Golden Eye Tycoon: Rise of the Billionaire Trader-Chapter 74: Style Upgrade

The Audi RS 6 glided into the valet circle of The Gilded Quarter, the city’s most exclusive luxury enclave. As Jake stepped out, the valet’s eyes widened, recognizing the aggressive stance of the black-on-black wagon. Beside him, Catharine smoothed her dress, looking up at the towering glass facade of Aurelian Sartorial.

"Are you sure about this, Jake?" she asked, her voice low as they approached the heavy brass doors. "I’ve heard the price of a pocket square in here could pay for a semester of tuition."

Jake caught the door for her, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I’m buying m, Cath. If I’m going to stand in a room full of sharks like those guys, I need to look like I can afford to lose a million and not blink. Besides, I want your eyes on this. You know what looks ’old money’ and what looks like a lottery winner."

Inside, the air was chilled and carried the scent of sandalwood and expensive wool. A man in a razor-sharp charcoal suit descended the spiral staircase. He looked at Jake’s sneakers for half a second before his gaze drifted to the heavy steel key fob in Jake’s hand. His posture shifted instantly into a deep, respectful incline.

"Good afternoon," the man said, his voice a smooth baritone. "I am Julian. How may Aurelian Sartorial serve you today?"

"My friend needs a full wardrobe," Catharine said, taking the lead and walking toward a rack of midnight-blue fabrics. "Nothing with logos. We’re looking for the Brioni Vanquish II line and perhaps some Tom Ford for his board meetings."

Jake nudged her a little, "friend huh?" Catharine pinched him and Jake chuckled a bit.

Julian’s eyebrows shot up. "A connoisseur. Right this way, Madam."

For the next hour, Jake was a mannequin for the finest textiles on the planet. Julian draped a charcoal Brioni jacket over his shoulders, the fabric a blend of Vicuña and pashmina that felt lighter than air.

Nearby, an older man in a flamboyant silk blazer—accompanied by a young woman draped in designer logos—watched the scene with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

"Look at him, Tiffany," the man chuckled, loud enough for Jake to hear. "Probably a ’fin-fluencer’ renting the car for the day. He’ll look at the price tag on those Vicuña blends and find a reason to leave. If that kid actually swiped for five bespoke suits, I’d buy you that limited-edition crocodile-skin handbag we saw at the front."

The girl’s eyes lit up, her gaze darting between the handbag display and Jake. "Are you serious, Harold? You promise? That handbag costs 270,000VM."

"On my life," Harold replied, puffing out his chest. "He’s just playing dress-up."

Jake ignored them, looking at his reflection as Catharine circled him like a hawk. "The fit across the shoulders is perfect, Jake. But the lapel on that navy Tom Ford O’Connor over there is sharper. It has that ’power’ silhouette."

"Why choose?" Jake said, meeting Julian’s eyes. The charcoal Brioni was 145,000 VM, and the Tom Ford was 95,000 VM. He pointed to three other bolts of fabric—a slate grey, a deep forest green, and a classic pinstripe. "We’ll take all five. Tailor them for a slim, modern break."

Julian’s hands trembled slightly as he marked the measurements. "An excellent choice, sir. That brings the suiting total to 580,000 VM."

Next, they moved to the casual wing, where Loro Piana and Brunello Cucinelli reigned supreme. Jake picked out seven full outfits—cashmere overshirts, sea-island cotton polos, and vicuña hoodies. By the time they reached the shoe gallery, Harold was looking increasingly uncomfortable, his face turning a shade of red that matched his pocket square.

"You need structure for your feet, Jake," Catharine said, pointing to a pair of Berluti Alessandro whole-cut Oxfords in a deep tobacco patina. "They’re hand-patinated in Paris. At 35,000 VM, they are a lifetime investment."

Jake picked out four pairs of formal shoes and three pairs of high-end sneakers, including Dior B27 high-tops. He walked toward the counter, Harold and Tiffany following at a distance, the atmosphere in the store thick with anticipation.

"The total for the wardrobe and footwear comes to 1,250,000 VM, sir," Julian said, his voice hushed with reverence.

Jake didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his matte black card and swiped. The machine let out a crisp chime as the transaction was approved.

