CHAPTER 181: ANOTHER LUXURY

August 25, 2029

Makati, Pacific Marine Brokers

11:10 AM

Timothy walked through the quiet compound tucked behind the main road. The building looked plain. Frosted glass windows. A metal sign with the name Pacific Marine Brokers.

He stepped inside. Neutral walls. Polished floor. Framed certifications instead of photographs. A coffee machine humming in the corner. The receptionist looked up with no rehearsed smile.

"Good morning, sir. Appointment?"

"Guerrero. I spoke with Mr. Alvarez."

She called someone, then stood. "Conference Room Two."

The hallway was silent. Doors with printed labels—no logos. No marketing. It felt more like an insurance office than anything connected to boats.

A man waited in the room. Early fifties. Plain shirt. Slacks. No tie. He stood with a firm handshake.

"Mr. Guerrero. Good to finally meet you."

"Thanks for coming in," Timothy said.

"Marine buyers don’t wait for weekdays," Alvarez replied. "They come when they decide. We stay ready."

They sat. No introduction slideshow. No pitch. No brochure. Alvarez slid a tablet and a folder onto the table.

"I was told you want something that moves," Alvarez said. "Not something that entertains."

Timothy leaned back. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

"Something that won’t look out of place in the bay," Alvarez continued, "but also not out of place in the middle of nowhere."

Timothy nodded once.

"Not for parties," he said. "Not for photos."

"Understood."

Alvarez opened the tablet. He passed through images. The first batch looked expensive. White hulls. Curved superstructures. Glass sofas. Bars and jacuzzis. Lighting setups like hotel lobbies.

Timothy looked at them once, then said, "No."

"Too much?"

"Too little," Timothy said. "Too little vessel. Too much decoration."

Alvarez smirked. He moved to another file.

These were plainer. Straight hull lines. Bridge decks. Steel instead of polish. You could see weld seams. Not for glamor. More for function.

"These are expedition builds," Alvarez said. "They don’t try to look expensive. They try to be capable."

"What sizes?"

"Forty-two meter. Fifty-eight meter. One sixty-four. The forty-two is agile. Good for island work. The sixty-four is heavy endurance, ocean crossing, full equipment cargo space—though difficult to dock locally. Only a few Philippine ports can take it. The fifty-eight sits in the middle. Expedition class by Valtieri Marine. Netherlands build."

Timothy looked longer at that one.

"What’s the build spec?"

"Steel hull. Composite upper structure. Hybrid drive. Nine crew recommended. Sleeps fourteen. Range five thousand nautical miles."

Timothy studied the screen in silence.

"It wasn’t built to be photographed," Alvarez said. "It was built to travel. People convert it for mapping missions. Some for medical support. Some for long silent sails."

Timothy zoomed into the hull. It had tie-down points. Launch system support. Reinforced deck.

"Drone platform possible?" Timothy asked.

"Yes," Alvarez replied. "Hull has room for modification. Top deck stable. Communications bay strong enough to take heavier hardware. No candy lights. No champagne holders."

"No velvet," Timothy said.

"Correct."

"Registry?"

"Can register under Philippine flag," Alvarez said. "Most choose foreign for tax and crew flexibility. But local registry is possible. Harder. Longer. But possible."

"Local," Timothy said.

Alvarez nodded once. He wasn’t surprised.

Timothy studied a few more, though his eyes always returned to the fifty-eight meter.

"It doesn’t pretend to be anything," Timothy said.

"Some buyers like that," Alvarez said.

They went through deck plans. Storage. Engine bay. Fuel systems. Crew space. No glossy options. Real specs. Performance tables. Hull stress thresholds. No mention of yacht parties, no mention of sun loungers.

"This one," Timothy said, tapping the screen.

"It’s available," Alvarez said. "Docked at Subic."

"When can I see it?"

"Tomorrow is possible. Crew doing checks. No viewing today."

"I’ll be in Bataan," Timothy said.

Timothy stood. They shook hands again.

"Tomorrow," Alvarez said.

"Tomorrow," Timothy replied.

He left the building. No contract signed. No rush. He had simply decided to see.

August 26, 2029

Subic Bay Freeport Zone, West Marina

3:20 PM

He got out of the car near the pier. The smell was sharp. Salt, oil, and metal. No perfume. No attempt to hide what the place did.

Cranes. Dry docks. Refueling stations. Shed roofs stained by years of work. Riggers moving ropes. Mechanics under hulls. Some boats had polished sides, but even they looked like tools rather than ornaments.

