Ultimate Cash System
Chapter 166: Church.

Chapter 166: Church.

The morning arrived with the kind of slow calm that only Sundays could afford. Lukas stirred from sleep naturally, no alarms blaring, no meetings scheduled. The soft golden light streamed in from the tall suite windows, casting warmth on the sleek floorboards of his Philadelphia hotel room.

His eyes blinked open at exactly 7:12 AM. It was quiet—the sort of quiet that allowed thoughts to drift freely. Stretching, Lukas let out a long breath, sat up, and let the comforter fall away. He moved with casual precision: brushing his teeth, rinsing with cold water, and splashing his face until his skin tingled awake. Then came a dark navy hoodie, slim black joggers, and a pair of spotless white trainers.

By 7:30, he was already in the hotel gym.

Only one older man was there, walking slowly on a treadmill while watching cable news with the sound off. Lukas nodded to him, then tuned everything out. He focused on balance and spine alignment—deadlifts, core twists, and shoulder presses. The mirror in front reflected not just his posture, but the shifting silhouette of a young man rebuilding something far deeper than muscle.

Thirty-five minutes later, Lukas stepped back into his suite. His muscles buzzed, his hair damp, the tension of sleep fully banished. Breakfast waited, as always, perfectly timed.

Poached eggs. A green smoothie. A cinnamon bagel with almond butter. He took it all in as he sat cross-legged, reading headlines on his laptop. One caught his eye: "The Rise of Anonymous Multi-Millionaires." The image below looked familiar—it was him, blurry and half-covered, exiting the Princeton dorms.

"They’re getting close to knowing me," he murmured.

He took another bite of bagel, but his eyes lingered on the date. Sunday. He looked at the time—8:30 AM.

It was still early, but Sundays weren’t meant for idling. They were meant for centering, for calibration. And then, unprompted, a place surfaced in his memory: a small church in a small town. Sergeantsville.

He remembered walking into it months ago—plain clothes, a stack of cash in his pocket, and a sense of distance from everything. He remembered the quiet piano music, the way the donation plate had come to him, the uneasy glances, and the moment police arrived.

They had doubted him.

A young man, plainly dressed, offering fifty thousand in cash? Suspicion was natural. He didn’t blame them. But he hadn’t forgotten. The pianist. The older usher. The faces frozen in a mix of suspicion and guilt. The way they looked at him after the cops confirmed his pay stub was legitimate.

He never expected thanks. But the entire visit had etched itself into him.

Today, maybe they wouldn’t doubt.

He grabbed his coat and headed out. Within minutes, the Mercedes hummed beneath him, slipping past sleepy university gates and through wooded outskirts until the signs pointed to Sergeantsville.

As he pulled into town, it felt the same. Small. Honest. Dusty sunlight catching on fence posts and mailboxes. He turned the corner onto Main Street, and there it was again—St. Mary’s Chapel. White wood panels. A green roof. Modest steeple.

Jay and Roy were already waiting by the lobby when Lukas descended from the suite. Jay had his hood up, looking half-awake, and Roy leaned lazily against the marble column, scrolling on his phone. Lukas gave them both a nod and unlocked the Mercedes with a soft chirp.

Lukas slid into the backseat this time, as was routine, and Roy took the wheel while Jay sat in the passenger seat. It wasn’t about luxury. It was habit. On drives like these, Lukas preferred to think and observe, not steer.

But no sooner had the engine started than a loud growl echoed from the front.

"Was that your stomach?" Lukas asked, looking at Jay through the rearview mirror.

Jay chuckled awkwardly. "Uh... yeah. I kind of skipped dinner. Slept through breakfast."

Roy turned his head slightly. "Same here. Woke up late. Didn’t want to miss the drive."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "You both came hungry to a church trip?" he muttered, more amused than annoyed.

"Didn’t know it was a church trip," Jay said, rubbing his stomach. "Thought it was a simple drive or something."

