HP: A Magical Journey
chapter-380-30041322

Quinn and Gair sat in front of each other in the latter's office.

"I don't like to meet people without appointments, Quinn West. If you didn't know it before, know it now," said Gair. The ancient vampire was as Quinn remembered him last time; he still seemed lazy and looked like he was on the verge of sleeping, but there was a flicker of annoyance in the red eyes. "Even if it is your grandfather, I would take offense if he came here unannounced."

Gair sighed, and if there was a place where a sigh would seem natural, it was on him. "But now that you are here tell me what you're here for. I can't send someone so far away from away."

Quinn was in no mood to exchange quips with Gair, so he got straight to the point. "I need to withdraw some funds from my account here. I hope you kept some of my wealth in liquid reserve."

"Excluding your emergency fund, I have kept one percent of the gold you initially allocated to me."

". . . One percent!" Quinn furrowed his brow. That was lower than he thought.

"According to the last report I read, the coinage was still at five percent," said Quinn.

"You haven't been keeping up with the reports," Gair quirked his eye.

Quinn's wealth was invested in a wide portfolio; all of it was handled by three firms— The Broker, who managed his non-magical investments. . . the West's Basel Office, which dealt with a large portion of the entire West family's wealth. . . and the Monolith bank which provided the Wests with its financial services.

Quinn had divided his wealth among the three firms to not put all his eggs into one basket; moreover, every one of them had a different skillset and ideology towards investment, which would give Quinn gains(or losses) in diverse areas. Out of all three, he had only asked Monolith and Gair to hold cash reserves, with the other two keeping the entire reserves bound up in investments. He got audited reports on a monthly, quarterly, and annual basis on the health of his wealth— but unfortunately, to no fault of anyone else, Quinn had not gotten the time to read the recent reports.

"I admit, I have not been keeping up with them," Quinn sighed. Five percent of a third of his wealth would've barely gotten him through what he was planning, but one percent wasn't something he was not at all comfortable with. "Isn't one percent quite less?" he asked.

Gair sighed, "Including the trust fund made for you by your grandfather, one percent of what I had was more than enough even for the exorbitant expenses you have. . . You know, I have heard of many young lads who spend left and right without care, but even among them, you're near the top."

Quinn pursed his lips. He spent a lot of money every month on research and development. Magic was a free resource that only took regular meals and good sleep every day to regenerate— but progressing in magic wasn't cheap; at his level, it took a lot of resources to get to the next level.

"I want that one percent and the emergency fund," Quinn asked Gair; still inside, he felt that the funds weren't going to be enough.

The situation was still contained, so he could go to the Basel Office and ask them to liquidate some funds, but that would take time which he didn't have, and the moment situation broke out, the doors to the Basel Office would be closed to him.

'I will have to with this for now,' thought Quinn. It meant that he had to go to The Broker at some point to liquidate his portfolio there— unlike the Basel Office, the Broker was his personal contact.

"Why do you want so much cash?" Gair took out a sheet of paper and a pot of ink. "Are you planning to buy something big?"

Instead of answering the question, Quinn posed one of his own to Gair. "Are you employed by my grandfather solely. . . or am I also paying you?"

Gair unscrewed the ink bottle and curled his finger up for red ink to float out of the bottle. Quinn blinked at the ink that flowed to the paper and started to form words. Vampires were magical creatures, but they weren't supposed to use them like this.

Then it hit Quinn.

"You use blood in ink," he said, surprise clear on his face. He used blood magic to confirm his theory.

"I do," said Gair nonchalantly as the blood printed words on the paper like a printer

". . . Is it Ixquic's?"

"Human blood is not suitable for inks. This is a blend of inks from different beasts and creatures— had it custom made by a good friend of mine, Ricci."

"Another vampire?"

"Of course, only a vampire can know blood so well; I haven't seen an ink so good— with or without magic," Gair swiped his hand, and the paper sheet slid to the slide, but then a new sheet of paper slid in front of him. Quinn's jaw loosened. He had thought that the first sheet moved because of the blood ink, but it seemed that even the sheets even themselves had blood in them.

Quinn looked around the room, wondering what else in the room was infused with blood or blood magic.

"I am employed by the West family business, your grandfather, your sister, and you," answered Gair without looking up.

"What?"

"The answer to your previous question. I treat business and people as separate entities— I handle the business accounts, but I also handle the personal accounts of George, Lia, Elliot, and Rosey—"

"Elliot and Ms. Rosey as well? They qualify as clients for Monolith?" The bank only took customers who could meet their standards of wealth.

