Hey, money-mouth. Eendracht. The impeccable hustler-provider of the seventh generation…

Go and support them like the state never could. Everyone must know that you're a big fucking shark around here!

I've hustled, I've grinded. Show me the millions. (Opt in.)

Does this giant check that Evrart gave me help?

Not unless you have thousands of them stuffed away in secret.

Mañana flicked me a coin.

One coin. The first of many. Imagine so many coins you're going to need to hire someone to help you manage all your wealth.

What do you expect? I'm an ultraliberal. I speak ultraliberal-ese.

Good, good, gotta spread the gospel. But talk alone doesn't bring in the cash. It's time for step two.

Superstar talk. Don't try to keep up with me and my vast dreams.

Superstar talk? Good one, hustler, gotta keep the dream alive. But it's not really showing up in your net worth yet, is it? And it's what -- day two, three, four?

It's day four if we're counting days since the event.

It is but a symptom of the rapacious catastrophe that will devour us all.

Brilliant, catastrophes are prime time for money-makers. But you're not really reaping any benefits yet, are you? No shorting, no shameless speculation...

Just take my money and leave me alone!

I'm just tired of being a low-net-worth-individual. It must be the curse.

Did Ilona Wihuri-Vilakone blame ghosts? How about Admiral Gustav Lestock? Samir Loisir grew up in the coal mines of Gurdi eating dirt, and he still managed to make FIFTY-FIVE BILLION REÁL in his lifetime. So stop with the excuses.

Fifty-five billion reál is a gross overestimation and we're pretty sure eating dirt is going to send any kid to a hospital, even Samir Loisir.

You said before that playing the market could get me rich.

Oh, it can. But first you need to enter the market. Right now you're as good as Samir Loisir eating dirt in Gurdi's immense network of mines.

Samir Loisir was a Gurdi businessman who made his first millions selling kilograms of the ultra-rare mineral phasium to luxury jeweller Zachaël et Cie. He made the rest of his many millions through wise investments and the invention of pleochroic lights.

It's pathetic -- I know. Sorry you have to hang around with me. I'll do better.

No, don't you ever be sorry. You think the Salzneben Report's Top 500 has 'sorry' in their vocabulary? Think again. That's a loser's mindset.

Take heed of these wise words. You're in charge. 'Sorry' is a beggar's plea reserved for those beneath you.

Money?!

That's right! It's time to stop muttering about your 'economic self-interest' and actually do something about it. Yeah, I heard you back there. What the hell was that?!

Do I know you?

You will. I'm here to make your life better. They call me the Man-About-Town. Gilded Heart-Throb. Master of Money.

Are we finally going to solve the lynching?

What? No, screw that shit-show. You're at the centre of this one. Come on down, contestant, you're about to make some money.

Eendracht? The hustler-provider? The seventh generation?!

Yeah, swindle-father. Papa-preneur. Look, this is serious. No time for distractions. It's time to make money. Lots of it.