World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 151: Logan

The next morning, James woke up feeling unusually refreshed, the deep kind of rest that settled into the bones after a hard day’s work.

As he reached for his phone on the nightstand, a familiar notification pinged. He checked it and he saw that was from the Bel-Air Country Club management — once again, a polite message stamped with the club’s crest.

He thumbed it open, already half-guessing what it would say. Sure enough, the notice was clear:

Family Golf & Brunch Rounds. Time: 8:00 AM – 11:00 AM. Dress code: Elegant golf attire. Guests welcome (registration 24 hours prior).

James smiled lightly. The idea of a relaxed, family-style event appealed to him. His immediate thought was to bring Patty and Leslie along.

It would have been perfect — a casual outing, a chance to spend time with them after weeks of near-constant country club obligations.

But then he remembered — guest registration had to be submitted at least 24 hours in advance. And a small sigh escaped his lips.

Too late for today. Still, he made a mental note: next Sunday, they would come with him.

He swung his legs off the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, James pulled on a fresh set of golf clothes: clean-cut polo, white slacks, soft spiked shoes, and a lightweight jacket embroidered with his initials.

Bag slung across his shoulder, phone and the Range Rover key fob in hand, he headed downstairs.

The smell of fresh eggs, buttered toast, and something sweet — maybe cinnamon — hit him the moment he descended. And he found Patty and Leslie at the dining table, setting out breakfast.

They both looked up at him — and their smiles faltered slightly when they saw the golf bag.

Patty sighed gently, setting down a basket of bread rolls. And Leslie gave him a small, helpless look before recovering quickly, busying herself with plates.

James smiled at them and crossed the room, planting a light kiss on Patty’s cheek.

"Good morning," he said softly.

Patty gave him a once-over, concern clear in her eyes.

"Are you sure you should be out again so soon? You barely got any rest yesterday."

"I’m fine. I slept well," James assured her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

He took his seat, and Leslie slid into the chair beside him, her hand sneaking under the table to squeeze his thigh lightly.

James gave her a warm, reassuring smile and squeezed her hand back. He knew he hadn’t been around much lately. Not for her and not even for Natasha.

The club — and everything tied to it — had eaten into his time like a slow, steady tide.

He sighed and promised himself that next week, he will make time for the both of them.

Breakfast passed in a comfortable, if slightly muted, silence.

James didn’t linger. When he finished eating, he stood, thanked Patty, and swung his bag over his shoulder.

The Range Rover rumbled quietly as he backed out of the driveway and headed toward the country club, the early morning sun just beginning to warm the hills.

***

By the time James pulled into the Bel-Air Country Club, the place was already gently bustling.

But unlike the tense buzz of tournament day, today’s atmosphere was different. It felt lighter.

Families moved about the manicured grounds. Elegant mothers in pastel golf dresses and fathers in relaxed polos and khakis. And kids — mostly teenagers and older — could be seen, carrying tiny bags and laughing awkwardly.

A soft quartet played light music near the main courtyard, the air fragrant with fresh flowers and the scent of cinnamon pastries being laid out under wide brunch tents.

James checked in with a quick nod to the reception desk and made his way toward the small gathering forming near the first tee box.

A brief speech was given by the club’s general manager, welcoming everyone, explaining that the golf was casual — "nine-hole friendly" — and brunch would be served midway through on the terrace.

James didn’t know many of the families yet, so he kept to himself at first. He focused on practicing his swing lightly, smiling politely at those who glanced his way.

***

Midway through the gathering, as James was practicing a few light chip shots near the green, someone approached him.

"Hey — you’re James Zolomon, right?"

James turned to find a young man, maybe a year or two younger than him, standing casually with a golf club slung across his shoulders.

He had sun-streaked hair, sharp brown eyes, and the kind of effortless confidence that usually came from being born into privilege.

"Yeah," James replied calmly. "And you are?"

"Logan Hawthorne," the guy said, offering a hand.

James shook it firmly.

"My dad’s a member. Probably one of the cranky ones who keeps talking about how the club’s changed too much." Logan grinned.

James chuckled lightly. He felt he understood what Logan was getting at but he didn’t probe.

The two of them started talking casually — about golf at first, then about life at the club, parties, and the weird ecosystem of young elites trying to carve out their own identity under the looming shadows of their families.

Logan spoke with a kind of brutal honesty that James found refreshing.

"Most of the old guys think money automatically makes you interesting," Logan said, swinging his club lazily as they walked toward the brunch area.

"But the truth is — half their kids are bored out of their minds. No ambition. No fire. Just living off trust funds. But it’s disheartening that it’s just a minority of us don’t want to be trust fund babies."

James nodded thoughtfully. There was a kind of loneliness in Logan’s words that he recognized in himself.

"I get that," James said. "It’s easy to get lazy when you’re too comfortable."

Logan grinned again, flashing a set of white teeth.

"Exactly. You — you don’t look lazy."

"I don’t dare," James said dryly.

Logan laughed and the two of them continued talking. As time passed, maybe due to their similarity in age, they grew closer.

Before they parted ways, Logan pulled out his phone.

"Here," he said. "Let’s swap numbers. There’s a party coming up next two weekend and everyone our age who’s anyone will be there."

James raised an eyebrow but accepted.

He knew these parties probably wouldn’t yield serious business or alliances immediately, but social visibility mattered.

And it was a good opportunity to at least familiarize himself with his generation’s version of the elite.

"Count me in," James said.

They exchanged numbers quickly and agreed to text later.

***

The rest of the gathering passed without major incident.

James played a few more holes, exchanged polite greetings with some of the older members, and grabbed a light plate of brunch — scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, tiny croissants — and ate quietly while observing the crowd.

He spotted Logan from time to time, joking animatedly with a small group of young men and women.

By 11:00 AM, the Family Golf & Brunch Rounds officially wound down.

The music faded, the caddies packed up stray clubs, and families drifted back to their luxury cars with light laughter and half-hearted promises to "catch up soon."

James slung his bag over his shoulder, made his way to the parking lot, and slid behind the wheel of his Range Rover.

He started the car, pulled out of the country club and started making his way home. He was happy that he has nothing else on his schedule for this day and can just rest.