Tiffany let out a squeal of excitement, grabbing Harold’s arm. "He did it! Harold, he actually did it! Come on, let’s go get my bag!"

Harold’s face went pale as he stared at the receipt Julian was printing. "Now, wait a minute, Tiffany... that was clearly a figure of speech. I didn’t literally mean—"

"You made a bet, Harold!" she pouted, her voice rising as other customers began to turn and stare. "You said on your life! Don’t tell me you’re poorer than a college kid!"

Jake caught Julian’s eye and shared a brief, silent smirk before leading Catharine out of the store. The sound of Harold’s desperate excuses echoed behind them, providing a much more satisfying soundtrack than the store’s ambient jazz.

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By 14:00, they were famished. They walked across the marble plaza to L’Éclat, a restaurant where the tables were separated by frosted glass and live orchids.

"Welcome back, Mr. Rivers," the maître d’ said, though it was Jake’s first time. He had clearly seen the car. "A terrace table for two?"

The menu had no prices. A waiter in white gloves appeared instantly. "May I suggest the Bluefin Tuna Toro with gold leaf and the A5 Miyazaki Wagyu tartare to start?"

"We’ll take both," Jake said. "And for the main, the Wild Caught Turbot and the Dry-Aged Tomahawk."

"An excellent selection, sir. And to drink? Perhaps a bottle of the ’96 Dom Pérignon P2?"

"Bring it," Jake nodded.

"Jake, that champagne is probably more than my rent," Catharine hissed softly as the waiter retreated.

"It’s just fermented grapes, Cath. Enjoy the view."

"Did you enjoy making that guy in the store make a fool out of himself?" Catharine asked with a sly smile.

"I honestly don’t care much about what a stranger says about me. People will always find ways to talk one way or another. " Jake replied.

"How mature of you."

The lunch was a masterclass in excess. The Wagyu melted like butter, and the champagne was crisp and cold. When the bill arrived, it was tucked into a leather sleeve. Jake glanced at it—2,500 VM—and added a 1,000 VM tip without a word. The waiter’s composure broke for a split second, his eyes bugging out before he recovered with a stuttered, "Th-thank you, sir! A pleasure!"

---

After lunch, they entered The Chronos Vault. The lighting was dim, highlighting the rotating tourbillons in the cases.

The security here was tighter—two armed guards and a double-entry mantle. Inside, the lighting was dim, designed to make the gemstones and polished platinum in the displays pop.

"I’m looking for something timeless," Jake told the jeweler, a woman with white gloves and a magnifying loupe around her neck. "Something that says the wearer knows exactly what time it is, and exactly what that time is worth."

She pulled a velvet tray from the safe. On it sat a Patek Philippe Grand Complications 5270P. It was platinum, with a stunning salmon dial and a perpetual calendar.

"The 5270P," she whispered. "The pinnacle of watchmaking. It tracks the day, date, month, and moon phase. It won’t need adjusting for a hundred years."

"I’ll take it," Jake said. "How much?"

"700,000 VM, sir."

Catharine gasped softly, leaning in to see the intricate movement through the sapphire case back. While she was distracted by a display of vintage pocket watches, Jake caught the jeweler’s eye and gestured to a Cartier Panthère High Jewelry watch—18k white gold, completely set with diamonds and emerald eyes for the panther.

"Wrap that one separately," Jake whispered, sliding his card a second time. "The Cartier is for her. Don’t mention the 300,000 VM price tag."

The jeweler gave a knowing, elegant nod. "A gentleman’s secret, sir."

---

The drive back to the Zenith was quiet, the RS 6’s trunk and back seats filled with high-end garment bags and shoeboxes. As they pulled into the subterranean garage, the two new Audis glowed under the LED lights. Jake led Catharine up the private elevator, the total spend for the day sitting at a staggering 2,250,000 VM.

When the doors opened to the 40th floor, the sound of the waterfall greeted them. Jake set the shopping bags down on the marble floor and looked at Catharine. The transition was complete.

"Welcome to the Zenith, Cath," he said softly. "Make yourself at home. I think it’s time we finally explored those bedrooms—or at least, found a place to hang all this new ’armor.’"

She laughed, the blush returning to her cheeks as she looked out at the city skyline. "Let’s start with the terrace, Jake. I want to see the city from the top before I get lost in this palace."

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