Lukas shook his head with a small smirk. "Alright, I know a spot. It’s close by."

He leaned forward slightly, pointing Roy in the direction of a diner he vaguely remembered from his last visit to Sergeantsville. It was a quaint, roadside place with faded red shutters and the smell of brewed coffee always lingering.

They pulled into the gravel lot just as the sun had begun to climb. The diner wasn’t busy. A few regulars. One waitress. A bell above the door rang as they entered.

Jay and Roy immediately made for a booth, eyes scanning the laminated menus.

Lukas trailed behind but paused at the counter.

That’s when he saw her.

Keem.

She stood near the window, clearly waiting for something or someone. Her full-sleeve dress was modest and ivory white, much like before, brushing past her ankles. Yet somehow, the simplicity of her attire only accentuated her features—olive-toned skin glowing in the filtered light, her waist gently cinched, her figure graceful but undeniably breathtaking.

Her long, dark brown hair fell straight down her back, brushing her lower waist. There was a soft, almost tired look in her eyes, her lashes casting faint shadows as she looked down at her phone.

Still beautiful.

Still... untouched by time.

She looked up just as Lukas noticed her. Their eyes met.

A flicker of surprise lit up her face. "Lukas?"

He gave a polite nod, then approached. "Morning. You’re... headed to church?"

She smiled, but it was tight around the edges. "I was. But no taxi in sight, and I can’t walk in heels all the way. I might miss the opening hymns."

Lukas glanced at the clock hanging above the counter. It was 8:42.

"I can give you a ride," he said gently. "If you don’t mind joining me in my car."

She blinked. "You’re serious?"

"Of course. I was heading that way anyway. Besides, I owe that church a visit."

Jay called from the booth, "You ordering, boss, or what?"

Lukas looked over his shoulder. "Order whatever you want. I’ll be back in five."

He turned back to Keem. "Let’s go?"

She hesitated only a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

As they exited the diner, the quiet hum of the morning seemed to bend around them. Lukas opened the passenger-side door himself this time—not out of etiquette, but instinct.

She slid in, smoothing her dress, her eyes curious but composed. Lukas walked around and got in the driver’s seat.

As they pulled away from the diner, the spire of St. Mary’s slowly peeked through the trees.

And for the first time in a long while, Lukas didn’t feel like a stranger headed into town.

He felt like a man returning somewhere meaningful.

And this time, maybe they wouldn’t doubt him.

Keem sat quietly in the front seat, her fingers folded neatly over her lap, her eyes occasionally stealing glances toward Lukas. The Mercedes purred gently beneath them, gliding along the tree-lined road that led toward the church.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she finally spoke.

"I saw your game last month. Phillies vs. Cubs," she said softly. "It was incredible. They called it... what, the perfect game?"

Lukas smiled, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "Yeah. That was my first game ever in MLB. It felt... surreal."

Keem turned slightly in her seat to face him better. "It must be something... to be on a stage like that. That level of attention. How is it really—being famous, I mean? Being... you?"

Lukas chuckled, not mockingly but gently. "Honestly? It’s strange. People look at you like you’re more than just human. They cheer, they follow you, and some adore you—but most don’t even know you. Not really."

Keem nodded slowly. Her tone remained quiet. "I can’t even imagine. I think I’d panic if a hundred people stared at me, let alone millions."

"Well, it’s not always glamorous," Lukas admitted. "There are contracts, handlers, and schedules down to the minute. Some days, it feels like I belong more to the media than to myself."

Keem let out a small laugh. "That’s insane. And yet you still seem... normal."

"That’s because I still think about quiet towns like this," Lukas replied, glancing at her. "Places like Sergeantsville. People like you. I don’t mean that in a weird way—just... real people. It reminds me I’m still one of them."

Keem blushed faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice softened. "You remember this town? After what happened in the church?"

Lukas nodded. "How could I forget? You thought I was some crazy guy trying to scam the church."

