MARVEL: BUYING GODHOOD

The villa was…

surprisingly normal.

Not normal by ordinary standards, of course.

The place was still large enough to comfortably house a family of six, surrounded by a well-maintained garden and hidden behind iron gates.

But compared to the Sterling properties?

It felt almost modest.

I stood beside the black SUV and stared at the two-story building.

The gravel driveway crunched beneath my shoes as I took a few steps forward, looking at the grey stone walls and the dark tiled roof.

Looking at it, you would never guess that the woman who lived here held the keys to a multi-billion-dollar inheritance trust.

There were no private security checkpoints.

No underground garages hidden beneath fake lawns.

No architectural competition to see who could waste the most money on marble pillars just to make the neighbors feel small.

Just a large house built out of brick and wood, meant to keep the rain out.

“Come on,” Helen said as she stepped out of the driver’s side.

She didn’t wait for a reply, slamming her door shut and grabbing her leather briefcase from the back seat.

“We still have things to discuss.”

I followed her inside, leaving the cold autumn wind behind us as the heavy front door clicked shut.

The moment the latch caught, the noise of the city seemed to vanish entirely, replaced by a deep, quiet stillness.

The air inside smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood, and vanilla.

The interior matched the exterior.

Comfortable.

Lived in.

Actually designed for real people instead of distant corporate shareholders.

Family photographs lined the dark wood walls.

They weren’t expensive artwork bought at an auction or rare collector pieces worth millions of dollars meant to impress visitors.

They were just simple photographs in plain frames.

There was a picture from a summer vacation at a lake, the sun setting behind a wooden dock.

There was a birthday party with a lopsided cake covered in candles.

A little blonde girl missing her two front teeth smiled widely in one frame, holding up a small plastic trophy.

In the next frame over, a teenage version of the same girl rolled her eyes at the camera, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

For the first time since waking up in this universe, I wasn’t standing inside a cold museum or a three-story penthouse that felt like a luxury hotel lobby.

I was standing inside a house that felt like an actual home.

As we entered the living room, the quiet weight of the house settled around us.

I watched Helen set her briefcase down on a low table, and I decided it was time to finally ask the question that had been bothering me ever since Arthur Graves had dumped a legal nightmare onto my lap.

“Helen.”

“Yes?” She turned to face me, pulling a sleek pen from her pocket.

“Exactly how much influence do you have over my life?”

She glanced at me for a brief second before sitting down on a comfortable, dark armchair near the fireplace.

“Until you turn seventeen, I have full guardianship.”

I let out a slow sigh, dropping my hands into my pockets.

Of course.

The cosmic rules loved their fine print.

“But once you turn seventeen,” Helen continued, adjusting the cuffs of her jacket, “your mother’s will grants you full authority over your own decisions.”

That immediately got my attention.

I stopped looking at the photographs on the wall and looked directly at her.

“Meaning?”

“You can choose whether or not to attend college. You can run your company however you see fit. The trust activates entirely under your control.”

I frowned.

The pieces didn’t quite fit together yet.

“What about living arrangements?”

“You remain under my guardianship until eighteen.”

“There it is.”

“You are free to make your own decisions, Chris,” Helen said, her voice completely calm and even.

“You simply cannot establish a separate residence until you turn eighteen. Your mother was very specific about that detail.”

“Wait.” I blinked, trying to make sure I heard her correctly.

“I can actually leave college?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

That wasn’t what I expected.

The old memories of Chris’s parents were filled with endless lectures about going to the right schools and preparing for a legacy.

“Actually,” Helen added, leaning back against the cushions, “your mother never particularly cared whether you attended college or not.”

I stopped completely.

“What?”

“She trusted your decision-making abilities.”

I stared at her, my mind trying to reconcile the memory of a cold, distant mother with the person Helen was describing.

“Then why was she so controlling? Why did she set up a legal framework that felt like a prison?”

Helen rubbed her temple, a small sigh escaping her lips.

“Because she trusted your intelligence, Chris. But she didn’t trust you around women.”

“…” That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.

“What does that even mean?”

Helen pointed a finger toward the fabric sofa opposite her chair.

“Sit.”

I dropped into the seat, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

She folded her arms across her chest.

“Do you remember your girlfriend when you were fifteen?”

Thanks to the system’s Photographic Memory, the question didn’t just bring up a vague thought.

It brought up a massive wave of clear, high-definition memories.

I could see the girl’s face, the restaurant we went to, and the exact red color of the velvet box.

“Yes,” I muttered, looking down at the carpet.

“Do you remember how much money you spent on her?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing the memory wasn’t so clear.

“…About one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Helen nodded slowly.

