Chapter 178 Returning What's Rightfully Yours

Peter looked baffled. He lowered his voice and muttered, "Hey, she's not wrong. Didn't you just agree to help Ms. Lane pick out a few treasures? Since when did you start obsessing over antique paintings?" The owner seemed visibly excited, but I remained calm, holding the painting firmly as I asked for the price. The owner raised three fingers. Peter frowned. "30 thousand dollars? That's ridiculous! It's just a replica. Even three thousand would be too much!" The shop owner shook his head repeatedly. "It's 300 thousand dollars. This is a genuine piece. 30 thousand? That's an insult to its value!" Peter's expression darkened. "300 thousand dollars? Are you crazy? That's highway robbery! Don't fall for it. There's no way this is real. He's just trying to scam you because you're new to this." The owner looked offended. "Buying antiques is about luck. If you want it, pay up. But questioning its authenticity after buying it? "That's not how this works. The appraisal center is right next door. Selling it to you for 300 thousand is already a loss for me." A flicker of determination crossed my eyes as I studied the painting. I'd done my research last night, and I was certain that this was the real deal. 300 thousand dollars? It was worth every penny. I was just about to nod when the young woman's voice cut in. "Three million dollars. I'll take it." I turned to her, my gaze icy. "Are you doing this on purpose?" The woman smiled brightly. "Three million is nothing to me. Handsome, I'll buy the painting and give it to you as a gift. What do you say? Friends?" The owner's eyes lit up. It was as if he'd finally found the perfect mark, and he nodded eagerly. "I'll wrap it up for you right away. Just a moment." "Hold it!" I interrupted, turning to face the young woman. "I don't need your gift. I'll offer five million dollars." Peter's jaw dropped. "Owen, are you out of your mind? If you're going to raise the price, at least do it gradually! Jumping by two million all at once? That's insane!" He didn't understand. Women like her, who enjoyed flaunting wealth, would only see me as a pushover if I raised the price bit by bit. She'd assume I was just a broke man trying to play tough and might escalate the bidding even further, leaving me in an even worse position. The owner's eyes nearly popped out of his head, his excitement now barely contained. This time, he didn't rush to pack up the painting but turned instead to the young woman. "Well, miss, do you wish to raise your bid?" She glanced at me, then shrugged with an expression that seemed to say, "I've got money, but I'm not stupid." "Let him have it," she said. The owner beamed as he began carefully packing the painting. He repeatedly reminded me that in the antique world, all sales were final. I nodded to show I understood, then counted the cash in my hands. It was a mix of money I had "borrowed" from my dad, Yvette's funds, and my competition winnings. I handed it all to the owner without hesitation. I still had the money Nancy had given me, but since I hadn't informed her beforehand, I refrained from using it. For the remaining balance, I wrote out an IOU and decided to visit the nearby appraisal center before settling it. The owner hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed. After all, the price I had offered far exceeded his original asking price of 300 thousand. No matter what, he was coming out ahead. As I walked toward the appraisal center, a crowd of curious onlookers trailed behind me. They whispered and chuckled, clearly eager to watch me make a fool of myself. The young woman followed as well, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Handsome, you've really outdone yourself this time. If you can't sell the painting and end up losing everything, don't come crying about it. But if you ask me nicely and agree to be my friend, I might just lend you the money to help you out of this mess." I smiled with confidence. "Don't worry. I won't need your help. This painting is definitely authentic. "Just look at the brushstrokes, the composition, and all these seals. These are the marks of collectors who've owned Damian Zeller's original works over the years. No imitation could possibly carry such history." The young woman's expression shifted slightly. She glanced at the painting in my hands again, her gaze lingering as if reevaluating her judgment. The appraisers from the center took turns examining the painting, their expressions growing increasingly serious. They peered through magnifying glasses, meticulously inspecting every detail. Finally, the elderly expert with silver hair broke into a broad smile. "Congratulations! This is a genuine piece!" he said. The crowd erupted into a commotion. "It's actually an authentic Damian Zeller piece! How much could this be worth?" "His works start at 100 million at least, and that's if you can even find one on the market!" "Unbelievable! I thought this guy was a complete fool for spending five million, but he's hit the jackpot! 100 million? He's just changed his life overnight!" Peter was utterly dumbfounded. He clung to my arm, refusing to let go. "Holy shit, Owen! You've been hiding your talents! Since when did you know so much about antique paintings?" I waved my hand and said honestly, "To tell the truth, I don't know much at all. It was just sheer luck." I had myself to thank. In my past life, I had always had a passion for art and followed the news in my spare time. Otherwise, I would never have stumbled upon such a treasure. Peter stared at me, his disbelief slowly giving way to admiration. His eyes practically sparkled with awe. "Alright, enough pretending! You're a master trying to pass yourself off as a rookie, aren't you? Every single time, you downplay your skills, and every single time, you end up proving me wrong. I've had enough of this!" The young woman seemed equally shocked. She immediately grabbed my arm, her eyes a mix of regret and excitement as she said, "Handsome, would you consider selling me this painting? My family really needs it. Name your price!" Her words immediately drew even more attention. A crowd formed around me, each person vying to make an offer. The bids quickly escalated from six million to 50 million. I scanned the group briefly before locking eyes with the young woman. "Why don't you tell me more about yourself first? Then I'll think about it." Of everyone here, she had made the boldest offers, which reminded me of the youngest daughter of the Wood family I had heard about. In my past life, this painting had ended up in the hands of Wood Group at an auction. If I sold it to her now, it would set things back on their original path. She straightened up and quickly replied, "You've heard of Wood Group, haven't you? We're partners with Jenning Group. "My name is Zelda Wood, the youngest granddaughter of Mr. Wood Senior. My grandfather has always adored Damian Zeller's works. If you sell this to me, I'll be deeply grateful."