Leon walked through the rush of the afternoon crowd with a smile he could no longer suppress.
The first deal had gone even smoother than he'd expected.
He had bought himself one full year.
That thought alone was enough to keep the corner of his mouth lifted as he stepped into a small upscale café just off the avenue.
The place leaned hard into curated elegance—soft jazz, brass light fixtures, pale wood tables, polished glass, the kind of atmosphere designed to make people linger longer than they meant to. Leon didn't mind. For once, he had time to spare.
He adjusted the folder tucked under his arm and stepped up to the register.
"Hi. One iced cappuccino, and a slice of lime cheesecake, please."
He was dressed simply but sharply—a white dress shirt, black slacks, gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The folder in his hand made him look like a young attorney or an analyst on a rare afternoon off. Tall, composed, and carrying himself with new confidence, he gave the cashier a small, easy smile.
After paying, he took a seat by the window.
Then he opened the folder.
Inside was the contract Ethan had signed not long ago.
Time Purchase Contract
Contract No.: 1,000,001
Party A / Seller of Time: Ethan Cole
Party B / Purchaser: Leon Li
Transaction: Sale of one year of lifespan
His eyes skimmed over the page again.
The numbering had been deliberate. Starting at 1,000,001 gave the contract a history it did not actually have. It implied scale. Seniority. A long-established system already in motion. Anyone looking at it would be less likely to assume he was new to this—or worse, making it up on the spot.
Mystery had value.
Perceived authority had value too.
Leon read through the single page quickly, then closed the folder and rested one hand over it.
The next step.
He let the thought turn slowly in his mind.
The first stage had been buying time.
The second, naturally, would be selling it.
But to whom?
And under what identity should he begin opening that side of the market?
His thumb brushed absently against his index finger as he thought.
Time was the most valuable commodity in the world. That meant he was under no pressure to rush. This was not a buyer's market.
It was his.
Which meant he had the luxury of choosing carefully.
A bad first customer could cheapen the whole enterprise.
The right one could change everything.
"Your iced cappuccino and cheesecake, sir."
A waitress set the tray down in front of him with a soft smile.
Leon gave a polite nod.
As she turned away, his gaze followed her for a moment—first to the line of her legs, then briefly higher, before he pulled his eyes back and reached for the sugar packets.
He tore one open and poured in most of it.
Then he stirred the drink slowly, watching the foam shift and settle.
A moment later, he took out his phone.
He opened his browser and typed:
Old-money families and top billionaire dynasties in New York
Search.
Results flooded the screen.
The Seven Most Exclusive Neighborhoods for the Ultra-Wealthy
How Many Centimillionaires and Billionaires Really Live in New York?
The Most Influential American Business Dynasties Still Standing
Old Money, New Capital: The Families That Still Shape Manhattan
The Hidden Networks of Wealth Behind America's Elite
Leon scrolled through one result after another, tapping into pages, skimming profiles, reading names that had once seemed impossibly distant to him.
Titans of finance. Industrial dynasties. Political families. Inherited wealth layered over influence, education, networks, and social legitimacy.
People who lived above the city in every sense.
Once, when Leon looked at names like these, he felt two things at once.
Envy.
And resentment.
Because no matter how hard he worked, no matter how many all-nighters he pulled, no matter how carefully he lived, he had always known the truth:
He was never going to become one of them through effort alone.
Not from where he started.
Not by climbing the ordinary way.
But now?
Now things were different.
Leon smiled faintly at the screen and kept scrolling.
Then he stopped.
His expression changed.
For the first time since he sat down, the amusement left his face and something more focused took its place.
A family profile had caught his eye.
He read the name again.
The Rowan Family.
For anyone with even a passing understanding of New York's old establishment, it was a name that still carried weight.
The Rowans were not merely rich.
They were one of the city's true legacy families.
Their history stretched back generations. Shipping, steel, banking, infrastructure, wartime manufacturing, postwar capital expansion—at different points in the last century and a half, their name had been tied to nearly every serious stage of American industrial growth. They had built companies, shaped policy through money and influence, and sent members of the family into institutions where decisions were made long before the public ever heard about them.
At their peak, they had stood close enough to power that the line between capital and governance had nearly disappeared.
They were no longer at that height.
Time wore down every dynasty eventually.
Still, "decline" was a relative term. Even diminished, the Rowan family remained far beyond the reach of ordinary wealth. Some branches had stayed in the city. Others had spread outward over the decades—London, Vancouver, Sydney, Geneva, Hong Kong—embedding themselves into finance, private capital, and international influence.
Leon read on, his attention sharpening with every line.
He felt something close to admiration, though it was colder than that.
This was what old power looked like.
Not loud.
Not flashy.
Layered. Enduring. Institutional.
His eyes moved lower on the page.
A family register appeared beneath the profile, listing the major figures of the first generation through the fifth.
Leon skimmed past the younger names at first. He cared less about heirs than about leverage.
Then he reached the second generation.
And paused.
His expression shifted.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
He read the line again to make sure he had not mistaken it.
One member of the second generation—
the generation that had once produced the family's most politically powerful figure—
was still alive.
Leon slowly leaned back in his chair.
Now that...
that was interesting.