Vincent swung his legs out of bed. The floor felt cold and gritty beneath his feet. He looked at the worn carpet and the small space in the room.
It was not an ideal area for a proper workout, but the system had its demands and he knew he could not stray from the routine.
He pulled on a worn pair of gym shorts and a faded T-shirt. The air in the room was stale, filled with old cigarette smoke and cheap disinfectant. He did not waste a moment complaining; the routine needed to be followed.
He began with push-ups, each movement precise and controlled. Every rep burned his muscles, the familiar ache reminding him that he was making progress. Focusing on his breathing, he forced himself to overcome the discomfort.
After finishing the push-ups, he moved on to sit-ups. The rough carpet scraped against his back with every repetition.
He felt the tension build in his core and noted the strain spreading through his body. Each sensation, the dull throb and the tightening muscles, was recorded in his clear mind.
He knew the system was always watching him, its unseen presence evaluating every effort he made. He often wondered how many others were forced into this daily grind and how many other heirs were being shaped by such a cold, calculating entity.
Last night, the system had shared details about itself. It was created by a multi-billionaire unknown to the public, designed to rigorously test and select the candidate most fit to inherit a vast fortune and influence.
This was not just a simple tool for business; it was a thorough process meant to prepare someone for a life filled with challenges.
The thought of other candidates gave him a grim sense of satisfaction. This was not about climbing a simple corporate ladder; it was a deeper and more brutal selection process.
His recent public failure, the humiliation that had stripped him of everything, now seemed less like random misfortune and more like a deliberate act to tear away false pretenses. The system had found him in his weakest moments and was now reshaping him.
Once the sit-ups were complete, he grabbed his worn sneakers. The directive was clear: ten laps around the grimy motel parking lot. The idea was unappealing, but he had no choice but to follow the order.
Stepping outside, Vincent was greeted by a surprisingly cool morning air that cut through the stale motel scent.
The parking lot was mostly empty, with only a few derelict cars scattered about, and a thin layer of snow still covered most of the area. He started his run, keeping a steady and measured pace.
During his run, he focused on his form and maintained the rhythm of his strides. Instead of noticing the monotonous surroundings, his thoughts turned to the task awaiting him back at the motel.
Stephanie Moore was a key part of his plan. She was both a weakness and a lever he could use.
The system had provided detailed information about her situation, and Vincent was already planning how to use that knowledge to his advantage. With clear reasoning and persuasion, he intended to secure her cooperation.
The idea of reviving the rundown motel and turning it into a profitable venture held a concrete appeal. It was a challenge he could measure, room by room and number by number, unlike the abstract, high-stakes deals of his previous life.
He pushed harder during the first few laps, his breath coming in steady puffs. With each step, he increased his pace, making a silent promise to himself and to the unseen authority guiding his actions.
By the time he finished his tenth lap, sweat dripped from his brow and cooled quickly on his skin. His lungs burned from the effort, but the dull ache in his muscles was a familiar reminder that he was still in control.
***
Returning to his room, Vincent stripped off his damp shirt and tossed it aside without hesitation. His muscles ached and deep tension settled in his shoulders, but he ignored it.
A hot shower was next, the quickest way to clear his head and ease the stiffness in his body.
After the shower, he dressed in fresh, clean clothes—a simple dark shirt and jeans. He paused to look in the cracked mirror above the sink. In the reflection, he saw a gaunt face with eyes that were sharp and calculating.
Even though the weariness was visible, the delicate, handsome features remained intact. Beneath the tired appearance, his core was still strong and unyielding.
This new Vincent Mercer was still Vincent Rothvale, stripped bare by past failures but perhaps made stronger by them. He felt a strong need to prove his worth, not only to the system but also to himself.
His mind quickly turned to plans for the motel. He decided to spend the rest of the morning on research. He needed to find real financial statements, not just the summary data the system had provided.
He planned to cross-check local business permits and look for any outstanding fines or code violations that could affect the motel.
