Eric walked toward the building entrance with slow, dragging steps.
The mirrored façade reflected the elegant lighting of the central avenue, where imported cars passed almost silently. The building was imposing—modern—featuring automatic glass doors, polished marble in the lobby, and a visibly sophisticated security system.
He stopped at the guard station.
The security guard on duty looked up from the monitor and immediately frowned.
Eric noticed the evaluation—
Quick.
Cold.
Judgmental.
His simple jeans, wrinkled shirt, and exhausted expression didn't match the profile of the residents there.
"Name?" the guard asked bluntly.
"Eric Santos."
The man typed into the terminal.
The glow of the screen reflected on his suspicious face.
"You're not listed here."
Eric blinked.
"I'm the tenant of the penthouse."
The guard looked at him again—
Then at the luxury car parked outside.
"Sir… with all due respect, I think there's been a mistake."
Eric felt his head grow heavier.
Conversions.
Vault expansion.
Constant movement.
Police surveillance.
Everything was starting to take its toll.
"Call the penthouse," Eric said, forcing patience.
"I can't grant access without formal authorization."
The guard seemed more rigid than necessary—
Either too tired to argue—
Or too suspicious to give in.
Eric took out his phone and called Lucía.
"Are you home?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Can you come down? The guard won't let me in."
Silence.
"You're kidding me."
"I wish."
A few minutes later, the private elevator descended.
The doors opened—
Revealing Lucía…
In pajamas.
She crossed the lobby with firm steps.
"He's the contract holder," she said sharply.
The guard looked at her—
Clearly confused.
His expression said everything:
What are you doing in your boss's apartment… in pajamas?
Before he could process it—
The elevator opened again.
Elena stepped out as well.
Light pajamas.
Loose hair.
Confused expression.
The guard almost choked.
He looked at Eric.
At the two women.
Back at Eric—
Exhausted.
Disheveled.
Internally, he seemed to curse his own luck.
Envy—
Mixed with irritation.
"Sorry, sir," he muttered, granting access.
Eric tried to step forward—
But his legs faltered.
Both women rushed to support him.
The guard pressed his lips together, visibly annoyed, and returned to his station—
Now watching the cameras with a much darker expression.
Inside the elevator, Eric exhaled deeply.
"I'm fine… I can stand."
Elena looked at him.
"You carried all those coins by yourself?"
He hesitated.
"More or less."
He didn't explain—
That most of it had already been converted and stored in the Dimensional Vault, expanded multiple times over the last hours.
He had realized something clearly:
Only the System was truly safe.
Any physical warehouse—
Could be invaded.
The thought of police surveillance crossed his mind.
But that night—
He chose to ignore it.
He needed rest.
When the elevator opened into the penthouse—
Eric froze.
The space was vast.
Warm indirect lighting.
A double-height living room.
Panoramic windows overlooking the illuminated city center.
Light leather sofas.
Minimalist art.
Noble wood flooring.
He stepped inside slowly.
"…It's big," he murmured.
The two women watched him—
Realizing it was the first time he had truly entered his own penthouse.
He smiled slightly.
Ironically.
Since discovering the Midas System—
His life had become more exhausting than ever.
Others might have enjoyed the wealth more than he did.
"Which one is my room?" he asked.
They exchanged a quick glance.
"The left suite," Lucía said.
"The biggest one?" he teased.
She crossed her arms.
"I left my own apartment because of you. I barely handled my clients this week. I deserve the biggest one."
He shook his head, torn between laughing and protesting.
He walked into the suite.
It was impressive.
King-size bed.
Embedded lighting.
Automated curtains.
Marble bathroom.
Large bathtub.
The closet—
Huge.
Empty.
He opened it.
Three pairs of pants.
A few shirts.
It was almost ridiculous.
A man carrying kilos of gold—
With barely enough clothes to fill a fraction of the space.
He laughed quietly.
In the hallway, he could still faintly smell the perfume of the two women who had held him downstairs.
He thought—
Having women around wasn't exactly a disadvantage.
Eric took a long shower.
The hot water running over his body seemed to dissolve part of the tension.
The expensive soap's scent clashed with memories of the warehouse.
Dust.
Blood.
He considered activating Hero Mode—
To remove any remaining fatigue.
But hesitated.
He feared it might keep him too awake.
That night—
He only wanted one thing.
To sleep.
Without pursuit.
Without mercenaries.
Without police.
Without the System flickering before his eyes.
A few hundred meters away—
In a strategically rented apartment overlooking the penthouse—
A man in his sixties adjusted a telescope by the window.
He took notes.
Times.
Movements.
Entries.
Exits.
He called the station.
"Confirmed. The suspect entered the recently rented penthouse. Contract is under an investment company linked to the lawyer."
"Any suspicious activity?" a voice asked.
"He looks exhausted. Went straight to the bedroom."
"And the women?"
"Both inside. No movement recorded."
A pause.
"Any sign of a relationship?"
The watcher smirked slightly.
"At the moment, he seems to be sleeping."
He ended the report.
The job was boring.
Hours of watching.
Waiting.
Recording.
He put on his headphones.
Sat back.
Sleep came quickly.
Silently.
Below—
The city slowed.
Minutes later—
A black van stopped near the building.
Headlights off.
Sliding doors opened carefully.
Inside—
Men wearing balaclavas checked automatic weapons with practiced movements.
One checked a magazine.
Another studied the building through tinted glass.
"Confirmed. Penthouse—top floor."
"Main entrance has two guards."
"Plan B through the underground parking."
The van remained still.
Engine off.
Breaths controlled.
Above—
Lights were still on in one of the rooms.
Eric finally lay down.
Closed his eyes.
The city seemed calm.
But down on the street—
Shadows were beginning to move.