Chapter 102: Private Jet
"What the hell!?" Frank blinked, turning his head to the window beside him, seeing the endless blue sky and fluffy white clouds outside. He realized he was in the air and exclaimed in surprise.
"Where am I!?" Frank immediately sat up, discovering he was in a room resembling a hotel.
"Sir, you're awake. Here's some broth to help with the hangover," a man dressed like a butler, wearing a suit and white gloves, offered him a bowl of soup.
"Who are you?" Frank asked cautiously.
"Sir, my name is Lincoln. I'm the flight attendant on this plane," the attendant replied with a slight bow, evidently well-trained.
"Plane?" Frank was more confused.
"Yes, this is Mr. Joseph's private jet," the attendant explained.
"What!?" Frank's voice rose an octave.
Frank quickly learned from the attendant what had happened.
The previous night's party was wild, and since Joseph was leaving the next day, he invited everyone to join him for a few days of fun, all expenses covered by him.
By then, Frank was blackout drunk and had apparently agreed in a haze, waking up on the plane.
Alongside Frank were a dozen others, some awake, some not.
"Where are we heading?" Frank asked.
"New York. We'll arrive in about an hour," the attendant replied.
"New York, huh? Drinking really gets you into trouble," Frank thought, his head pounding from the hangover.
Frank hadn't planned on leaving Chicago, and since arriving in this world, he'd hardly left the Southside, except for the occasional scavenging trip.
But now it was too late; he was already on the proverbial pirate ship.
However, Frank quickly came to terms with it. Since he was already on the plane, there was no point in overthinking. He couldn't exactly ask the plane to turn around and take him back.
Besides, with all the drama at home and the kids' attitudes, a break from Chicago might do him good. It was an unexpected opportunity to see the world without spending a dime, courtesy of Joseph.
"Sir," the attendant said, noticing Frank's discomfort, offering the hot broth.
"Thanks," Frank said, taking a sip and immediately feeling better.
"We've prepared a shower and fresh clothes for you. Would you prefer to freshen up first or have a meal?" the attendant asked attentively.
"I'll shower first," Frank decided, feeling grimy and nauseated by the smell of vomit on himself. Despite the proximity, the attendant maintained a professional demeanor, showing no signs of disgust, a testament to his training.
After showering, Frank found new clothes prepared for him, all designer brands from head to toe. He imagined selling them could buy him a house in the Southside.
"This is the life," Frank mused, enjoying steak and red wine.
Internally, Frank critiqued the extravagant lifestyle of the wealthy. A private jet with such spacious and luxurious amenities, including a bath and kitchen, seemed excessive.
Outwardly, he condemned such indulgence.
"Hey, Frank, you're up! How are you feeling?" Joseph asked, approaching in a bathrobe.
"Fantastic!" Frank replied, giving a thumbs up.
"Hahaha, glad you like it. I'm starving too. Get me three medium-rare steaks," Joseph ordered.
Quickly, the steaks arrived, the juices still flowing as he cut into them.
Joseph didn't bother with proper dining etiquette, instead spearing a steak and tearing into it with gusto.
He devoured the steak in just a few bites, sauce and juices dripping onto his beard, far from the image of a billionaire.
"You still eat with such... enthusiasm," Frank noted, remembering Joseph's old habits.
"Old habits die hard," Joseph said, finishing the steak and downing a glass of fine wine with a flourish.
An attendant expertly cleaned Joseph's face, wiping away sauce and wine stains from his beard.
"Do you eat like this in public?" Frank asked.
"Of course. I know my table manners are lacking. People used to avoid me, but now, with money, they flock to me, praising my appetite. What hypocrites."
"Money is really something, isn't it, Frank? Hahaha!" Joseph laughed, lighting a cigar.
"Yeah, money is definitely something," Frank agreed.
As Frank and Joseph chatted, the other passengers gradually awoke, bringing the plane back to life.
"Indeed, money is something special," Joseph said, basking in the attention, surrounded by cigar smoke that obscured his face, though his smile was unmistakable.
The plane soon landed in New York, the iconic American city. The group disembarked and boarded vehicles to Joseph's estate.
Accustomed to poverty, the group had never seen such luxury. Their imaginations couldn't capture the reality, much like peasants fantasizing about an emperor's golden tools and lavish meals.
At Joseph's home, they felt like characters in a fairy tale, everything so new and pristine, hesitant to touch anything for fear of ruining it. In a billionaire's home, even the smallest item seemed priceless.
Greeted by staff and a cohort of maids—real, trained maids, not actors—they were taken aback by their beauty and poise.
"Make yourselves at home and have fun," Joseph said, shrugging off his coat, which a servant deftly caught, showcasing practiced ease.
Though initially reserved, the group quickly gravitated towards Joseph's wine cabinet, the allure of fine alcohol irresistible. The cabinet housed bottles worth thousands, even hundreds of thousands, far beyond their usual fare.