Richest Man: It All Started With My Rebate System-Chapter 28: Target Met

Steven pushed open the door to the Tom Ford store and stepped inside.

A salesperson approached almost immediately, unhurried, with the kind of measured welcome that came from years of reading customers at the door.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you today?"

"I want a custom suit," Steven said.

The salesperson smiled. Not condescendingly, but in a way that said he had had this conversation many times before and was glad to be having it again.

"Of course. We offer made-to-measure here. Is that something you’re familiar with?"

Steven wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. "Walk me through it."

The salesperson gestured toward a seating area and they moved to it together. He explained the process with the ease of someone who had done it enough times that the explanation had become its own kind of craft.

Made-to-measure began with a base pattern adjusted to the client’s measurements, unlike bespoke, which was built entirely from scratch. The fit was precise and the construction quality was consistent with the house standard. Fabric selection, lining, buttons, lapel style — all of it chosen by the client.

Steven listened carefully. He understood it quickly enough. It wasn’t the very top of what tailoring could offer, but it was serious work and the results would reflect it.

"I want three," Steven said, after a brief and silent contemplation.

The salesperson didn’t blink. "Absolutely. Let’s start with the fabric."

They moved to the cloth wall. It ran the full length of the back of the store, bolt after bolt arranged by weight and tone, and the salesperson moved along it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where everything was without needing to look.

He pulled three bolts and set them on the viewing table, explaining each one as he went.

A charcoal Super 130s wool, dense and smooth, the kind of cloth that held its shape through a long day and still looked considered at the end of it.

A navy with a faint structure woven into it, visible only at certain angles, which gave it a depth that a flat navy never had.

A dark espresso brown in a slightly heavier cloth that would carry well through cooler months and sit differently from anything else in the wardrobe.

Steven touched each one in turn, running his thumb across the surface. He had no technical vocabulary for what he was feeling, but he trusted the difference between them.

"All three," he said.

The salesperson nodded and moved on without comment.

Measurements came next after the fabric selection was done. He worked efficiently and without unnecessary conversation, calling numbers to a colleague who recorded them in a slim notebook. Chest, shoulders, sleeve length, waist, seat, inseam.

Steven stood straight and let it happen, turning when directed, arms out when asked.

Then the details. The salesperson walked him through lapel options with brief, clear descriptions.

Steven chose a notch lapel on two of the suits and a peak on the third, the espresso brown, which the salesperson confirmed was the right call for that cloth without being asked. Lining came from a drawer of silk swatches in more colours than Steven had expected.

He chose a deep burgundy for the charcoal, a pale gold for the navy, and a dark forest green for the brown, each one a deliberate contrast that would only be visible when the jacket was opened. Horn buttons in a dark finish across all three. Single vents. No ticket pocket.

The salesperson made a note of each decision without editorialising. Only once did he offer an opinion without being asked, and it was about the buttons on the navy suit. He suggested a slightly lighter finish.

Steven looked at the options he placed on the table, thought about it for a moment, and agreed. The salesperson nodded once and moved on.

When it was done, they returned to the main area and the salesperson produced an order summary on a slim tablet, turning it to face Steven without comment.

Three made-to-measure suits. Fabric, construction, and finishing at the house standard.

The total came to $21,600.

Steven looked at the number for a moment, then handed over his card.

The transaction cleared immediately.

[You spent $21,600. A 8x rebate was triggered.]

[You received $172,800. The money has been transferred to your account.]

He glanced at the notification as the salesperson processed the receipt, then checked his balance. $4,143,422.74.

He had crossed four million.

He processed the number and what it meant for him. He had truly become a multimillionaire.

Also, he had set three million as his working target for the restaurant acquisition—an amount enough to make an offer the owner would find difficult to refuse.

He had cleared target with room to spare, in less than a day.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it, as he pocketed the receipt and the small card with the store’s fitting contact, gave his delivery address, and walked out.

The door closed quietly behind him.

He made his way down to the ground floor without hurrying, moving through the Galleria’s lower corridors with the unhurried ease of someone who had accomplished what he came to do.

The mall was busier than it had been when he arrived, the lunchtime crowd filling the walkways, and he moved through it without catching anyone’s eye or drawing any particular attention.

When he reached the entrance doors opened automatically and he stepped out into the afternoon air, and exhaled slowly.

It had been a good morning.

He walked to the Aston Martin, got in, and started the engine. The sound came up beneath him and he pulled out of the parking structure, heading home.

***

Less than twenty minutes later, he walked into his apartment. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

He set his key card, phone, car key fob, and the Tom Ford fitting card on the table in the centre of the living area, and went straight to the kitchen.

He drank a cold glass of water first, standing at the counter. He had been on his feet since early morning, moving from one destination to the next without stopping, and the water helped.

He checked the refrigerator while he was there and noted that the groceries were running lower than he would have liked. Not critically, but enough to deal with in the next day or so.

He decided to handle it later in the evening, after he must had rested enough, or tomorrow morning.

For lunch, he wanted to cook something that matched the occasion. Crossing four million felt like a moment worth marking, even if no one else knew it was happening.

He settled on pan-seared ribeye with garlic butter, mashed potatoes, and lightly dressed vegetables.

He pulled the ribeye from the refrigerator and let it rest on the counter while he prepared everything else. He peeled and quartered the potatoes and set them to boil. He crushed two garlic cloves and left them in their skins. He trimmed the vegetables and set them aside.

When the potatoes were close, he got the pan properly hot — hot enough that a drop of water disappeared immediately on contact — and laid the steak in.

The sound it made told him everything he needed to know. He left it alone, resisting the instinct to move it, and let the crust form the way it needed to.

He basted it with butter and the crushed garlic toward the end, tilting the pan and working the liquid over the surface repeatedly until the butter had darkened slightly and the smell had filled the kitchen entirely.

He rested it properly before cutting.

When he sat down at the dining table and made the first cut, the interior was exactly what he had wanted. He ate without rushing, looking out at the city through the window, and for a while he didn’t think about anything in particular.

"Nice," he said quietly.

He cleared the table when he was done, washed everything, and dried his hands on the kitchen towel. Then he walked to the living area, dropped onto the sofa, and picked up the controller.

The console came out of rest mode and the home screen loaded. He navigated to the game he had been working through and settled into the cushions, ready to relax by playing one of the most stressful games ever.

He had done his part, by getting the money ready. All that was left was to receive a confirmation of his onboarding from the bank before the end of the day or tomorrow.

***

Meanwhile, Chase Private Bank compliance team were running a verification on Steven’s account and his supposed source of income. And what they were saw was something that filled them with curiosity.