Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!
Chapter 227 - 227: Plans for a Club

A week has passed since the secret take over of Richard Morrison's branch had occurred. It had also been two weeks since Rachel and the girls performed their high risk secret mission in Tyler's night club.

Life was moving at a smooth pace once again. Everything seemed easier, simpler. Darren focused on structuring his money for every coming rise and fall of Bitcoin, while at the same time, motivating Kara and the rest of the IT team to mine more Bitcoin.

For the 20+ million he had withdrawn, he'd spent it on a private jet, the Gulfstream 450 which he had named Razor for no particular reason, and he had bought a painting to an auction he attended with Olivia.

Today, however, he had a different, more business-driven objective in mind.

The sky above Los Alverez shimmered with the fading lavender of dusk, and the air held that rich, ocean-tanged scent that only coastal cities could boast.

A row of high-end restaurants and boutique lounges lined the stretch of this lesser-known block in West Solara. Here, nestled between a Mediterranean café and a retro vinyl store, stood a squat, brick-walled building with blacked-out windows and peeling silver signage that read: "Club Nocturne (Closed)".

Darren Steele stood in front of the door with his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed, taking in the structure's every detail like a chess player scanning the board. Beside him, Rachel adjusted the lapel of her dark blazer and glanced down at the tablet she held, already noting structural specs and zoning permits.

"This place looks like a relic," she muttered. "But I assume you're not here for the aesthetics."

Darren smirked, his gaze still pinned to the building. "Few years from now, this street will be the new Rodeo Drive. Not the fashion part — the nightlife. Clubs, music halls, private lounges, exclusive celebrity venues. It's already happening. You've seen the surge."

Rachel nodded. "You're right. I mean, the talent migration from New Dale and Nevarro to Los Alverez has been consistent for four quarters. SAG-AFTRA just opened an auxiliary office two blocks east. Production houses are already scouting here for cheaper post setups and 'ocean breeze authenticity'."

"Exactly," Darren said, stepping forward as the old metal door creaked open. "Why wait for the explosion when we can just buy the dynamite?"

"Think of what I can turn this place into, Rach. Celebrities of every kind will talk about meeting here. We have to give it this reverence, and at the same time, a fitting name."

Rachel smiled, almost giggling.

Darren looked at her, catching the smile. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I just really missed you being this way." Then she smiled at him. "Happy you're back."

Darren jerked his shoulder. "Let's go inside, one-eye."

"Hey!"

Inside, the dimness lifted to reveal the skeletal remains of what was once a trendy underground lounge.

Dust clung to the wooden bar like a decade-old curse, and the velvet couches along the walls were faded to near gray. The dance floor, though worn, still held traces of embedded LED lights, and a chandelier missing a few crystals dangled like a forgotten crown.

From the back emerged a man in his late fifties, wearing a leather apron over a faded Slayer T-shirt, a streak of ash-grey in his tangled beard. His voice was gruff but sharp, the kind that could bounce off marble and still draw blood.

"Steele, huh? The boy wonder they keep yapping about on business radio?" he grunted, wiping his hands with a bar rag. "Name's Curtis Black. Former owner, current seller, and unofficial fixer of everything that falls apart in this dump."

Darren extended a hand, unbothered by the attitude. "You ever thought of rebranding yourself as the city's most reluctant realtor?"

Curtis gave a bark of laughter. "Only if the retirement package includes bourbon. C'mon, let's walk."

They started the slow inspection. Darren ran his fingers along the bar counter, noting the quality of the oak beneath the wear. Rachel measured room lengths with her internalized mental ruler. Curtis explained the plumbing issues like he was reciting a personal vendetta.

"Boiler's from '98. Still kicking, but she's moody. Like an ex-wife with a shotgun. Wiring's solid, surprisingly. Soundproofing's crap, though. You'd hear a rat cough in the next room."

Rachel raised a brow. "Noted."

"So what's the pitch?" Curtis asked, stopping near the former VIP lounge area. "You gonna turn this into a vape bar or a tech startup's safe space?"

Darren chuckled, then walked to the middle of the room, turning slowly. "Neither. I'm going to create a luxury hub. Not just a club, it's going to be more like a gate. Exclusive entry, hidden from the public and designed for top-tier actors, producers, moguls. I want a place where the top 1% of the entertainment world feel free to let their guard down. This block is about to become a hotspot. We just need to light the fuse."

Curtis tilted his head. "Hmm. You don't sound like a kid chasing a pipe dream. No wonder they keep making a fuss about you, huh. Kids these days, man."

"I like this old guy," Darren murmured.

They ended the tour in the back lot, where Curtis kept a rusting smoker grill and a view of the alley. He leaned against the brick wall. "So, numbers."

Rachel stepped forward before Darren could say a word. Her tone was clipped, cool, and precise.

"You listed this at 2.2 million, based on projected zoning potential. But this space hasn't functioned in five years. Your last licensing renewal was denied twice. The pipes need gutting, and the back lot's registered with the city as 'moderate hazard'."

Curtis looked amused. "Tell me how you really feel."

"We're offering 1.35 million," she said flatly. "Clean cut. All cash. Closed in five business days."

Curtis raised a brow. "You brought a damn guillotine with you, didn't you?"

"What can I say? he's the reason my companies stay profitable," Darren said with a shrug.

Curtis chewed his lip, looking between the two of them. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, Mr. Steele. If you want it that badly... you've got yourself a club."

---

Two hours later, the contract was signed, the funds processed, and Curtis handed over a tarnished key with a crooked smile.

"Take care of her, would ya? She may be dusty, but there's good bones in her."

"I will," Darren replied, pocketing the key.

Outside, Rachel glanced over the building one last time. "You really think celebrities will flock here?"

"They will," Darren said calmly. "Because in the future, this won't just be a club. It'll be the heart of the city's fame. And I want it beating for me."