World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 141: Familiar Faces In A Small Sea

The event had yet to start officially, so James took the opportunity to move through the room, and look around.

He move with calm and unhurried steps, as he scanned and silently observed the whole place and everyone.

Unlike the more intimate setting of the Chef’s Table luncheon earlier in the day, the West Ballroom now pulsed with quiet power.

It was grand without being gaudy, with golden lighting spilling down from crystal chandeliers overhead, casting a soft glow across polished marble floors and walls painted in warm cream and silver accents.

Every corner deliberately held something elegant — either a sculpture, an antique floral vase, or a strategically placed wine tower behind glass.

The air itself held weight, a subtle blend of aged oak, rich perfumes, and dry wine bouquets drifting from half-filled glasses.

Voices rose and fell in cadences, as people mingled like trained dancers. Couple of them clinked glasses mid-laugh and groups of two or three stood close, and spoke with low voices.

There was this strange quietness that filled the venue. Though it was quiet, low murmurs filled the air and everything happening seemed deliberate, making James to feel out of place.

James moved through the crowd like smoke, and he careful not to impose or step into ongoing conversations.

Instead, he let his presence be felt through silent grace and heads turned occasionally as he passed.

His tailored Brioni suit catching the soft glow just right, his watch flashing white gold in smooth rhythm with each stride.

As he moved around, he recognized some faces. Celebrities, sports stars, some of the new names in the tech space.

The celebrities weren’t acting larger-than-life here, as there were no entourages and no screaming fans either.

They all looked quietly integrated into the space like living furniture that happened to be millionaires and billionaires.

Out of everyone there — the celebrities especially — there was one face in particular that caught James’ attention — someone Leslie would scream about if she were here.

It was him. The man was leaning casually near the wine tower, sipping from a glass, his designer suit worn like it was stitched into his DNA. A movie star, one of the biggest and even oscar-nominated. And universally beloved.

Someone that Leslie had once watched the same romantic drama starring him five times in one weekend.

James chuckled to himself as he thought of how Leslie would had reacted.

If she was here, she would’ve squealed, fainted, then tried to play it cool while failing miserably.

Still, James didn’t approach the man. He didn’t have a reason to. To take a picture? He has never been that type of person.

Also, why should he? Jealously? Nah.

James was aware that these weren’t people to fawn over and he wasn’t here as a fan. He was here as an equal — or, at least, someone who would soon be one.

As he drifted further along the ballroom, he spotted more recognizable figures — a former NFL quarterback discussing vineyard properties, a Grammy-winning artist standing barefoot in high-end slippers and sipping red wine like it was water, and a tall man he was almost certain was the co-founder of a massive AI startup whose IPO had broken headlines just two months ago.

And yet even when he saw them, James didn’t stop to engage with them. It wasn’t out of intimidation. No, it was discipline.

He knew how these games worked. To approach too early would reek of desperation and it will make him look like someone seeking attention.

To hover would be amateurish and to assert without invitation would destroy the very balance he was trying to learn.

And so, he watched, observed and absorbed everything he saw. He made sure to do his best to keep whatever important details he got about anyone he saw at the back of his head.

But while watching, James never let his guard down — especially not after what happened earlier at Rodeo Drive and the little incident with the lady before the luncheon.

His gaze swept the room with a layer of calculation and caution.

He knew that somewhere in this very ballroom, likely standing at the edge of an influential circle or reclining with a glass of vintage French red, was that same venomous woman from earlier.

But it wasn’t just her he was watching out for — it was her people. Those from the old money faction.

James didn’t need anyone to tell him she belonged to that world. Her tone, her posture and the words she said to him and Leslie — "having a bit of money doesn’t mean achievement" — all of it reeked of the old world and its suffocating standards.

It was like the little chihuahua that stopped him and insulted him, saying that he wants to dine at the same table as his masters.

James understood these people — those in the old money faction — didn’t just inherit wealth.

They inherited everything, including the innate disdain for people like him. And in gatherings like this, they showed it through dismissive glances, exclusionary silence, and strategically calculated humiliation.

But as James moved among them, another realization began to sink in — one that shifted the very way he saw this event.

He noticed something, that the people that truly mattered weren’t even here.

No Rockefellers. No Rothschilds. No Murdochs. No Emirati royalty. No key figures from oil conglomerates or weapons manufacturers, or financial dynasties. No one whose signature could shift entire nations overnight.

And James understood immediately.

Even though this country club was old and respected, it was still a small pond. A curated, polished, and powerful pond — but still far beneath the ocean where the true apex predators swam.

Here, power was old, money was vast and onnections were deep. But none of them could crash markets with a whisper or broker peace deals over wine.

Yes, some of them here do hold quite a bit of influence, if not significant in their own little way, but that influence isn’t huge enough to actually do something monumental.

And yet, this was where James needed to start. Because even this tier — this tightly-wound, well-groomed circle of elites — was far above where most ever reached.

But it wasn’t his final destination and James knew that.

He also noticed something else — something few others would have picked up.

Even among the old money here... there were divides. Factions within factions. Alliances, and hierarchies.

Not all old money was equal. Not all last names wielded the same shadow weight.* If all old money were equal, then everyone here would carry the same aura as the Rothschilds. But they didn’t.

Some carried the weight of their names like a throne. Others carried it like baggage, praying no one noticed how hollow it had become.

Realising this, James muttered to himself with sharpened eyes.

"It seems like there’s a lot I still have to do. I shouldn’t waste time too long here. I need to move up the ladder. As fast as I can."

James never forgot the actual reason why he joined the country club in the first place.

It wasn’t to impress. It wasn’t to mingle. It wasn’t even to belong. It was to find someone.

A mentor. A true one. Not a motivational speaker. Not a LinkedIn mogul. Not some investor with a few tech wins and a speaking gig.

He wanted someone real. Someone whose existence made CEOs shut up and listen. Someone with scars from war rooms, and whose advice would help him to shape entire continents. Someone who had nothing left to prove — but would still teach him anyway.

But he hadn’t found that person yet. But he would. And when he did? He’d make them say yes.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t have a plan. But he had the belief.

Somewhere inside, beneath all the calm, polished exterior... he just knew.

"I’ll get them to say yes," he whispered to himself, with more conviction than curiosity in his voice.

He was still mid-thought when a man walked onto the small podium near the front of the ballroom, tapping a microphone.

James turned his attention toward him immediately.

The room quieted naturally, as conversations paused and glasses were lowered, with everyone shifting their attention without needing to be told.

The man was tall, dressed in a black tuxedo with a white pocket square. His voice, when it came, was smooth and experienced.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight for our Formal Dinner and Wine Pairing event."

A few polite claps echoed across the room.

"We are honored to welcome back our sommelier-in-residence, Mr. Calvin Rhodes, who has curated tonight’s selection — each bottle hand-picked to complement a special five-course seasonal tasting menu prepared by Chef Alaric himself."

Another wave of applause, more genuine this time.

James folded his arms slightly, as he thought to himself.

"Here we go."

The man continued. "Please, begin making your way to your tables. Staff will guide you accordingly. Let tonight be elegant, refined... and unforgettable."

With that, the lights softened slightly, and a light instrumental began to flow through the ballroom.

James inhaled slowly and slowly moved, to find his seat.

The night has just began.