Urban System in America-Chapter 96 - 95: A heavy punch in his guts!

The moment of realization felt like a heavy punch in his guts! He thought he had $10,199,878 sitting pretty in his account, only to be hit with the harsh truth that Uncle Sam was waiting, with outstretched hands, like a greedy ghost, ready to take his cut.

With shaking fingers, he hurriedly opened the IRS website, hope hanging by a thread. Maybe there was some obscure exemption he didn’t know about. Maybe he could find a loophole tucked between tax code lines.

And that’s when he saw it.

Short-term capital gains tax: 37%.

His breath caught in his throat. His chest tightened like a vice. Cold sweat broke out on his back as the numbers began to swirl. His pulse thundered in his ears like war drums as he reached for the calculator.

Thirty-seven percent of $9.2 million.

His fingers hesitated. Then he punched in the numbers. The number slammed into his mind with the force of a freight train:

$3,404,000. Gone.

He blinked, once, twice, as if trying to make the number vanish. But it didn’t budge. It just sat there, bold and unforgiving. The numbers weren’t just digits anymore—they had claws, and they were sinking deep into his insides, tearing through the fantasies he had built.

He exhaled sharply, staring at the glowing screen in front of him, unblinking.

This couldn’t be real. It shouldn’t be real.

Almost a third of his fortune was disappearing before he’d even had a chance to touch it.

Three million dollars. Three million.

It was more money than he had ever dreamed of earning in a lifetime, snatched away before he even had the chance to enjoy it, evaporating into the abyss of government coffers.

And then, there was more.

Medicare surtax: 3.8%.

His shaking fingers did the math.

$387,600.

His stomach churned. His throat tightened until he could barely swallow, his heart pounded like a jackhammer, and his soul felt like it had been hollowed out as the weight of the number sank into him.

The pain was no longer metaphorical; it was visceral, that spread through his chest, up his spine, into his skull. He had never experienced physical agony from a number before. Not until now.

It felt unfair. It felt wrong.

It felt like being punished for success.

His final balance after taxes?

$6,408,278.

Six million dollars. A fortune, a miracle.

It was still a massive sum that most people in their whole life couldn’t dream of. Enough to change anyone’s life, forever. But it wasn’t ten million. Not even close.

And that difference—that loss of almost four million dollars—felt like a slow, brutal suffocation.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned back and whispered to himself,

"Should’ve held for a year... At least this way, I could pay less in taxes." freewēbnoveℓ.com

But deep down, he knew that it was been impossible.

He couldn’t afford to gamble without access to the system’s info.

He knew the basics of investing. He understood that long-term investors got tax breaks. He knew that wealthy hedge fund managers, massive institutions, billionaires—they had entire teams of lawyers and accountants working through loopholes and financial wizardry. To them, taxes were just another obstacle to finesse their way around.

But him?

But he was just a student right now. A nobody who made one lucky trade.

And lucky trades? They didn’t come with protections.

He sat there for what felt like hours, staring into the void—the broken pieces of a financial fantasy that had seemed so vivid just minutes ago.

Finally, after some time, he sighed and decided to accept this brutal reality.

And in that moment, with gritted teeth and a burning fire deep in his gut, he vowed,

"This will be the last time I give in. Next time, don’t even expect to snatch a penny from me."

The anger pulsed through his veins, molten and unrelenting.

But he couldn’t just sit here and wallow in regret.

He would learn the system. Master the loopholes. He would never be caught off guard like this again. And if they wanted to bleed him dry, they’d have to fight for every drop.

So, he decided to do what he had planned last night—indulge in luxury and enjoy the money he had earned, even though it was much less than he expected.

Now, he had another reason too.

He needed to vent his anger.

He exhaled slowly and pushed himself up, grabbed his keys, and stormed toward his car.

The sleek black vehicle rested in the shadows of the garage, gleaming under the faint light like a predator. It had been idle, waiting like a beast in its den, ready to be unleashed. Its polished surface reflected back his own determined gaze.

With a smooth motion, he stepped inside, gripping the wheel with practiced confidence, feeling the smooth leather beneath his touch. He pressed the ignition. The engine rumbled awake with a deep, guttural roar that echoed off the garage walls like a war cry. The vibrations pulsed through the chassis as he shifted into reverse, rolling back onto the sunlit driveway.

The moment the tires met the open road, he pushed forward.

The tires screeched as he sped through the streets.

And just like that, he was gone—speeding through the city, weaving through traffic, heading straight for the crown jewel of luxury: Rodeo Drive.

The midday sun burned high in the sky, casting golden reflections off glass storefronts, illuminating the streets in the kind of effortless luxury that Los Angeles had perfected.

As he drove, his sharp eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. He wasn’t alone.

A familiar vehicle trailed behind him.

Ordinary and inconspicuous, but unmistakable.

It was Victor and Kaelan. His bodyguards.

Even though he hadn’t notified them, they were there.

Loyal. Watching. Always aware.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

Soon, he reached Rodeo Boulevard.

Every towering building, every glistening storefront screamed status, wealth, and exclusivity. The scent of expensive leather, perfume, and freshly detailed cars lingered in the air as the boulevard stretched before him—each step lined with stores catering to those who never needed to check a price tag.

Every inch of this street was a testament to luxury, from the perfectly manicured sidewalks to the gleaming displays of Luviton, Giorgio Luxe, Cartair—the titans of luxury. Their window displays shimmered with handcrafted leather, diamond-studded watches, and bespoke suits that whispered power.

Now, all of it was within his reach.

He had enough to buy whatever he liked. He could walk in and swipe his card without worrying about price tags or second-guessing whether it was too expensive.

Of course, he wasn’t delusional.

He knew exactly where he stood. The world’s mid-tier to high-end luxury? Absolutely—without a second thought. A sleek watch, a handcrafted leather jacket, maybe even a supercar if he felt reckless enough.

But the ultra-luxury world?

Where a single watch could cost millions, or a necklace could drain entire fortunes?

That was still far off.

And frankly, even if he had billions, he didn’t care to chase it.

To him, spending that kind of money wasn’t luxury—it was idiocy.

A different kind of madness masquerading as sophistication.

A thousand? Understandable.

Ten thousand? If it brought joy, sure.

Even a hundred thousand or a million, maybe—for something truly rare and meaningful that he genuinely loved.

But millions for a name? No. That wasn’t sophistication. That was stupidity.

It wasn’t about taste or class anymore.

It was about ego.

About paying a premium to feel superior while brands quietly collected what he liked to call the "IQ tax."

That wasn’t luxury. That was stupidity.

At that point, you’re not paying for the item—you’re just handing brands your IQ as a donation.

He smirked at the irony and let out a dry chuckle.

He didn’t need those flashy status symbols.

Half the people chasing clout couldn’t spell "authentic," and the other half were busy making payments on things they couldn’t afford just to look rich.

And "Status"?

It was just anxiety dressed in designer packaging.

Real wealth? Real freedom?

It was waking up without needing to perform for the world. It was living life on your own terms, not buying a ticket to the idiot club.

Yes, he was rich now—but he wasn’t stupid.

(End of Chapter)