Chapter 115: Like the 1% You’d think signing a million-dollar contract would feel like fireworks, confetti, and at least one bald eagle screeching in the distance. Instead? It felt like the end of a dentist appointment. Charlotte slid a sleek pen across the table—one of those pens that probably sigh billion dollar deals. I grabbed it with a grin no one could see behind my mask and signed with a flourish so dramatic it deserved theme music. Eros Velmior Desiderion. Yup. That’s my name now. Sounds like a Final Fantasy boss who moonlights as a model. "There," Charlotte said, sliding the papers into her briefcase with the calm of a woman who just bought a human soul off Craigslist. "It’s official. Welcome to Quantum Tech, Mr. Desiderion." I nodded like it was nothing. Inside? Screaming. From broke teenager to multimillion-dollar anomaly in one afternoon. On a Sunday. God might’ve rested on the seventh day, but I just cashed in. Mom was clutching the contract like it was the Holy Grail. Her eyes scanned the numbers again and again, like they’d magically disappear. "Seven hundred thousand dollars," she whispered, as if saying it too loud would cancel it. "Just... to start?" Charlotte pulled out her phone with the smile of someone who’s ruined people with just a call. "Let me transfer your signing bonus." Her fingers moved faster than my sanity during finals week. Seconds later, my phone buzzed. [TRANSFER COMPLETE: $700,000.00] I nearly dropped the damn thing. My vision that was capable of seeing even pleasure spots nearly gave you... blurred. My net worth had just yeeted itself past $1.6 million. From counting change for vending machines to casually crossing the millionaire line? Bro, if this is a dream, don’t you dare pinch me. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎 Charlotte wasn’t done. "Before you start buying yachts and private islands, Mrs. Carter, I have a small proposal. You mentioned coming to buy a car. I’d like to take care of that. Call it... a thank-you gift for raising a genius who’s saving my company." Mom blinked, all polite deflection. "Oh, that’s very generous, but I really couldn’t—" "Mom," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder like a gently scolding therapist. "We literally came here to buy you a car. Charlotte’s offering because she’s grateful. Your son just saved her company from death by PowerPoint." "Or at least gave it a reason to start breathing again," Charlotte added with a grin. "A car’s the least I could do." Sarah popped in, bless her middle child energy. "Mom, you’ve been driving that post-apocalyptic rattle box for six years. The engine wheezes like it’s got asthma." "And the AC died two summers ago," Emma said. "We’ve basically been slow-roasting like rotisserie chickens." Then came Madison, sliding in like the classy shark she was, squeezing my hand with all the grace of corporate royalty. "Mrs. Carter, where I come from, we call this relationship management. Charlotte’s investing in your happiness... because your happiness keeps Peter sane. And Peter’s sanity is... well, an asset." Mom looked at all of us like she’d stumbled into a cult—one she secretly loved. "You’re all ganging up on me," she said, voice warm with a crack of surrender. "Damn right we are," I said. "And we’re not stopping till you say yes." She sighed like we’d just bulldozed her defenses. "Fine. But nothing flashy." Charlotte raised a brow. "Define ’flashy.’" "Something that doesn’t make me feel like I should hire bodyguards." "I can work with that." With the car situation settled, Charlotte gestured toward the table now glowing with tablets and screens. "Madison, would you mind setting up their shopping portals? I imagine their original mall trip was... interrupted by Peter’s dramatic stock market dominance." "Absolutely," Madison said, already in CEO-daughter mode. She distributed tablets like a stylish tech fairy, each synced to La Cherie’s private shopping network. "This covers everything. Luxury, practical, weirdly specific. Tap, preview, delivered within the hour. No crowds. No lines. No creepy mannequins." I folded my arms, watching this unfold like a proud dad on Christmas. My family is about to learn what it means to shop like the 1%. This is going to be better than cable. Phone buzzed again—system card notification. I checked the balance and whistled. Current available funds: $1,632,800. Savings: completely leveled up. Anxiety about the future: still loading. "Ladies," I declared with mock formality, "today... there are no budgets. Buy whatever brings your soul peace." *** Emma’s eyes gleamed like she’d just been handed a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory—if Wonka specialized in handbags and overpriced athleisure wear. She clutched the tablet like it was a relic of power. Sarah was already scrolling, her thumb moving at speeds normally reserved for elite gamers or stock traders. "Do you think they’d deliver a home espresso machine? Asking for my future, which apparently involves waking up in silk pajamas with someone feeding me strawberries." "Buy the strawberries, and we’ll work out the pajamas later," Peter said. Mom still looked stunned, as if reality was a wobbly table someone forgot to balance. "I don’t even know what to buy. I haven’t shopped for myself in years." "Exactly," Charlotte said smoothly, sitting beside her. "This is reparations for every time you sacrificed your needs. Clothes, shoes, something indulgent. Preferably something that sparkles when you move." Madison added with a smile, "There’s a section labeled ’Reclaiming My Power’ that’s mostly curated for women who raised three kids on expired coupons and divine strength. You’ll like it." Peter nearly choked on his water. Mom gave her a long look. "...I might need that section." She tapped her screen, eyes scanning over a pair of buttery leather boots that whispered rebellion. Meanwhile, Sarah and Emma were already debating between sunglasses that cost more than a semester of community college. "This is surreal," Peter said, half to himself. Madison grinned and leaned into his shoulder. "And you’re the cause of it. Pretty sexy, millionaire boy." He smirked, but even with all the money in his account and the luxury atmosphere wrapping around him like velvet, something about Madison calling him that gave him the first real chill of success. Not just numbers. Not just contracts. But recognition—from people who mattered. Charlotte stood and clapped her hands once, commanding the room with effortless presence. "Alright, Carter family. Let’s make today unforgettable. You’ve survived too long—now you thrive." Emma whispered to Sarah, "I think she was born in a perfume commercial." Sarah didn’t even look up from her screen. "If she starts slow-motion walking through fog with rose petals in the air, I’m leaving." Emma giggled. "Too late. I already smell metaphorical jasmine and generational healing." Peter laughed, but the knot in his chest didn’t fully go away. He was watching it happen—the moment the Carter family stepped out of survival mode and into something... else. Something better. Richer. Louder. Slightly more chaotic, yes, but so much freer. He watched his mom trace the edge of her screen like she was afraid it would vanish. "I still feel like I should ask someone for permission before I buy something," she murmured. Peter moved beside her and gently took the tablet from her hand, adding a silky red trench coat to the cart with three taps. "There," he said, handing it back. "Permission granted. By the CFO of your emotional reparations fund." His mom blinked. Then smiled. Then wiped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve like it wasn’t a big deal. Madison was watching him with that look again—the one that peeled him back without even trying. "You’re getting good at this whole life-changing moment thing," she said quietly. He shrugged. "You’re welcome to stay for the afterparty." She arched an eyebrow. "Depends. Will there be dancing?" "Only if you initiate. I don’t move unless summoned like a cursed spirit." Charlotte appeared beside them with champagne flutes filled with something peachy and expensive. "Mocktails for the teens, prosecco for the adults. And hydration for the emotionally overwhelmed." She handed Peter a water bottle. He raised it like a toast. "To emotional damage and redemption arcs." "To therapy you’ll never admit you need," Madison added, clinking his bottle with her flute. The entire family was now sprawled across the designer couches, devices in hand, wish lists growing by the second. Even the atmosphere felt different—like the furniture knew this family didn’t come from wealth but had just been officially baptized in it. Emma’s eyes lit up like she just won Willy Wonka’s factory. "So we’re buying anything... like... anything, anything?"