That night, inside Kevin's little motorhome, the group had a serious discussion about job prospects.
Rango believed that with a clean million dollars sitting in his bank account, he had no reason to work for anyone else. He could open his own shop, or better yet, buy land in the countryside and become a farmer like he'd once imagined.
Kevin, on the other hand, thought starting a business was a good idea, but warned that New York's red tape made it almost impossible to open anything quickly. Just getting through the permits, business licenses, sales tax registrations, and employee health certificates could take a month or more. It was better to find a decent transitional job for now, adopt Emma, and only then start planning for a business.
As for Ted, he was completely wasted by that point, lying on the couch and giggling like he was having a wet dream, tugging at the care label beneath him.
"Alright!" Rango slapped the table, getting to his feet. "Tomorrow morning, I'll check out some houses. Then in the evening, I'll head to the museum for the interview. Make sure you talk to your uncle."
With that, he picked Ted up by the scruff, ready to head out and crash at a five-star hotel.
"Wait!"
Kevin jumped up and stopped him. "Why not just crash here for the night? No need to go anywhere."
Rango paused, glanced at the narrow couch and the cramped walkway of the motorhome, then said flatly, "Yeah, no thanks."
"Bro rejected bromance real quick…" Kevin scratched his head.
…
The next morning.
After a night of luxurious sleep at The Ritz-Carlton in Manhattan, Rango and Ted headed to Long Island to check out some houses.
It was love at first sight.
No wonder Long Island was second only to the Upper East Side among New York's wealthiest neighborhoods. The early morning peace was unreal.
No roaring engines or honking horns. Just the occasional jogger or dog walker enjoying a quiet morning.
Though the trees looked a little bare in the autumn chill, every lawn was immaculately trimmed, and every shrub seemed carefully maintained. The place oozed a calm, vibrant charm.
Sure, it might get boring after a while, but to Rango, who'd grown up in Queens and then lived in Africa, this was paradise. No noise. No pollution. Just peace.
"Mr. Winchester, your timing couldn't be better. I've got several listings that just came up for sale," the real estate agent said cheerfully as he drove. "But I think it'd help to clarify your budget first. That way, we can save you some time."
Rango instantly knew this was the perfect moment to flex.
He cleared his throat and casually raised five fingers.
"Five million?!"
The agent's eyes lit up. "Whoa, now we're talking! With that kind of budget, you'll have access to 90 percent of the luxury homes on Long Island!"
"…"
Rango froze.
He'd meant five hundred thousand, not five million! How did this guy misinterpret that? Do I really look like a millionaire?
He was about to clarify when the car suddenly pulled to a stop. Grinning like he'd hit the jackpot, the agent pointed excitedly at the massive house beside them.
"This is the one! Two acres of land, 15,000 square feet of interior space, Super Big! South-facing, 14 bedrooms, 8 bathrooms, 6-car garage! And a nine-foot-high basement! Mr. Winchester, for someone of your stature, this is absolutely perfect!"
Rango's smile froze in place. This looked like a private estate, not something you could buy with half a million. Still, now that he was here, he had to play it cool. Besides, it's just money… and money is to be spent.
Looking around with feigned interest, he asked casually, "So… what's the listing price on this place?"
"4.7 million dollars!"
The agent practically beamed. "This is the biggest price drop in five quarters! Mr. Winchester, you absolutely can't miss this incredible opportunity!"
Fuck you, bitch! Opportunity my ass! Some never have to cope with me like this?!
Rango cursed inwardly. He knew he shouldn't have asked. There was no way he could afford a place like this.
It wasn't until he returned to New York that he realized how little money he actually had. But turning it down flat would be kind of embarrassing.
Just as he was figuring out how to politely back out, Ted suddenly pointed across the street to an older-looking house.
"What's the story with that place? Doesn't really match the rest of the neighborhood."
The agent's smile faltered for a moment. He paused, choosing his words carefully. "That house is over a century old. While the exterior looks a little worn, it's been completely renovated inside. Still… I wouldn't recommend it."
After a moment of hesitation, he admitted the truth. "There have been multiple murders and disappearances in that house. Even though the price has dropped to 40% of the original, I don't think it suits a successful gentleman like yourself."
Rango's eyes lit up in realization. No wonder the mansion next door had been sitting on the market despite price drops, its neighbor was a literal murder house.
But that "40% off" part caught his attention.
"How much are they asking for that old place?"
"400,000."
Sensing Rango's interest, the agent stopped holding back and began breaking down the numbers. "You'd need to put down just under 100K for the deposit. Monthly payments would be a little over three thousand. Property tax is around 1.7% per year…"
He laid it all out, line by line.
Not because he was nosy, but because U.S. real estate law required agents to disclose all potential risks to buyers. Unlike some countries, American home values are generally very stable. They rarely surge and often crash during economic downturns.
In other words, property here isn't really an investment.
Include yearly property taxes, which are usually between 1 and 5 percent, and there's little difference between owning and renting. So, unless someone is getting married, having kids, or needs to move for work, people rarely buy homes just for the sake of it.
For the price of a house, you could buy Coca-Cola stock and get a much better return.
Still, Rango gazed at the nearby old-style villa, its aged architecture full of quiet charm, and lit a cigarette with interest.
"Show me the inside."
A few minutes later, with the agent leading the way, Rango and Ted stepped into the house.
As soon as they entered the porch, a faint woody aroma hit them, the distinct scent of carefully preserved aged timber.
The wooden floors beneath their feet, though clearly worn by time, were smooth and well-maintained, catching the soft light with a subtle sheen.
The decor inside was refined and artistic. Elegant oil paintings lined the walls, their soft colors layered with depth. The furniture was made of dark hardwood, minimalist yet tasteful, exuding understated luxury.
What caught Rango's attention was that the house also featured many modern amenities, including a fully equipped, high-end kitchen. Add in the sprawling front and back yards... For $400K, this was an absolute steal.
After a quick tour, Rango was ready to explore more properties. He had plenty of options and didn't need to buy a murder house just yet. But just as he turned to leave, he felt a sudden heat spread across his palm; his system was charging up a progress bar.
Rango froze, scanned the house again, and let a white-toothed grin stretch across his face.
"I'll take it! Let's sign the contract right now!"
(The "Murder House" is a reference to Season 1 of the TV series American Horror Story.)
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