GetOutOfMyWay felt the blood drain from his face. The number from the system prompt echoed in his skull, a death knell.
Two million, seventy-three thousand, eight hundred and twenty gold.
The sheer size of the number was incomprehensible. He did the mental math, converting it at the current exchange rate.
Two and a half billion dollars.
The words were a silent scream in his head. Two and a half billion. And if they couldn't pull that together in ten hours, the system would tack on another fifty percent.
He thought of the other guy's first offer—thirty thousand gold, a paltry three hundred thousand in penalties. The gap between that and this was a chasm he'd just willingly jumped into. His hand trembled with a violent, self-loathing urge to slap himself across the face.
There was no undo button. No take-backs.
