Damion Lancaster is Secretly The Trillionaire Boss

Chapter 3: Dreams of Fortune

Blinking hard at his phone screen, Damion peered even closer at the figures showing in his inbox as a credit alert. 

He laughed, his chest shaking with amusement as he scrolled out of his inbox, dismissing the alert as a spam message possibly from scammers. 

He went to drop his phone, but something clicked in his head. The credit alert was from his actual bank account. The one he used for all his transactions.

He turned on the phone again, unlocking it with a swipe. He pulled up the message again.

It was there for him to see. A credit alert : $100,000,000,000.

What in the absolute hell?

He dropped his phone beside him on the bed in disbelief. 

After a few breaths, he picked up the phone again, pausing for a minute to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Maybe he was feeling so tired and sleepy he was seeing things.

Or maybe he was already asleep and fucking dreaming. 

He pinched himself. He felt the pain. 

Alright, yeah, he was awake.

He went to his inbox, fully expecting to see nothing so that he could have a good laugh at his own wistful dreaming, but it was smack in his face. 

He counted the zeros and fucking hell, but they were telling him an amount he'd never ever had expected to see sitting in his account.

Very slowly, shock and confusion creeping up on him, he dropped the phone on the floor, a little farther away from him, as if the thing could reach out and bite him. 

He'd go to the bank tomorrow,he decided. It could even be an error on their part. 

Rubbing his weary eyes, he flopped onto his belly, and prepared to sleep when the shrill ring of his phone jolted him.

It was the middle of the fucking night, he'd had what had to be the worst, most mentally and physically tasking day of his life and someone was freaking calling him?!

He went to pick up his phone, if only to stop the ringing from deafening him. Just then his phone stopped ringing and buzzing. 

Releasing a sigh, he shook his head and dropped back on the bed. 

The phone's shrill ringtone pierced the air again, and Damion flinched. 

Angrily he snatched up his phone, picked the call and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?” he barked into the phone, “It's almost midnight for fucks sake, what the hell?”

“Mr Lancaster.” It was a woman's voice and she sounded professional and proper formal. 

Damion paused. This person knew him but he did not recognize the voice. 

“Yes, speaking.”

“Your father would like to see you, Mr Lancaster,” 

Damion rolled his eyes and scoffed. Was someone playing a dark joke on him or what? Because it wasn't fucking funny. “I'm an orphan, lady.” he'd never ever heard anything of his parents either. 

“Did you receive the money just deposited into your account, Mr Lancaster?”

Wait, wait, what?

He sat up on his bed slowly, all sleep disappearing from his eyes. This woman knew about the money. 

“That is just your pocket money, Me Lancaster. It was just sent to tide you over for now.”

If he wasn't so shocked and more than a little perplexed as to what the hell was going on, he'd have laughed. A hundred billion dollars was not fucking pocket money. 

At least not to him. 

“Come down to the Lance Tower in the money for further details tomorrow morning, Sir. Any questions you might have will be answered then.” the woman on the other end continued.

“Please endeavour to dress nicely and be presentable for tomorrow's appointment. Take some money out of what you received and buy yourself an outfit.” 

What did she mean by that? That his looks weren't good enough? How the hell did she know that?

“Mr Lancaster, I'd like to inform you beforehand to arrive on time. I repeat, do no come dressed shabbily.”

The call cut and Damion stayed sitting up, staring at the phone in his grip. He hadn't imagined that call had he?

But why was the woman all pompous and condescending?

Was this a trap? Some new way for scammers to get him to go meet them?

Or perhaps they wanted to make him take out of the money so that he then owed them a favour. A favour that would definitely be something dangerous and life threatening. 

He dropped his phone and decided to catch some sleep. He would be there tomorrow morning, if for nothing else to know what could have possibly made someone send him that sort of money.

If he was being honest, a not so secret part of him fucking wished that money was really his. 

He slept, and in his dream, all of the hundred billion dollars belonged to him, and he relished in taking his revenge against all that had humiliated and mocked him. 