She winced. "I felt terrible afterward. Everyone did. The cops, the priest... I think even the usher sent an apology letter."

"It’s alright," Lukas said with a smirk. "I get it. Not every day someone walks in and throws fifty grand in cash on a Sunday morning."

Keem looked down, smiling to herself. The sunlight kissed her cheek through the window, and Lukas noticed how her features lit up so naturally. Her modest ivory-white dress flowed elegantly around her, and though simple, it somehow made her look radiant—like a character from a painting. Her waist was delicately shaped beneath a thin belt, and her figure, graceful yet modest, held a quiet allure.

"So," Lukas said, shifting the subject gently. "What about you? What’s life like here?"

Keem perked up. "Me? Oh, it’s simple. But I love it. Church on Sundays, bookstore shifts during the week. I help out with the youth choir too. And as you know, maybe? I’m applying for college—slowly. I want to study literature, maybe creative writing."

"That’s amazing," Lukas said. "Do you ever want to leave this place? See more of the world?"

Keem hesitated. "Sometimes. But... I don’t know if I’d fit in those big cities. Everything’s so fast there. And I like knowing everyone by name here."

Lukas glanced at her thoughtfully. "There’s something powerful in simplicity. It’s not less—it’s different. Doesn’t mean you’re not meant for more."

Keem’s cheeks turned a soft pink. "You make it sound like I could do something big."

"Maybe you will," Lukas said sincerely. "Maybe one day you’ll write the book that changes lives."

For a moment, the world outside seemed to hush. The trees passed quietly by, the town slowly coming into view.

Keem looked out the window, her heart thudding a little faster than before. She didn’t want to admit it, but being in this car with him—this young man who had the world watching—yet took the time to speak gently, to ask about her dreams... it meant something.

As the church steeple peeked over the horizon, she glanced sideways again. Lukas was still looking ahead, focused on the road, but with a calmness that made him seem grounded.

The car rolled to a gentle stop just in front of the small white chapel. St. Mary’s stood quietly under the early sun, its steeple casting a graceful shadow across the gravel lot. The congregation had already begun to gather, murmurs of soft conversation floating over the cool morning breeze.

Lukas stepped out first.

He walked around the car and opened the door for Keem like a gentleman born into such habits, though he had only recently learned the poise that came with fame. Keem hesitated for just a second, then took his hand as she stepped out.

The sunlight caught her modest white dress, flowing down her frame like morning mist over a field. Her long hair shimmered gently in the light breeze, and for that moment, Lukas felt like he was in a still from a forgotten film—quiet, timeless.

Every eye turned.

Gasps were muffled, and jaws subtly dropped. People recognized him instantly. Lukas Cain. The Phillies phenom. The boy with the hundred-million-dollar arm. The one who struck out 27 batters like it was breathing.

He was here. At their church. With her.

Old Mrs. Dalloway, who hadn’t missed a service in thirty years, clutched her purse tighter and whispered to the usher beside her, "That’s the one from the news, isn’t it? The baseball one?"

"That’s him alright," the usher murmured, eyes wide.

Children gawked from the stairs, teens elbowed one another, and even the pastor standing by the door adjusted his robe unconsciously.

Keem felt it all. The way the air shifted. The silent attention. The sudden weight of walking beside a star.

Lukas, for his part, seemed unfazed. He smiled politely, gave a small nod to those watching, and then offered his arm again for Keem as they slowly approached the chapel steps.

"Don’t mind them," he said under his breath, just enough for her to hear. "Today’s still your Sunday. I’m just the guy with the car."

Keem smiled despite herself, cheeks warm, heart suddenly too loud. She couldn’t help but glance at him again. Tall, graceful, grounded. And hers—even if just for a moment—to walk with.

The bell chimed once.

They reached the door together.

And in that hush before the hymns began, everyone knew one thing for certain:

St. Mary’s Sunday would be different today.