Not a Person!
The next day. On Times Square's main street, where tourists from every corner of the globe thronged in endless waves.
Three vehicles—a top-of-the-line Maybach and a pair of hulking Cadillac Escalades—sat parked in a line across the eight-lane road in front of Donovan's one-dollar fortune shop, Zen Psychic, their hazard lights blinking.
As every tourist's gaze swung toward them, broad-shouldered bodyguards in tailored suits spilled out and swiftly locked down the flow of foot traffic around the storefront.
Ding-a-ling—
The glass door swung open to a bright chime of the bell.
The lead bodyguard held it wide, and the wheels of an elegant wheelchair glided carefully inside.
Donovan's eyes went first to Chloe, curled small in the seat.
A top-tier cashmere coat was thrown loosely over her hospital gown; her face was bloodless, paper-white.
Gone without a trace was the arrogant heiress who, only two days earlier, had stood in a glittering designer dress and stilettos, snorting at the cheap one-dollar sign.
And behind her—
The middle-aged man gripping the wheelchair handles and easing it forward was none other than Arthur Wallace, the East Coast's largest yacht tycoon.
Trailing him came her personal physician, emergency bag in hand, carefully managing the IV line so it would not tangle—clearly prepared for any emergency.
"Chloe. I told you I would bring the man who saved your life to the hospital myself. You didn't have to drag your doctor all the way here when you haven't even finished being discharged."
He was a man who could make the VVIPs of New York and Miami dance to his tune, yet in this moment he was nothing more than a father fretting over his daughter's health.
Chloe, pale in the wheelchair, shook her head with quiet firmness.
"No, Dad. I had to come myself. This man… isn't someone you can just summon or dismiss with money."
The instant her eyes met Donovan's—chin propped on one hand behind the wooden desk—she dropped her gaze in a hurry.
Her face burned.
Every crude word she had flung at the man who had truly tried to warn her of her own death rose up again, flooding her with shame and regret.
Donovan broke the silence first.
"Only a day, huh."
He gave a short laugh and tipped his chin lightly.
"I told you I'd see you again, didn't I?"
As if entranced, she nodded and found her voice.
"…Yesterday, I was a complete idiot."
Bone-deep regret, and genuine gratitude.
"You were trying to save my life, and I acted so arrogant and out of line. I'm truly, truly sorry. And… thank you, from the bottom of my heart. If it hadn't been for you, last night I would have…"
She could not finish; sobs overtook her. Arthur Wallace's eyes reddened as well.
The yacht magnate of the East Coast bowed his head with formal respect toward Donovan in the middle of a cramped one-dollar shop.
"Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for pulling my daughter out of hell."
Arthur drew a deep breath and met Donovan's gaze with a weighty look.
The fretting father of a moment ago had vanished; the face of the man who steered a vast empire had returned.
"My lawyers have already arranged a generous settlement with the police on your behalf, but I felt I needed to come and thank you in person."
He rested both hands carefully on the table.
"I spent the whole night thinking. How does a man repay the price of his daughter's life? If you want money, I can give you a sum you could never finish spending. But for a man like you, that felt too cheap—too easy."
It was the courteous, unarrogant offer of one of New York's highest powers.
"Is there something you desire? Money, business—anything at all. Speak it. Within the reach of my power, I will give you everything."
Even faced with that heavy blank check promising to grant any wish, Donovan did not open his mouth at once.
It was not for lack of interest in the reward.
I need to know the market rate before I name a price.
He had no sense whatsoever of what amount would be appropriate, or how far he could push without crossing a line.
And in an atmosphere like this, he could hardly ask, "So how much are you offering?"
Ah. I miss the boss.
He almost longed for the old boss who had always known exactly how to extract the proper market value without him lifting a finger.
But the thought lasted only a moment.
Well, it's not like I have no options.
Donovan was a professional physiognomist who had weathered every storm from folk-village mats to the back alleys of Itaewon.
He knew precisely what to say in a moment like this.
"I told you clearly, didn't I? Next time we meet, the extra fee would be seriously expensive."
Chloe flinched and nodded obediently. Donovan's cool gaze shifted to Arthur Wallace.
"Give me the thing that means the most to you."