~

The next morning, Damion is up bright and early as per his usual routine. He's dressed and about to head out when he remembers that his bike is still totalled. 

It seemed he would have to take money out of the mysterious money in his bank account after all. Because he had to get a cab to take him to his destination, and he knew the distance between his run down part of town and the rich, expensive business area where Lance Towers were. 

The transportation fare there would be steep and he didn't have a dime on him to pay.

Well what he had wasn't exactly his money. He shook his head, his mood growing a little dark. How was money in his bank account not his?

Was he even in the position to be considering freaking pros and cons? A man just about to be homeless. 

He dressed up in one of his best shirts and Jean trousers, putting on his black sneakers. The sneakers were worn out, no doubt, the sides already peeling off, because he wore them almost everyday.

He hadn't ironed his shirt because only people who owned working irons could iron and his blue jeans had faded to a very well washed blue. 

He locked his room door, wondering at what audacity and blind hope had made him promise his landlord his rent today. 

Where the hell was he going to get that amount?

He hailed a cab outside, the morning air doing nothing to alleviate his worried mood. Already he'd had the worst thing that could ever happen to him happen yesterday, what else could possibly go wrong?

A yellow can stopped in front of him and he hopped in, just as another person opened the other door and entered the cab as well. 

The driver didn't pull away from the curb, obviously waiting for one person to get down. 

“Get down, Mister. I was here first.” Damion eyed the man dressed in a corporate suit and tie, with his briefcase over his lap.

The man didn't even act like someone had said a thing. “Driver, take me to 5th on Bellevue.”

Damion's looked at the guy more seriously. “Didn't you see me in here when you got in? Are your eyeballs just holes fixed on your fucking face?”

The man finally turned to him, raising imperious brows. “If you want to get another cab, fine. I'm in a hurry, and you don't look like you're going anywhere remotely important.”

Damion reared back as the man's words hit him. “Get out of the fucking car, Mister.”

The man didn't move a muscle. 

The driver spoke up from the front seat. “Sir?” he said, looking at the other man I'm the rearview mirror. “My can was already occupied when you came in. Please get out.”

The businessman turned a glare on the cabbie. “What the hell? I'll pay you good money. This man doesn't look like he can even afford a cab. You'd do good to tell him to get out.”

The driver seemed to mull it over, and then he turned on Damion. “You have to get out of the cab,” he told Damion, “this man here seems to be in a rush.”

Fucking amazing how people turned on you because of appearances. Damion gritted his jaw hard, almost grinding his teeth to dust. “I was in here first, man. And I have enough money to pay you. Take me where I'm going.”

No one moved and Damion waited for someone to forcibly try to remove him from the cab, but eventually the man in the suit hissed in annoyance and stepped out of the cab. 

The driver pulled away from the curb, giving Damion a doubtful look in the rearview mirror. “Where to, Sir?”

Ok, so now he was Sir. “The Lance Towers.” he muttered, trying hard to suppress his anger. 

He remembered what the lady had told him over the phone the night before, and paused. The encounter just now had been encouraged because he looked the way he did. He wasn't looking presentable.

Damion sighed in defeat. If he was already taking from the money for a cab ride, then he might as well take out of it for some clothes too.

“I've changed my mind. Take me to any good male wear boutique, man.”

The driver nodded as he pulled into the heavy traffic, honking at another car that threatened to scrape his cab. 

~

Damion entered the fancy boutique that was famously known as Pearla, the air conditioning unit blasting away and making the entire luxurious interior cool. The floors were polished wood and multiple clothed dummies were positioned at strategic points. 

He walked to one of the dummies, liking the charcoal black suit on it and imagining himself in it. He turned around to look for any attendants and caught the customers giving him dirty, suspicious looks. 

His eyes fell down as he checked his clothes out, wondering if he had dirt on himself. His phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out, wondering if it was that same lady. 

A sales rep walked up to him, an angry, agitated look on the guy's face as he pulled Damion away from the dummy. 

Damion was still wondering what the fuck was wrong when he snatched his phone from him and threw it with so much force on the floor.