Chapter 157: Liam’s First Asset!

Liam followed the GPS route without much trouble, the district itself easy enough to navigate once he got close — wide, well-maintained streets, a mix of established businesses and newer developments that gave the whole area a sense of quiet, legitimate prosperity. Nothing flashy, but nothing struggling either. The kind of neighborhood serious businesses chose deliberately.

He pulled up outside the building and just sat in the car for a moment, taking it in through the windshield before even stepping out.

It looked good. Genuinely good, not the kind of "good for the price" compromise he half-expected from something that had materialized this suddenly. The exterior paint looked recently redone, no visible cracking or fading along the trim, and the overall structure carried itself with a clean, professional presence — three solid floors, large windows, nothing dated about the architecture despite whatever age the building actually was.

He stepped out of the car and glanced toward the parking lot, genuinely surprised by the size of it. Ample space, more than the building itself would typically require, striped and maintained, no potholes or crumbling asphalt anywhere he could see.

Liam did some quick mental math, factoring in the location, the lot size, the building’s condition. This wasn’t a modest acquisition. Property like this, in a district like this, likely ran well into seven figures — possibly deep into them, depending on square footage and whatever commercial zoning premium applied to the area.

And he hadn’t spent a single dollar of his own money on it.

He still had no real explanation for how any of this worked — the rebate system, the lottery draws, the way an actual deed had simply appeared in his glove compartment like it had always been there. But standing here now, looking at a building that would’ve taken most people decades of careful investment to acquire, Liam decided he wasn’t in any rush to question the mechanics too hard. Whatever this was, it worked in his favor, and that was reason enough to keep moving forward with it.

He made his way toward the entrance, and a young woman stepped out to greet him before he’d even reached the door.

She was striking — dark skin with an almost polished quality to it under the afternoon light, sharp, elegant features that read unmistakably Indian even though her voice, when she spoke, carried no trace of an accent at all.

"Hi, I’m Priya," she said, extending a hand, though her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than a standard introduction usually called for. "You must be the buyer?"

Liam caught the slight uncertainty in her tone, the way her gaze swept over him — clearly trying to reconcile whatever image she’d built in her head of the person who’d just paid, apparently in full, for a building that had sat unsold for a year and a half. He knew what she was seeing: someone young, well put together, handsome in a way that read as effortless rather than curated. Not the usual profile of a cash buyer for commercial property this size.

He smiled, extending his own hand to meet hers. "That’s me. Liam."

"Oh—" Priya blinked, recovering quickly, shaking his hand with a firmer grip than her initial hesitation suggested. "Right, of course. Gerald’s been expecting you. Well— he’s been expecting *someone*, honestly. This all happened kind of fast."

"I got that impression," Liam said, glancing past her toward the entrance. "Building looks great, by the way. Better than I expected."

"It’s been well maintained," Priya said, some pride creeping into her voice now that the conversation had moved onto familiar ground. "We had a cleaning crew come through this morning, actually, once we found out the sale went through. Wanted everything looking its best."

"Appreciate that."

She gestured toward the entrance. "Come on in. Gerald’s inside — he’s been a little, um, worked up since this morning. In a good way."

Liam followed her through the doors, taking in the reception area as he stepped inside — clean lines, decent natural light, nothing that needed immediate renovation as far as he could tell on first glance.

This could genuinely work. Not just as an asset sitting quietly on his balance sheet, but as an actual foundation — office space, a real address, something legitimate to build the firm around once he was ready to make that move official.

Priya glanced back at him as they walked. "So, can I ask— what line of work are you in? Gerald’s going to want to know for the paperwork, at the very least."

Liam considered the question for a moment, a small, private smile forming.

"Law," he said. "I’m building something. This felt like the right place to start it."

Liam stepped through the entrance, and Gerald came bustling out from the back office almost immediately, energy practically radiating off him in a way that suggested he’d spent the last hour in a full-blown cleaning frenzy alongside whatever crew Priya had called in.

"Mr.—" Gerald caught himself, realizing he didn’t actually have a last name to attach. "Liam, right? Come in, come in. We did a full pass this morning, floors, windows, the whole reception area. Wanted it looking sharp for you."

Liam stepped further inside, taking in the space properly now — clean, orderly, the kind of first impression that spoke well of whoever had scrambled to make it happen on short notice.

