A Nobody to a Trillionaire: The $100 Trillion Vault Changed Everything-Chapter 17: The Golf Training (1)

Later that night, when Kieran and Jaxon had gotten Zyn back to her apartment, they left. Kieran felt both relieved, getting back to the penthouse, that they had made it in time to prevent her from falling victim to rape. But at the same time, it bothered him whether Zyn would even want to see him anymore.

He sighed as he sat on the couch in the main lounge. And with such bad timing, his P.A. emerged inside the lounge after the automatic door closed behind her.

Amanda bowed, a file clasped to her abdomen. "Evening, Mr. Holland."

Kieran nodded, too bothered by his current situation to respond.

Amanda turned on her iPad, scrolled for a while, and handed it over to Kieran. She was about to start explaining things about that schedule of his when Kieran returned the device and rose from the couch.

He said, "It's fine by me as long as you have everything all planned out. Good night, Amanda." And he turned to leave.

Unexpectedly, Amanda asked him, "... Is everything all right, sir?"

Kieran didn't turn right away, but took in the surprise of her asking this question. She would normally have disappeared as soon as they were done discussing business. How astonishing!

Nonetheless, Kieran replied to her with a tight smile, "Maybe. Maybe not. I just think I messed something up... with my ex..."

Kieran paused when he saw her look away from him; then, with strong concern, he stared at the iPad. He tilted his head, waiting a few seconds before the response came...

"I know more than to meddle with your personal affairs, sir. What I am saying is..." she looked up, stepped closer to Kieran, and turned the screen at him, "... the golf training with Mr. Alan Martinez is tomorrow, so..." she stepped back, "... it won't be nice of us to have you get into that moody state before meeting him. We need to bring him closer, and in your normal state filled with nice vibes, you—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Kieran cut her off, frustrated, and walked away. It actually seemed true that people don't change overnight – she asked how he was faring because it was related to work.

What a luck of personal assistant he had.

***

In a compound with a ground laced with yellow rug-like grasses and a white marble pathway that led to a much wider area filled with black cars of different models, a red car suddenly pulled up.

The suited men around the other cars – or better said as chauffeurs and bodyguards – turned in the direction of the newcomer in wonder. And also, the man these black escorts had been waiting for did the same.

Alan Martinez.

He squinted his eyes at the car in the distance, pausing on the marble pathway. "Are we getting any visitors here today?"

"Oh... one sec, please," his slim, tall personal assistant interposed as she quickly checked her iPad. Alan Martinez turned to her with a gesture of displeasure.

He mumbled, "You have to check the schedule table for that? I thought you were better than this."

The lady didn't reply as she scrolled fast – not that she ignored his remark, but she knew better than anyone to get things done already now that he had complained.

She replied, almost breathing erratically, "Apart from playing golf with Mr. Holland at the stadium, you're not meeting anyone else, sir."

"Check who it is then," Alan ordered.

A gallant bodyguard behind him bowed, walked down the marble way, and signaled to some other guys to go check around the car. Unless a meeting had been scheduled with Alan Martinez a day before or less, no one can just meet him anyhow. But it also has to be an important person for the guards at the main gate to even allow them into the mansion.

And yes, they were one. A well-known, important guest.

Because as the window rolled down, the men stopped in their tracks and bowed in respect. The earlier bodyguard returned to Alan Martinez and reported,

"Sir, it is Mr. Stamps."

For a few seconds, Alan just stared at the red car before replying, "Get the engines up. Tell him I'm not meeting him."

"Yes, sir!"

Alan moved down to the door of one of the black Benzes, and a chauffeur opened the door... But before he could slide in, Mr. Stamps stepped out of his red car. Alan paused for a moment – he knew why this man was here and why he could be so desperate to have a talk with him.

"Hello, Mr. Martinez," Mr. Stamps greeted, smiling wryly and with his hands in his pockets. "You must be quite busy to turn me down that way. I mean, we used to have drinks together back in the day..."

"... I know why you're here," Alan cut in, his tone authoritative. "But trust me, there's no help I am rendering to you."

"Ah, Mr. Martinez, let's not turn claws at each other's throats," Mr. Stamps said as he stepped closer to the Benz, his ringed finger drumming against the metallic bodywork. "I'm not here to seek your assistance to get back into the empire.

No, I can manage my company alone after being in that profitable space for over thirty years. You know... thirty years only to be kicked out by some newfound heir. But I'm really not here for that."

"Then what?"

Maybe not only his wife could see through his hypocritical smile – everyone could. And yes, Alan Martinez did too. He himself knew what Stamps was capable of doing.

"I heard you have a golf training with Mr. Holland today," Mr. Stamps interjected. "Let me come along... you know, just to say a final goodbye to him. For the respect of his father I worked with for thirty years, not him. What about that, Mr. Martinez? Oh... we have been nice partners for years, and that must be the least you can do for me. Right?" And there came his forced grin again.

The man went silent for a while, caught between nothing and nothing. In the end, he said don't get your car ahead of mine, and he slid into the Benz.

Mr. Stamps had a bright smile that vanished the moment he returned to his ride. He asked the driver to follow the black cars, and in that moment, he pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, called, and after a while of continuous beeping, a haggard voice came through.

"Any updates, boss?"

Mr. Stamps smirked.

"I will text you the address when I get there. We stay on our deal – seize him from the stadium to the port and then give me a call. Don't touch him at all. Understood?"

The person responded, "Alright, alright... we'll leave you to eat your fish alone. I will be waiting for the other half of the payment soon."

Mr. Stamps nodded before hanging up. He breathed in and out in rage, clenching his fists.

'Kieran Holland... you just wait.'

***

As the golden limo cruised through the silent yet bustling street of Skybridge, with Kieran seated inside with his P.A., both dressed in ash silk suits, Kieran told the driver.

"Tell everyone to make a turn towards Whilestone Street. Let's grab my buddies along – they have always wanted to play golf, too."

The driver did that, and the seven escort cars made a sharp turn just down a bridge.

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A/N: A big thank you to Cody_Donius for the golden ticket! I sincerely appreciate it. freēnovelkiss.com

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