World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 138: Old Money Vs New Money

James was slightly surprised by the coldness in the voice that cut through the peaceful elegance of the Chef’s Table Pavilion.

He turned slowly, calmly — and what he saw made his brow lift ever so slightly.

It was a young woman.

Late teens or maybe just hitting her twenties. Her skin was porcelain-pale with a cold undertone, her face carved with sharp precision — but that beauty was tainted. Not physically, but in spirit.

She carried herself like a marble statue that thought it was a god, the kind of person who had never heard the word "no" without issuing a lawsuit in response.

Her expression was pure disdain. A curled lip, narrowed eyes behind designer sunglasses, and a posture that screamed, "You’re beneath me."

Dressed in pristine white with gold accents, her ensemble looked custom — no doubt tailored in Europe and flown in just for this occasion.

But to James, all he saw was someone drowning in entitlement. A mannequin wrapped in ego.

She looked at James like he was a cockroach in a showroom. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

"You must be the new member," she said, her voice dripping in faux curiosity and masked venom.

"Figures."

James didn’t reply at first. He simply gave her a once-over, as if evaluating a piece of furniture someone tried to pass off as art.

His eyes moved slowly, unimpressed. Then he looked away without a word, as if she no longer existed.

He had no clue who she was, and frankly, didn’t care. Her tone didn’t deserve his attention. And this was his first appearance — he wasn’t about to start a fire for no reason.

With that, James began walking toward the canopy with calm, steady steps.

Behind him, he could hear her teeth grinding. Her presence was too loud to ignore, yet James gave her nothing. No argument. No recognition. It burned her more than anything he could’ve said.

And so, she snapped.

"You know," she called out coldly, voice now cutting through the air like a blade, "just because you got lucky doesn’t mean you belong here."

James paused but didn’t turn.

"You’re just new money trash," she sneered. "A lucky dog trying to dine with his masters."

James’ jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his side. He was just about to turn and give the bitch a piece of his mind — until a calm hand touched his shoulder.

He turned sharply, still irritated — but the man behind him smiled.

"Don’t," the stranger whispered, low and casual. "She’s not worth it. Trust me."

James looked at him — a man in his mid-thirties, tanned skin, bright eyes, slightly unshaven.

He wore a beige linen blazer, no tie, watch worth at least $30K, and a smirk that said he’d seen this kind of drama more times than he could count.

James followed the man’s gaze, then turned back to the woman. The moment their eyes met, James gave her a face — a subtle smirk, half amusement and half pity.

Now I get it, his expression said.

He nodded at the man and the two of them walked toward the canopy, leaving the irate woman standing there fuming.

Behind them, the woman let out a small shriek of frustration and stomped her heel.

Once under the shade of the Veranda Pavilion, James finally glanced sideways.

"Thanks," he said.

The man chuckled.

"No problem. That one’s... well, she’s a special kind of parasite."

"I was just about to call her a rotting heiress." James smirked.

The man laughed and extended a hand.

"Elliot Raye. Self-made, software. I’ve been a member here four years."

"James Zolomon," James replied, shaking it firmly. "Real estate, finance, tech... a bit of everything."

"Smart. Diversify the profile," Elliot said with a nod of approval.

James leaned slightly closer.

"And who was that charming lady?"

Elliot grinned, like he’d been waiting for the question.

"That would be Celeste Worthington."

"Figures." James raised an eyebrow.

Elliot continued, "Her family’s been in the club for three generations. They made their original wealth off steel in the 1800s and somehow still think that counts for something in 2025."

James tilted his head. "Steel? Sounds like rust waiting to happen."

Elliot laughed again.

"She’s the walking definition of old money. Entitled, sheltered, and desperate to remind everyone she’s different from the rest of us."

"But she doesn’t carry real power, does she?" James smiled.

Elliot smirked.

"Name has weight in these circles, but the family doesn’t hold significant modern influence.

Their wealth is mostly locked up in legacy trusts. They’re not poor — but they’re not controlling boardrooms anymore either."

James nodded, processing everything with razor focus.

"Let me guess — new money like us gets under her skin?"

"Every time," Elliot said. "People like her hate that we climbed the mountain in a decade when it took their family a century. They hate it even more when we don’t beg for their approval."

James was silent for a moment, processing everything. He realised that this was just the same thing that happened with the bitchy lady that got slapped by Leslie.

It was now that he finally understood everything and his face hardened as he came to a decision.

"I don’t care if it’s old or new money," he finally said. "Try to step on my pride again and I won’t stay quiet."

Elliot looked at him for a second longer than expected, then nodded slowly.

"I used to think like that," he said. "Still do sometimes. Just be careful. This place doesn’t punish the loudest person — it punishes the one who breaks the rhythm."

James didn’t reply. He understood the message.

But with what his plans and what he wants to achieve, be will definitely do more than breaking the rhythm.

"I like you, James," Elliot added after a pause. "Reminds me of me. Tell you what — if you ever need someone to walk you through the darker corners of this place, give me a call. I’ll be around."

"I appreciate it." James nodded in appreciation.

As if on cue, the soft ring of a small silver bell echoed from the dining canopy.

A tall, refined staff member stepped forward, his voice smooth and clear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this afternoon’s Chef’s Table Luncheon. Please find your name cards at the table.

Our guest chef today is Marcel Duclerc — visiting us from Provence. Expect a three-course tasting menu and selected wine pairings."

A gentle wave of movement stirred among the gathered members.

Elliot smiled at James. "Showtime."

James returned the smile, but inside, his mind was sharpening.

He knew that the food was just a formality. The real meal was influence. And James was here to eat.