Alvarez greeted him near a private dock. "There," he said.

It didn’t look like a yacht. It looked like a vessel.

Matte graphite hull. No curved shape. Straight lines. Low signature, raised bridge, reinforced stern. It looked ready to move.

They crossed the gangway. Timothy expected a creak. There was none. It felt stable. Purpose-built.

The aft deck was wide. Tie-down points fixed on both sides. You could anchor containers or mount vehicles. It wasn’t a leisure deck. It was a loading surface.

Below deck—engine room. He followed the engineer, who wore standard coveralls, not a uniform.

"No custom fittings," the engineer said. "No ornamental covers. Modularity. That bay is power conversion. Battery stack behind that panel. Hybrid drive ahead."

Timothy walked slowly. He didn’t look impressed. He looked like he was evaluating potential.

He asked questions about parts. Availability. Maintenance schedules. Emergency swap capability. The engineer answered straight. No sales pitch.

"You won’t break this boat from sailing," the engineer said. "Most break it from hosting parties."

Timothy didn’t smile, but that line stayed with him.

Next was the bridge.

Not a cockpit. A bridge. Full suite. Navigation display. Engine grid. Range chart. Radar. Communication console.

He stood behind the helm seat. He looked out the glass at Subic Bay. No commentary.

No mood lighting. No yacht-style leather. Chairs were functional. Steel mounts. Necessary padding. Designed to work for hours, not to look expensive.

He didn’t sit.

Upstairs, they checked living quarters. No luxury suites. But real rooms. Real fittings. Beds built to stay bolted through storms. Storage that locked without rattling.

Nothing felt luxurious.

But everything felt built to last.

In the galley, stainless steel lined every surface. No marble. No chandelier. Storage latches were tight. Utensils locked into walls. Prepared for movement.

That said more about the boat than any brochure could.

After nearly two hours, they stepped back onto the aft deck. Wind scattered salt spray onto the rail.

They stood quietly.

"How does it feel?" Alvarez asked.

Timothy watched the water, then the hull, then beyond it.

"It feels capable," he said.

Alvarez only nodded.

"The reason I’m planning on buying this vessel is because I’m just bored hahaha, like most billionaires has their own vessels. I’m trying with this one."

"I see Mr. Guerrero."

"No rush," Timothy said.

"No rush," Alvarez repeated.

They shook hands.

***

Evening settled over Subic as Timothy walked back to the car. The pier lights reflected on still water. The yacht sat behind him, silent and unbothered, as if it didn’t care whether he bought it or not. It would be the same vessel either way.

A man could tell a lot from something that didn’t try to persuade him.

Inside the car, he took his phone out. He opened his banking app. The interface showed multiple accounts under different holding entities.

He called his finance officer, Atty. Rivas. The signal broke twice before it stabilized.

"Yes, sir?"

"I need liquidity ready. Two hundred million. Offshore transfers authorized. I will issue final allocation on Monday."

"Asset classification?"

"Maritime asset acquisition. Private-use, corporate-backed. No leasing. No public equity."

"Timeline?"

"Before end of quarter. But keep it quiet."

"Yes, sir."

"Bank routing?"

"Bank of Singapore for transit. Final holding in BPI Private. Or direct to escrow account if provided."

Timothy paused. "No escrow," he said. "Direct transfer to seller when finalized. And set up a vessel operating account—maintenance, crew, dock fees."

"Yes, sir."

He ended the call.

He looked outside at the darkening highway. His driver stayed quiet, eyes on the road, hands steady. Timothy didn’t speak again until they reached the SLEX toll booth.

"Do you ever get tired of driving this route?" Timothy asked.

The driver glanced back through the mirror. "Sometimes. But it’s easy. I know what to expect."

"That’s the problem," Timothy said.

The driver didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Timothy knew what he meant by that.

It didn’t matter if a route was smooth.

If it was always predictable, a man eventually wanted a different path.

He checked the time. 7:34 PM.

The phone buzzed once. A message from his private banker.

Cleared for wire transfers up to 300 million. Escrow available if required. Note: Vessel acquisition falls under non-depreciable maritime asset class. Insurance advisory recommended.

The screen returned to dark. Out the window, trucks passed in the slow lane, their headlights steady and dull. His driver merged, smooth and practiced.

The car radio was off. No background noise. Just road hum and passing wind. Timothy kept his phone in his hand but didn’t turn it back on.

The vessel didn’t need to impress anyone. And neither did the decision.

He leaned his head back and watched another stretch of highway slip by. He just bought a yacht.