How can I justify myself as a Magnate if I don't indulge myself?

In France,

Frederick Arnault gave Gu Heng’s request only a cursory care, treating it as just another task to be handled without much significance.

As he had just said to Gu Heng, if what had been needed was to deal with a legal French citizen, or perhaps a tourist with a passport, it might have been a little more troublesome, as it would have involved official channels, especially in the case of foreigners with proper documentation; even more caution would be advised because a misstep could spark an international incident.

If it were a matter like that, Frederick Arnault wouldn’t have extended this favor at all—to put it bluntly, their relationship simply had not reached that level.

But Gu Heng had made it very clear; it was just an undocumented immigrant, a smuggled person. In recent years, due to policy reasons, France had seen an untold number of such illegal entries, with people disappearing nearly every day. The missing persons list at the immigration office was likely to break ten thousand, and nobody would really care. Despite the public proclamation of equality for all, in the eyes of the French elite, these people’s lives probably weren’t worth as much as a pet dog’s.

Quickly, he got in touch with the dark operatives regularly employed by the Arnault family to deal with unsavory matters. Having passed on the task, he then washed his hands of it.

As the wealthiest family in France currently, how could the Arnault family have amassed such fortune solely through upright means? In the West, clashes of capital were nothing new, as seen in the recent face-off between Mike Lynch and HP Group. The outcome was the complete eradication of the so-called British Bill Gates’ family, with not even the lawyers working for Lynch surviving...

Everyone knew who was behind that incident, but it still didn’t affect a fraction of the capital backing the HP Group...

The Arnault family, of course, had similar dark operatives at their disposal, although their actions were relatively more subtle, not plunged into desperation like HP Group—flat-out exterminating the entire family of a well-known international capitalist...

...

Meanwhile, Zhuo Wei, who had fled to France, found himself in an old hotel in the Old Paris District.

As a seasoned paparazzi, at his peak, Zhuo Wei possessed tens of millions in wealth. Even in his current down-and-out state, he still had several million in savings.

Having been a scout in his early years, Zhuo Wei was acutely aware that his previous undertakings had skirted legality, so he hadn’t kept all his money domestically. Apart from two properties, he had no money in domestic banks; instead, he had deposited everything in what had been the safest bank—the Swiss Bank. He had been so cautious precisely to prepare for this day.

He knew well that once he fled, all his movable and immovable property at home would surely be frozen.

It wasn’t just because of the Gu Heng incident that he had to escape. If it were only for that, at worst, he’d be sentenced to three to five years—a tough bite to swallow, yet survivable. Even a reprieve might be possible with a little maneuvering, avoiding even a single day in prison...

But...

He had offended too many in the entertainment industry’s capital throughout the years...

Previously, they hadn’t made a move against him because no one wanted to be the first to stick their neck out and become the biggest joke in the circle.

However, times had changed...

This time he had kicked a steel plate, encountering someone like Gu Heng who did not play by the rules, tossing the table altogether...

The industry’s capital might be reluctant to take the lead, but they were more than capable of kicking someone when they were down...

In these days alone, he had received no fewer than ten anonymous letters, all demanding the return of the extorted money. Otherwise, given his years of extortion, he could expect to spend the rest of his life in prison...

Returning the money was out of the question...

He had already spent most of his earnings over the years; even if he wanted to return it, it wouldn’t have been possible...

Thus, Zhuo Wei had no choice but to risk illegal immigration to France, a journey that took nearly ten days.

He still had a deposit of 2 million US Dollars in the Swiss Bank. While this sum couldn’t allow him to remain among the elite in Europe, it at least served as startup capital. Once the heat died down, he planned to launder money to assume the identity of a French citizen, then reconvene with his old subordinates and get back into paparazzi work. After all, it was a skilled trade that wouldn’t leave him starving anywhere.

Europe might be tougher to navigate than home, but at the point of smuggling oneself in, who needs a bicycle?

While Zhuo Wei was planning his future, the knock on his door jolted him. Reluctantly, he rose and went to the door, peering through the peephole to confirm it was the hotel owner before daring to open it...

"What’s going on, Martin?"

Although his French was not fluent, Zhuo Wei’s English was good enough for communication.

The hotel owner, sizing up the Asian man with facial stubble, glanced at him sideways, "Monsieur, it’s time to pay today’s room rate, or you’ll need to vacate the premises."

"???"

Zhuo Wei was bewildered, "Haven’t I prepaid for seven days already? It’s only the fourth day!"

Facing the challenge, the owner coolly replied, "Who told you seven days? It was clearly three. If you wish to stay, pay up; if not, please vacate my hotel."