“And where did that money come from?”

“It was a reward.” I let out a heavy breath.

“A reward for improving profits in one of the subsidiary mining projects. So it was my money. Money I earned through actual work. What’s the problem?”

“The problem isn’t that you spent it, Chris. You met her on Monday. By Friday, you’d bought her a luxury car.”

I looked away, suddenly taking a massive interest in the brickwork of the fireplace.

“You had known her for less than a week,” Helen continued, laying out the facts like a prosecutor in front of a judge.

“Two weeks later, you were trying to buy expensive jewelry. You repeated similar behavior multiple times with different people. Your mother trusted you with a billion-dollar company, Chris. She just didn’t trust you with a pretty face and a credit card.”

I winced.

Helen’s expression became completely flat.

“That you’d marry the first pretty woman who smiled at you and hand over half the family fortune in a divorce.”

“…”

Honestly?

Fair.

A horrifying number of memories immediately surfaced inside my mind, clear as day.

Names.

Faces.

Dates.

Gifts.

Vacation plans.

Questionable financial decisions.

The original owner of this body apparently didn’t just have a specific type; he had the entire alphabet covered.

Every time a beautiful woman gave him a second glance, he opened the vault.

I could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from the inherited memories, making my ears feel hot.

Helen watched my expression for a moment.

Helen smiled in victory, a sharp, quick expression before she went back to business.

“That’s what I thought.”

I decided to move the conversation somewhere safer, away from the disaster that was my past dating life.

“So when I turn seventeen… I can run Sterling Global however I want? Make corporate decisions? Ignore board recommendations?”

“Yes to all of it.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking for the catch.

Nobody gives a teenager that much power without a hidden clause.

“And what’s the catch?”

“Practically speaking,” Helen said, “I’ll still be your guardian.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning every major document still goes through me.”

I frowned.

“So you can overrule me?”

“No. Legally, I sign the paperwork. The decisions are still yours.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“It isn’t,” Helen said, leaning forward.

“The trust follows your decisions. The law just requires my signature. I’m the responsible adult in the room, but you’re the one pulling the strings.”

I blinked.

“And if you think I’m making a mistake?”

“Then I tell you you’re making a mistake.”

“And then?”

“Then I sign it anyway. If you want to fire me entirely, you can exercise that option the day you turn eighteen.”

That sounded surprisingly reasonable.

It gave me a hard-coded legal shield against the board of directors for the next year while I figured out how to use the system shop to buy real power.

“So I’m basically free.”

“Within reason.”

“I’ll take it.”

Helen nodded, her expression returning to its usual professional calm.

“Good.” Then her eyes moved around the empty living room, a slight frown appearing on her face.

“Where is your driver, Mr. Diablo?”

I wasn’t surprised she asked.

A seven-foot-tall primordial demon wrapped in a flawless human suit tended to leave a noticeable gap when he wasn’t standing right behind you.

“Taking care of something.”

Helen raised an eyebrow, her lawyer instincts flaring up.

“Should I be concerned?”

I considered the question for a moment.

Technically speaking?

If she knew he was currently moving through the dark underbelly of New York, gathering secrets, buying up illegal assets, and preparing a shadow network to destroy the people threatening us?

Yes, she should be absolutely terrified.

“No.”

She looked completely unconvinced.

“What exactly is he doing?”

“Business.”

Helen stared at me for several seconds.

She didn’t blink, her blue eyes searching my face for any sign of a lie.

Finally, she let out a long breath and stood up.

“I suddenly understand why your mother drank.”

“Hey!”

Helen gave me a look, shaking her head before turning toward the hallway.

“Now come sit at the dining table.”

“Why?”

“I want to introduce you to my daughter.”

I blinked, stopping in my tracks.

“You have a daughter?”

“Of course I have a daughter. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life outside work.”

“You’re married?” The question slipped out before I could think to filter it.

For the first time since we had arrived at the villa, Helen’s sharp, business-first expression visibly softened.

A small, distant look appeared in her eyes.

“Was.”

The single word immediately killed any residual humor in the room, dropping the temperature by about ten degrees.

“My husband passed away several years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Helen nodded tightly, accepting the apology with a brief movement of her chin.

“He was a police captain.”

Helen turned toward the hallway and called out into the quiet house.

“Gwen!”

My brain immediately froze.

A dozen scattered details suddenly connected.

Police captain.

Widowed mother.

Daughter named Gwen.

…

Oh, come on.

There was absolutely no way the universe was being subtle anymore.

The multiversal roulette wheel hadn’t just dropped me into a rich family; it had dropped me right into the center of a spider’s web.

See you in the next chapter!