Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 113: I’m an Investor

Mr. Arnold Castle was a stocky man in his late fifties with a salt-and-pepper beard. He had a weathered face, though there were traces that suggested that he had been a very handsome man when he was younger.

He had weak, friendly, hazel eyes that crinkled with surprise. He wore a flannel shirt hung loose over faded jeans, he was very thin, but not unhealthy, and his expression shifted from relief at seeing his daughter to curiosity as he clocked the tall, sharply dressed stranger beside her.

After greeting Mr. Castle, Darren kept his gaze steady, doing his very best not to appear disrespectful or too imposing.

Still, at the same time, his dark blue eyes were steady and assessing, taking in the man's tired but kind demeanor as Arnold Castle took an assessment of him as well.

Darren could see. Arnold was a man doing his very best. He was a father worn by life but still standing.

"Dad, this is… um, a customer from the restaurant," Penelope said, her voice bright but tinged with nerves as she gestured to Darren. "He was curious why Castle Cottage closed."

Mr. Castle's bushy brows lifted, his lips pursing as he studied Darren's polished white shirt and red tie, noting the stark contrast to his own rumpled look. "Oh, it's an unfortunate thing, really, sir," he said, his voice gravelly with a hint of defeat. "We had no choice but to shut it down."

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Castle," Darren replied smoothly, his face brimming with a confidence that filled the small entryway. "To give you one."

Mr. Castle's eyes narrowed slightly, even though he was slightly intrigued, the man was old enough to not trust people who appeared in his house giving promises.

Although this man was very young and had the face of an angel, no one was going to come making offers dressed as the devil.

A look of security painted across his face, while Darren held his ground, exuding a quiet authority that demanded attention.

Because of this, he didn't seem pretentious. He maintained his demeanor of superiority, as long as he did not disrespect anyone.

Mr. Castle saw this as being genuine.

Others would have pretended to be kinder, keeping a fake smile on their faces. Smiles that didn't squint their eyes or reach their ears.

Penelope piped up, her bubbly energy intentionally cutting through the tension. "He also got me gifts!" she exclaimed, holding up a bag with a grin.

Mr. Castle's gaze darted to the pile of bags Darren carried, his expression softening into a bemused smile.

"Is all that for her? That's quite a lot of gifts," he remarked, scratching his beard. "You're quite the generous man."

Darren smirked faintly, recognizing the slight sarcasm. Saying nothing to it, he did something that neither Penelope or Arnold Castle had expected.

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He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a sleek, wooden box. "I got this for you," he said, handing it over.

Eyebrows raised with intrigue. Penelope stared at the box, wondering when he had bought it.

Taking the box, Mr. Castle inspected its design, seeing the fancy rune-like displays on its body, and then a logo in its center— the spires of a castle.

Now he was truly intrigued. More than earlier.

With a click, he opened the box to reveal a vintage pocket watch — silver, engraved with a subtle medieval pattern — and a pair of leather driving gloves with the same logo of castle spires, soft and rich brown, perfect for a man of his age.

Mr. Castle's face lit up, a genuine grin breaking through the weariness and the walls of security he'd put up earlier. "Well, isn't this just a splendid gift. Look at the castle logo," he chuckled in an excited dad-like manner.

His gaze lifted up to his daughter who smiled and shrugged, then he turned to Darren. "Well, don't just stay out there. Come on in, come on in," he said, stepping aside with a welcoming nod. "Let's not stand here gawking."

"Thank you, Mr. Castle."

Penelope happily took the bags from Darren and hurried to her room.

The door clicked close while Mr. Castle chuckled. "Oh. Seems you've made her really happy with those gifts. I understand. It has been a while since I got her anything. So thank you for putting a smile on my Penny's face."

"It's no problem, Mr. Castle. Penelope is a virtuous girl. She deserves gifts like those." Darren said.

"Thank you for my gift as well. I think it's been much longer since I myself received one."

Darren chuckled, looking around. "You have a nice home."

The living room was cozy, cluttered with the charm of a well-lived-in space — faded plaid couch, a coffee table stacked with old magazines, and a shelf of mismatched books.

"Oh, don't be kind. It's a simple place. Our last name might be Castle, but unfortunately he—he... our house is nothing like one."

Darren smiled. "So a cottage then."

"Eh?" the man immediately frowned.

Darren frowned too, worried that he might have offended him. "I was referring to the... restaurant's name..." he muttered, doing damage control. "You know? Castle Cottage...? I was like..."

Mr. Castle's face remained stern.

Darren gave up and sighed. "Never mind. I apolog—"

"Ha! Ha!" the man erupted into laughter, placing a hand on Darren's shoulder. "I was only messing with you! Hah! You should have seen the look on that handsome face of yours!"

Darren smiled uneasily, thanking the heavens. "You got me there, sir."

Gestured by Mr. Castle, he settled onto the couch, while Mr. Castle sank into an armchair, still admiring the watch.

"You look very young. You don't act like it. But a man of my age can tell the youthfulness of anyone. I can see that you're not many years older than my daughter. Are you really here to talk about business, or is my Penny the reason why a guy like you is playing Santa?" Mr. Castle asked, chuckling.

Darren shook his head quicker than a hamster's wheel. "Although your daughter is extremely beautiful, sir. I assure you, my visit here is strictly for business."

"Ah! So you're really this generous," Mr. Castle said, smiling. "Do you have kids, or is this just how you roll?"

Darren laughed, a low, easy sound. "No kids. Just saw a chance to do something decent. And your daughter's got a hell of a spirit."

Castle grinned wider. "That she does. Takes after me— well, the good parts, anyway. The rest? That's her mother's doing, for better or worse."

Penelope came out of her room, pretending she hadn't heard anything and slipped into the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans began.

She was cooking.

Mr. Castle sighed. "I feel dreadfully ashamed that she has to work in that place just to earn money. A weak old man like me can barely do any labor to earn us some cash. The restaurant was basically everything we had."

"Seems like a rough predicament," Darren said.

"It is." Mr. Castle leaned forward, his tone shifting to something more personal. "Things have been really difficult for us since the divorce. Her mother — my ex-wife — she left us high and dry. Took half of everything, if not more. The restaurant was all I had left to keep Penny going. I put all of my work into it, my passion and heritage, to make it something, but…"

He sighed, rubbing his neck. "Big places like Shooters came in. We noticed the change slowly. But soon, we knew it was inevitable, especially when they started to drop prices we couldn't match and lock up suppliers. Rent shot up, ads buried us. Drove us right into the ground."

Darren nodded, his suspicions confirmed — textbook corporate predation, just as he'd figured.

He leaned in, his voice steady but edged with promise. "What if I told you that Penelope would never have to work in that place ever again. And that you could still have your dream restaurant. I could give you a shot to rebuild it — bigger, better than ever?"

Mr. Castle's eyes sharpened, intrigue replacing the fatigue. He laughed at first, playing it safe. "You come in here with the face of an angel, the voice and the character of an angel, and then you make promises only angels would. Who are you really, boy?"

"My name is Darren Steele," Darren replied.

Mr. Castle pursed his lips. "And what do you do, Mr. Darren Steele."

His eyes turned stern when he replied.

"I'm an investor."