4.5A Second Fortune, A First Move

Lex had barely finished cleaning the excess ink from his brush when his phone buzzed.

Elias Marr.

Lex smirked as he answered. "They say money moves fast, but I didn't expect it to sprint."

A sharp exhale crackled through the line. "Neither did I," Elias replied, voice tight with something between disbelief and excitement. "I've seen a lot of transactions in my life, but never like this. Every buyer paid in full within hours. No delays. No counter offers. Just wire transfers hitting accounts like they were racing each other."

Lex leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking softly. "That's what happens when people know they're buying a piece of history."

Elias's voice turned dry. "Or when they know they'll never get another shot if they screw up."

"Same thing, really."

A pause, then the faint rustle of paper—no, digital confirmations—thick with zeros.

"The institutions followed up too," Elias continued. "Contracts are clean. No tricks, no loopholes. And—" another pause, a slight edge to his voice, "—I've got ten more offers from collectors who realized they missed the boat and want anything you'll let them have. They're practically begging."

Lex's fingers drummed lazily on the desk, voice amused. "Tell them we're archiving. No promises. No timelines."

Elias chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "I'll keep them sweating. Desperation's like wine—better when it's had time to breathe."

Then, his tone shifted.

"Now. Allocation."

Lex's voice cooled, crisp as a scalpel. "You already know where it's going."

Elias snorted. "You're not subtle, Latham."

"Indulge me."

A long-suffering sigh, but there was no irritation—only something close to respect. "WeWork seed capital and your hedge fund position."

"We'll use Grandpa's trust for WeWork with leverage," Lex replied, soft but certain. "All of this money will be in options."

Elias's voice went flat. "All?"

Lex's answer was iron-clad. "Yes."

The air on the line tightened.

"Fix the VIX position," Lex continued. "January 2008 calls. Strike price—twenty-five. And double it on margin."

Silence.

Then, Elias's voice, low and edged with warning. "That's not just a questionable life choice madness, Lexington. That's insane."

Lex's fingers stilled. "Not insane." His voice was velvet over steel. "Just… well-timed."

A beat. Elias's tone shifted—calculating now. Cautious, but listening. "All right. I'm listening."

Lex's voice dipped, smooth and cold as glass. "There's a whisper on the Street. Small. Faint. But growing."

Elias's breath caught, his tone sharpening. "What kind of whisper?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Lex's face. "The kind that turns into headlines."

The line went utterly still.

Then—

"You're talking about a liquidity crunch," Elias said, voice flat.

Lex's eyes gleamed. "Bingo."

"That's not confirmed."

Lex's chuckle was soft. "Not yet. But trust me—the knives are already out. Banks are overleveraged, drunk on subprime mortgages and cheap credit. They've buried the cracks under layers of paper—" his voice dropped to a murmur, dark and certain, "—but the cracks are there."

A long silence. Then—

"If you're wrong—" Elias started.

"I'm not." Lex's voice snapped like a whip.

Elias paused. "You've seen the numbers?"

Lex's reply was ice. "I've seen the future."

A breath from Elias—slow, resigned, and laced with something almost like excitement.

"Fine. I'll start making calls. But I choose the brokers. No one outside my circle."

Lex's smirk returned. "Perfect."

"And Lex?"

"Yeah?"

"If you lose half a billion—" Elias's voice was dry but edged with a grin, "—I'm going to haunt you from the afterlife."

Lex laughed, low and dangerous. "Relax, Elias. In a week…" His eyes flicked back to his screen, to the numbers that spelled inevitability. "…we'll be making history."

Elias let out a breath. "That's one empire. Now let's talk about the other one. The Met."

Lex's fingers tapped the desk. "Evangeline gave the number?"

"Fifty million." Elias exhaled. "Three years."

Lex hummed, unimpressed. "Not bad."

"It gets better," Elias said. "Part of the contract requires a 20-minute cut of your documentary for promotional material. And—" he paused, "they want to add their own team to it."

Lex smirked. "Smart. They want to brand it as a Met collaboration."

Elias chuckled. "Of course they do. And for that price? Let them."

Lex leaned back, considering. The Met wasn't just buying art—they were buying narrative. Positioning.

"Fine." Lex's smirk sharpened. "Send it over. Let's make history twice."

Elias didn't hang up.

Instead, there was a brief pause, the sound of papers shifting on his end. "There's one more offer on the table."

Lex exhaled, stretching his fingers along the desk. "Go on."

"The Met is also offering $2 million for a three-year loan on your Chinese calligraphy collection—thirty pieces."

Lex's brow lifted slightly. "Reasonable."

Elias's tone flattened. "There's a condition."

Lex let out a short laugh. "Of course there is."

"The art expert gets to select and restore as many pieces as they see fit."

Lex's fingers stilled against the desk. That was different.

Selling or loaning art was one thing—handing over control of what was restored? That was something else entirely.

Elias caught the silence. "It's fair, Lex. If they're going to display these works, they need to make sure they last." A pause. "But it also means they'll be going through everything."

Lex understood the implications immediately.

Not just the pieces on display.

Everything.

The Met's expert wouldn't just be studying a curated selection. They'd be digging through the entire collection, analyzing, authenticating, looking at every stroke under magnification.

And eventually—

They'd realize.

Ling Jun wasn't just another name in the archives.

Lex exhaled through his nose, weighing the risks. "Does Evangeline know?"

Elias chuckled dryly. "She's not stupid. She probably suspects something, but she hasn't put it together yet."

Lex tapped a slow rhythm against the desk. "So they get thirty pieces. They get their expert. But the final selection still goes through me."

Elias hummed. "You want control over what they see."

Lex's smirk returned, razor-sharp. "Always."

Elias let out a low, knowing chuckle. "I'll add the clause."

Lex leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ink still drying on the page beside him.

Calligraphy was meant to preserve history.

But this time, he was the one deciding what got remembered.