Arthur Wallace's eyes shook violently.
A deep sigh crossed the face of the East Coast's greatest yacht tycoon and ruthless businessman.
"Haa… So that was it. That was why you saved my daughter."
The atmosphere had grown so grave that Donovan tilted his head.
…Huh? What is he talking about?
While Donovan floundered inwardly, Arthur gave a heavy nod and continued.
"I never imagined you would ask for my daughter. Even as the man who saved her life, that is something I would still need to hear from her own lips…"
"I—I!"
The cheeks of the girl who had been hanging her head in shame a second earlier flushed tomato-red.
Crazy—this old man is about to hand over his daughter?!
Cold sweat ran down Donovan's spine as he shouted in panic.
"Not a person! Give me the most valuable thing you have that isn't a person!"
Fortunately the dreadful misunderstanding dissolved at once.
"Ah. I misread you."
Arthur Wallace finally exhaled a long breath of relief, as if he had shed ten years, and pressed a hand to his chest.
Chloe, still in the wheelchair, stared at Donovan with a face that could not quite understand.
…Not me?
Thankfully even her father seemed not to notice the flustered look on his daughter's face.
"The thing most precious to me…"
Arthur stroked his chin for a moment, lost in thought. Then he looked at Donovan with a spark of interest.
"Do you like yachts, by any chance?"
"Yachts?"
"Yes. The thing I have loved and poured my passion into my entire life is yachts. So everything most precious to me floats on the sea."
Even back in Korea, Donovan had never had occasion to set foot on a yacht.
A yacht, huh…
His own private vessel floating on the water, pure leisure.
Just the thought of it was enough to make his mouth water.
"…I'm interested."
At those words a faint smile touched Arthur's lips. He gave a small nod to the chief secretary standing behind him.
"Tablet."
Arthur took the device the secretary hurriedly offered, tapped the screen a few times, and held it out to Donovan.
With every swipe, sleek and sophisticated yachts lined up one after another.
From dazzling white modern luxury cruisers to the latest sharp-lined sports models that looked ready to slice through the waves.
The further the pages went, the more luxurious the vessels became.
Yet Arthur's finger kept flipping without attachment until it finally stopped on the very last photograph in the gallery.
Chloe saw the image and cried out in shock.
"D-Dad…! You're not seriously giving him that? Are you sure?!"
She knew exactly what that boat meant to her father.
Last year a Middle Eastern royal had offered a blank check at twice the price, and he had refused without hesitation.
It was a yacht he had poured hundreds of millions into solely for his own perfect solitude—a vessel even his own daughter had never casually boarded.
"He protected what is most precious to me. This much is only right."
Arthur gave a soft smile and patted his daughter's shoulder. Then he pointed at the photo on the screen and spoke in a weighty voice.
"This is a sixty-foot ultra-luxury sports yacht I had custom-built purely so I could enjoy time alone."
The yacht on the screen boasted smooth, aggressive lines that called to mind a supercar on the water.
Yeah, you can see why he'd treasure it.
Finished in deep iron-black and carbon fiber, the exterior alone radiated overwhelming presence.
"The true value of this boat is the interior. I tore out every unnecessary guest cabin. I opened the entire lower deck and filled it with one single, massive five-star suite—built for one person only."
Arthur's finger swiped again.
A rain shower finished in top-grade Italian marble, a king-size bed, a private VVIP lounge, and a living room with its own champagne fridge unfolded across the screen.
The desire to own this yacht grew even stronger.
"It has the latest joystick docking system, so you can handle her perfectly alone—no crew required. She is the only one of her kind in the world. My pride, and my perfect sanctuary."
"…Whoa."
That alone was almost enough to make him claim the yacht on the spot—yet it was not finished.
"Of course I will not simply hand you the boat. I will transfer ownership of the VVIP berth at the private marina on the Hudson River in Manhattan as well."
As if casually adding one more light option, Arthur continued without fanfare.
"Docking fees, cleaning, and all maintenance costs will be permanently covered by my foundation."
"…Oh."
"A dedicated caretaker is on standby at all times, so your first voyage will be handled perfectly without any trouble."
Arthur finished with a faint smile.
