What do you do with over a billion dollars and no inhibitions? The answer, of course, is go on a shopping spree. Except, in my case, I immediately left the mall. It’s kind of hard to splurge when you live in a one bedroom apartment and don’t have a car.
I saw an advertisement for a shark looking Realtor on a bench and shrugged. Sure, why not?
A short conversation later, I explained that I had recently come into money and I wanted to buy the biggest most extravagant home available in the city. Within minutes, my shark looking Realtor lady showed up with her hair half done in a Mercedes, practically panting as she threw on a heel.
“Joanne?” I blinked, standing by her bench.
“Yeah, sorry!” She juggled her coffee as she stepped onto the sidewalk and shook my hand. Her grin was as unsettling and razor sharp as I had expected. “So, Joey! You want to see some upscale homes, hmm?”
Turns out Joanne was actually pretty cool. Or, at least, deliciously weird. She ranted about the housing market, the president, millennials, tried to sell me some products from her MLM, and eventually we began talking about how weird the city’s drinking water tasted. She was a nut, although a nut I wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of. She cursed her way through traffic and we sang to the radio as we approached “the hills,” the part of the city that was gated off from the rest of it and filled with pretentious aristocrats, old money, and my eventual new home.
“So, how upscale are we talking here?” Joanne rounded a corner. “Rich, filthy rich, or asshole rich?”
“Asshole rich.” I giggled.
“Sure. Okay. I’ve got a place. Or rather, an estate.”
“Sounds good.”
“Is it drugs?” She inquired honestly. “Like cartel money?”
“What, no!” I recoiled. “Why would it be drugs?”
“Well, look, you’re wearing a ripped hoodie and some jeans. Not exactly the business type, you know?”
“Crypto.” I lied.
“Oh, bullshit!” She laughed.
“I’m a famous youtuber!” I smiled.
“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Just don’t implicate me, I’ve got enough problems.”
I wished I knew what Joanne’s problems were. I was flooded with images of a decaying marriage, a mother dying of cancer and needing 24/7 care, near bankruptcy, poor business decisions from her incompetent stock speculating husband, not selling enough houses, and basically a life in shambles.
We rolled up to a steel gate and what could only be described as a personal country club. I saw a massive three story house towering over rows of hedges, a horse track, a tennis court. It was perfectly pretentious.
“Rich enough?” Joanne giggled.
“What’s the price?”
“About 14 million.”
I stared at the floor of the car, nodded, and then looked up at the house. “Can I pay in cash?”
“Beg your fucking what?” The Realtor gaped. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I’ve got that.”
“Okaaaay.” She blinked. “So, would you like to look at the property first?”
* * *
The place was completely empty and even more pretentious on the inside. Like every movie I’d ever seen. A big spiral staircase upstairs, elevators, gold banisters trimmed with rich oak, huge chandeliers, about fourteen bedrooms sprawled out along the footage, a basement ball room, a bowling alley, a whole theatre sized screen with a digital projector system and THX enabled sound. That didn’t even cover the professional kitchen, the sprawling library on the third floor, the studio overlooking the courtyard, the gallery hall, the enormous twelve car garage the lavish meeting room, or the unsettling steel panic room housed off the giant master bedroom on the second floor, which lead to a security room with cameras watching absolutely everything on the property.
It took two and a half hours to explore the monstrous house. Including the maze in the back yard, the equestrian shed, the fountains, and the old cold war era nuclear bunker housed under the front yard.
“So what’s the story here? Old money die or something?”
“Nah,” Joanne giggled. “These guys moved to the mountains of Austria, I think, and they don’t need this place anymore.”
“Oh, of course.” I nodded. “So!”
“I checked on it, by the way,” she began, crunching some numbers from her phone, “It’s actually about 30 mil. 30 million dollars.”
“Yeah, no problem. Let’s do it.”
She shook her head after an obviously disgusted pause. “Those better be some good drugs.”
* * *
It took about four days or so to transfer millions of dollars to a foreign bank account, speak to lawyers, sign papers, and eventually purchase what could only be described as a monument to rampant capitalism.
At the end of the process, Joanne met me at the ten foot tall solid wood front doors with keys and together we stepped into a wide open foyer. I flipped on the light and the grand crystal chandelier above hummed to glowing light.
“Well.” Joanne waved her hands. “It’s all on you, now.”
“Most expensive drug house of all time!” I grinned excitedly.
“The neighbours are going to love that. Wait, do you actually sell drugs?” She blinked, scared. “Look, I didn’t hear shit!”
“Gotcha!” I giggled.
She looked at me, unimpressed, and shook my hand.
“You have no idea how much commission I get for this, kiddo. And,” she lowered her usually playful tone to a more serious note, “you kind of saved my job.”