Vincent understood that knowledge was power. Every scrap of information would add to his case when he met with Stephanie.
Additionally, he had to consider the "external threats" mentioned in the system's directives. The motel was known as a money pit, which meant it likely carried existing debts, might be tied to loan sharks, or even hosted rival businesses. He needed to map out the entire local scene surrounding the Stardust Motel.
With a determined pace, he left his room. The new ID in his pocket served as a constant reminder of the forced change in his life.
As he walked down the corridor, the stale smell of disinfectant filled the air, and the sounds of the motel drifted toward him—a distant television, the creak of old floorboards, and the muffled cough from a neighboring room.
He soon realized that he needed a quiet place with a reliable internet connection. A local café served that purpose. On his way, he passed the reception area.
An old man, known as Stephanie's husband, sat slumped behind the desk. A small television in the corner softly reported on a distant financial crisis, and the old man barely noticed Vincent as he walked past.
Taking note of the thick layer of dust on the reception counter and the flickering fluorescent light that cast a weak glow over the area, Vincent saw a clear picture of neglect. The state of the motel was exactly what he expected.
He reached a small, independent café two blocks away. Inside, he found chipped mugs and a strong smell of burnt coffee.
Despite the worn décor, the Wi-Fi signal was surprisingly strong. Vincent ordered a black coffee—the strong, bitter taste helped sharpen his focus—and settled at a seat with his laptop.
His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as he started his research. He did not rely on the usual public search engines but instead accessed a network of encrypted databases he had built over the years. The old connections from his Rothvale days, although not used frequently, still proved useful.
He searched for property deeds, business registrations, and historical financial records for the Stardust Motel.
The hard numbers confirmed what he had suspected for years: the motel had suffered continuous losses, its debt was steadily increasing, and a foreclosure notice loomed from a local credit union known for harsh practices. The system's initial assessment had been accurate, even if it had lacked some of the finer details.
Along with the financial data, Vincent uncovered several rumors about minor criminal activities at the motel. Whispers indicated that some guests paid cash and maintained a low profile.
He found references to a local gambling ring that organized card games in certain rooms and small hints of drug-related activity. While these issues were not large-scale, they explained the general neglect and tense atmosphere at the establishment.
These were the external threats the system had mentioned. Vincent cross-referenced several names to search for connections to known figures in the local underworld.
The operations appeared to be small and disorganized. This provided some relief, but it also meant he had to plan carefully.
He could not simply remove them with force; instead, he would have to disrupt their activities gradually without provoking a stronger enemy.
After reviewing the criminal activity reports, Vincent turned his focus to local government records. He examined city council minutes, zoning laws, and urban development plans related to the motel's district.
Although the area was considered outdated and undesirable, there were hints of future improvements. Rumors of a new public transport hub planned for the next five years suggested that property values might eventually rise.
This long-term change could work in his favor if he managed the motel well.
The system's strategy was not limited to short-term decisions; it aimed for long-term influence as well. With this in mind, Vincent worked on a detailed financial projection.
He factored in plans for aggressive marketing, targeted renovations, and a complete overhaul of the motel's management structure. He also outlined potential revenue streams from legitimate business activities while noting the existing informal sources of income.
Although these informal channels would need to be cleaned up eventually, they provided important data for his proposal.
As the hours passed in the quiet café, Vincent became absorbed in his research. The steady hum of his laptop served as the backdrop for his focused work.
He analyzed financial charts, compared expense reports, and slowly built a comprehensive plan to turn the struggling motel around. Each figure and observation reinforced his determination and reminded him of the satisfaction he had felt in past successes.
By mid-afternoon, his coffee was cold and his eyes felt tired, but the plan was coming together. He had printed reports, charts, and detailed proposals neatly arranged in a folder.
Vincent felt ready to meet with Stephanie Moore. He was determined to use her desperation as a stepping stone to regain his power.
He closed his laptop with a clear click, the sound breaking the quiet of the café. It was time to return to the Stardust Motel and put his plans into action.