"Elliot Dalton and Rosey Vivian are both extremely rich. Years working with your grandfather have its gains. Both of them are prolific investors and have invested in various companies; they might not earn as much as you do, but their portfolio is nothing to sneeze at. Especially, Elliot Dalton— a majority of his businesses compliment some arm of the West business, so when that subsidiary grew, Elliot's business would grow as well."

That surprised Quinn. But now was not the time to expand on the situation.

"Would you share my information with my grandfather?"

"Why would I do that?" asked Gair, still writing up papers. "I don't have the habit of discussing client information with others."

"Even if it is George West," Quinn used the full name.

"Even if it is, George West."

'"He can make problems for you."

"I am well aware. . . he's a big enough client that if he asks, the board will kick me out. . . even though I have a share in the bank. . . why are you asking?"

"He will come looking for me in a few days."

"Why? Are you running away from home?" When Quinn didn't speak, Gair looked up. "Seriously. . . you're too old to run away from home; aren't you an adult now, holy blood, why would you do that?"

"Some stuff, don't worry about it," Quinn waved it off. "Grandfather will come looking, and when he does, don't say anything to him. He will ask for the records of every single purchase I made through my account here, but I don't want you to give him anything."

"Got it."

"This will cause problems for you."

Gair closed the inkpot and leaned back into his chair, looking like he was sitting on a rocking chair by a fireplace. "I have been doing this job for who knows how long and have made some great money doing it— more than I can spend in this century even with all I spend," the pale man seemed apathetic as he spoke every word. "The only reason I do this job is that I'm good at it. It doesn't matter to me if George gets me fired. I'm a partner in the bank; even if they do kick me out, the money will keep coming in.

I will go find something fun. . . though I will be disappointed in George— and honestly, I do not think he will have me fired— a man should have integrity and me protecting my client shows it," Gair shrugged. "Runaway all you want, Quinn West; I shall keep my tongue to myself— your secrets will stay safe with me."

Gair rang a bell, and Ixquic came in. He handed her the papers, and she took them away.

Quinn studied Gair. He thanked the man but inside, all he could think was what it would be that old. The vampire was the oldest man Quinn had ever met, and it made him curious to think how life changed after one had done one single job longer than most people lived.

'Maybe Mr. Alan would know; he must've lived someone who lived that long,' a stray thought passed his mind that made him smile bitter— having thoughts about magic in such situations showed him something about priorities.

"Thank you, Mr. Gair."

Now that he had the money, he had other preparations to make.

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- (Scene Break) -

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Quinn had returned home the next day and was walking past the lounge to his room when he heard his name called out. He turned and entered the lounge to find George sitting alone, nursing a drink in his hand. The room was dimly lit by a table-side lamp and the gentle moonlight coming through the windows.

"It is late, grandfather. You shouldn't be drinking so late in the night," said Quinn sitting down in front of him. It was strange for him to see George drink anywhere outside his cellar— that place specially built for enjoying a drink. . . built for George West to enjoy a drink in peace

"I heard you were at Marcus' home," said George. "How's the lad doing? He's going to start his training the next week."

"He told me," said Quinn; he had known that for a while now. "I'm still planning that trip with him. It needs to happen before I go for my apprenticeship and Eddie starts his career in earnest, so I want him to have a good chunk of time off."

"Have a talk with Elliot," said George.

"I will. I will." Quinn studied George, and his grandfather seemed to be distracted and looked like he had a little too much to drink. "Are you alright, grandfather?"

"I'm fine, my child," said George, taking another sip from his glass.

Quinn stood up and walked to George to take the glass. "You should stop drinking. It's already late; go to sleep."

George stood up and looked like he was going to stagger, so Quinn gave him support, but he raised his hand to say he was fine. George patted Quinn on his shoulder before walking away.

Quinn cleaned up the room before walking out himself to find Ms. Rosey standing at the door.

"Do you know why he was like that?" he asked.

". . . It is the day he lost her. . . your grandmother's death anniversary. You were in Hogwarts this time of the year, so you wouldn't know," said Ms. Rosey. She raised her hand to Quinn's cheek and gently caressed it. "He has lost too much already, my dear. You and Lia are all he has left. Treat him well. . ."

Quinn nodded.

She smiled and walked away into the darkness.

". . . I'm sorry," he muttered alone.

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-*-*-*-*-*-

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Quinn West - MC - Time to get that gold.

Idris Gair - Vampire - Yeah. . . I have blood in a lot of my things.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Next couple of chapters are going to be around the current topic.