He took a slow breath, looking around at it all, and found himself momentarily without words. There was something almost surreal about standing in a space that was, undeniably, his — three floors, real square footage, an actual foundation for whatever came next — and yet having done absolutely nothing to earn it beyond a system he still didn’t fully understand. He felt, standing there, a little like a kid unwrapping a gift he hadn’t known to ask for.

"It’s good," Liam said finally, quieter than he intended. "Really good."

Gerald beamed, clearly pleased, though there was something slightly off in his posture — a kind of nervous energy underneath the enthusiasm. He’d assumed, walking in, that Liam might be some intermediary, a representative sent ahead of the actual buyer. Finding out that this was the buyer — young, sharp-dressed, carrying himself with an ease that read more like old money than new — had sent a small jolt through him he was doing his best not to show.

He kept it professional regardless. "Well, glad it made a good impression. Priya mentioned you’re starting something new here?"

"Something like that," Liam said, offering a small, easy smile.

Gerald faltered slightly under it, caught off guard for half a second by just how effortlessly handsome the man in front of him actually was — not that he’d ever say that out loud, but it registered regardless, a brief flicker of surprise before he recovered his composure.

"Right, well." Gerald cleared his throat, gesturing toward the paperwork sitting on the reception desk. "Everything’s finalized on our end. Just need your signature on a couple of closing documents, standard formalities."

Liam signed where indicated, then glanced around the space again, already running through what it would actually take to shape this into something usable.

"One more thing," Liam said. "The furniture — is it possible to have it all cleared out? I want to start fresh in here."

Gerald blinked, surprised. "You sure? It’s included in the sale, no extra charge. Solid pieces too, mostly high-end—"

"I’m sure," Liam said. "I’ve got a specific vision for this place. None of this really fits it."

Gerald nodded slowly, filing that away without further pushback. "I’ll get it arranged. Should have it cleared within a few days."

"Appreciate it."

Liam glanced around the empty reception area one more time, already picturing what it would become instead.

-

The final bell — more of a called stoppage from the corner coach watching time — brought the spar to an end, and Darren dropped his hands, chest heaving, sweat mixing with the shallow cuts along his brow and forearm where clean shots had gotten through.

He hurt. Everywhere, honestly. But he was still standing.

Across from him, the man barely looked winded. His breathing had evened out faster than should’ve been possible after that pace, and Darren clocked it immediately — the guy hadn’t been fighting at full output the entire time. He’d been managing his gas tank deliberately, conserving something in reserve even during the exchanges that looked, from the outside, like genuine full-effort rounds.

Still, Darren hadn’t gone down. Hadn’t tapped, hadn’t eaten a shot clean enough to end things outright, despite everything the man had thrown at him once he’d stopped holding back. That counted for something, and judging by the look on the man’s face now, he knew it too.

"Marco Kessler" the man said, pulling his gloves off and extending a hand. "Damn good spar."

Darren shook it, still catching his breath. "Darren."

"I know. Heard people saying your name before we even started." Marco’s mouth curved into something genuinely impressed. "Wasn’t expecting you to still be standing after that combination in the second exchange."

"Wasn’t planning on going down."

"Clearly." Marco studied him for a second, something calculating behind his eyes now. "You’ve got real instincts. Raw, but real. That’s not something you can fully teach."

Darren wiped sweat from his brow, unbothered by the compliment. He hadn’t gone into this looking for validation — he’d gone in expecting to win, and coming up short didn’t sit particularly well with him regardless of how respectfully the loss had landed.

Marco pulled a phone from his bag, scrawled a number down, and held it out. "Take this. I want to link up again sometime."

Darren eyed the paper, then Marco, genuinely thrown for a second. "Look, man, I don’t swing that way."

Marco blinked, then burst out laughing, loud enough that a couple of fighters nearby glanced over.

"Nah, nah — I like women too, relax." He shook his head, still grinning.

"I’m talking business. I’ve got a match coming up, bigger stage than this gym. I think you’d learn a lot just being ringside for it. See how the real level operates."

Darren took the paper slowly, turning it over, reconsidering the offer with fresh eyes now that the context had actually landed properly.

"You serious?"

"Dead serious." Marco clapped him on the shoulder. "Guys with your kind of instinct don’t come around often. Figured it’s worth the invitation."