. Color climbed under the collar of his shirt. He was used to men folding, or at least talking too much to prove they belonged. Lucas had done neither. He had stepped past the ranking and gone straight back to the car.

Moretti swallowed.

Caught between the man on his carpet and the one in the chair, he went with the number.

"Five hundred million dollars."

Caspian’s eyes stayed on Lucas. The number didn’t shift him. What settled was the way Lucas had asked for it, flat, like it was just the next line after the specs he’d been reading. Serious. Not fishing. Not waiting for anyone to talk him out of it.

He turned his head.

"Trent."

The snap was sharp. Trent crossed the carpet at once and bent, bringing his head down until his ear was level with Caspian’s mouth. Caspian didn’t raise his voice. The words came slow, spaced, meant for one person. Trent’s shoulders stayed still while he listened. His hands remained at his sides. When Caspian finished, Trent straightened without a word and stepped away.

He walked over to Moretti. Stopped beside the desk. Moretti looked up at him, then past him toward Caspian, then at Lucas. No one spoke. Trent leaned in. His voice stayed low. Moretti’s head tilted. He listened. His mouth opened once, closed. He nodded, small. Trent stayed there a moment longer, then straightened again. The two of them stood with the desk between them and the rest of the room.

Lucas stayed in the chair. One hand rested on the closed book. His shoulders were loose. He watched the pair by the desk, then shifted his eyes to the back of Caspian’s head. Outside the glass the light kept thinning. Caspian hadn’t moved from his place by the window. Lucas didn’t fill the silence. He just sat and waited to see what the man had decided to do.