"You need only take the key and enjoy her to your heart's content."
The yacht's exterior that struck a man squarely in the heart.
An interior designed solely for its owner, never for guests.
And free lifetime maintenance thrown in.
Further deliberation would have been pure luxury.
"I'll take it."
At that answer, Arthur Wallace drew a heavy, smooth smart key from his coat and slid it across the table.
The East Coast's greatest yacht tycoon answered with a look of deep satisfaction.
"An excellent choice."
He had never imagined that the yacht he never got to ride in Korea would be waiting for him all the way in America.
Why does something like this get me so excited again?
Somehow he could not simply let them walk out like this.
"Hold on. Since you came all this way, I'll throw in one free service."
Wallace echoed him, puzzled.
"A service?"
Donovan studied his face intently.
The cheekbones on both sides—the places that governed public relations and scandal.
Where a healthy sheen should have rested, a dirty gray aura like dust from outside was clinging and seeping in.
The classic omen of disgrace: being unfairly dragged into other people's mud-slinging and gossip, forced to wear filth that was never his.
"For a while, you'd better avoid crowded places."
"…Crowded places, you say?"
"Yeah. Just clear your schedule and look after your daughter for a bit."
Arthur stared at Donovan.
It was sudden, almost airy advice.
Ordinarily he would have snorted and ignored it.
But the man in front of him had, only a day earlier, precisely foretold his daughter's horrific crisis.
He did not believe completely—yet there was a strange weight he could not simply dismiss.
Arthur spoke slowly.
"…Thank you for the advice."
"The choice is yours. I'll put the yacht to good use."
Donovan gave a light wave in farewell.
Ding-a-ling—
The moment Arthur Wallace stepped out and settled into the waiting Maybach's rear seat, he issued an order to his chief secretary.
"Cancel every party on the schedule this weekend."
"Sir? But Chairman, that gathering will have every major figure from politics and business, and you and the vice-chairman were to attend as co-hosts…"
"My daughter just clawed her way back from the brink of death. Is this the time for a father to be popping champagne with strangers?"
The justification was flawless.
The secretary closed his mouth and hurriedly tapped at his tablet.
Watching the one-dollar shop recede through the car window, Arthur let out a quiet, dry laugh.
Thinking he had just been handed the perfect excuse to ditch a bothersome obligation he had never wanted to attend in the first place.
After the Wallace party left, the shop fell quiet.
Donovan pulled out his old flip phone and called Cole.
"Yes, Mr. Donovan."
"Have a car ready."
"Understood."
The short call finished, Donovan pocketed the smart key and rose from his seat.
Without a second glance he stepped outside, locked the glass door with a solid click, and flipped the sign without mercy to CLOSED.
Business for the day was over.
A black sedan glided up to the front of the shop. Donovan climbed into the back seat and spoke abruptly.
"Cole. You know how to drive a yacht?"
Cole, hands on the wheel, flinched.
His startled eyes wavered in the rearview mirror.
"…Excuse me? A yacht, sir?"
"Yeah. I just got one. Thought I'd go check it out."
The conversation had become impossible to follow.
"…You acquired a yacht, sir?"
"Yeah. They said I can even handle it alone."
Cole gave an awkward cough.
"…I'm sorry, Mr. Donovan, but I do not know how to operate a yacht."
"That so? Then I'll have to ask the caretaker."
Driving the boat could be left to the caretaker; that was not the issue right now.
"First stop at a Korean market. I can't pass up a pork-belly party on the water."
"…Sir?"
"Ah. Just take me to a Korean market."
A short while later.
The private marina on the Hudson River in Manhattan.
Entrance to the VVIP berth.
Broad-shouldered Cole in a suit stood dazed, both hands full of heavy plastic bags stamped with a clear "Korean Market" logo.
Donovan's gaze was locked on the sixty-foot ultra-luxury sports yacht that caught the sunset and threw off a black gleam.
The real thing's presence was far more overwhelming than any photograph.
That's my personal water car?
No. This was not merely a floating vehicle.
It was a perfect five-star villa free from anyone's interference—his own vast private hideout moored right in the heart of New York.
A pleasant smile slowly spread across Donovan's lips.
"Damn. That's sick."