Bank

Desmond was stunned and bewildered. He glanced at them again, becoming even more certain he'd never seen them before.

But since they claimed to know him, what choice did he have? Maybe they were telling the truth.

He remained silent, waiting to hear the man's response. Even though he waited, it didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to ran if something felt off.

He already had enough on his plate; he couldn't afford to let this become another burden.

“You are?” he repeated, seeing him silent.

“You'll find out when you come with us,” the man replied, offering the same response. Desmond could tell from his attitude that he wasn't going to say anything more.

"How frustrating!" Desmond groaned in irritation.

Since they insisted on keeping their lips sealed, he decided to do the same. He stood firmly, clearly indicating he wasn’t about to follow them anywhere.

He’d rather stay put than go with them.

What if they were kidnappers? They looked wealthy, but that didn’t ease his suspicion.

"Can I get your account details?" the man asked, seeming to read Desmond's thoughts. Puzzled and curious, Desmond gave him the information, wondering what he was planning.

"I don’t know what you're after, but whatever it is, it won’t work. I’m not going with you—" Desmond's words were cut off as his pocket suddenly began to buzz.

Desmond felt a heat of frustration as he fumbled with his phone, his eyes glued to the screen.

"What?" he gasped, staring at the string of zeros. "Two, three, four, six…" he counted, his eyes widening until a tear rolled down his cheek.

$150 million!

"Yes, it's $150 million," the man confirmed, intensifying Desmond's shock. How did he know?

Desmond tried to steady himself, casting a wary glance at the man. "How do you know about this?"

The man in the suit smiled, turning Desmond's suspicion into outright surprise. His attention darted back to his phone as he scrolled through the notifications, heart racing.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, Desmond stopped scrolling, realizing the impossible was true—$150 million had been deposited into his account.

His face flushed with joy and disbelief. He had always been a hard worker, but his circumstances had kept his efforts unnoticed. Now, today, he had been credited with a fortune far beyond anything he could have imagined.

Hands trembling with excitement, he lifted his gaze to the man in black. "You sent this, didn’t you?"

The man’s knowing smile made it clear, though Desmond already had an idea of who was behind it.

"No, I simply passed on your details to my associates. They forwarded them to our leader, and he's the one who sent the money," the man explained politely.

"Really? Can you at least tell me who this leader is?" Desmond pressed, eager to know the identity of the person who had summoned him and sent such an enormous sum.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to figure that out for yourself," the man responded apologetically.

"Alright," Desmond nodded. He had half-expected that answer, so it didn’t surprise him.

"Shall we go now?" the man asked. Desmond agreed, and they moved toward a row of sleek black patrol cars.

One of the men stepped forward to open the door for Desmond. Just as he was about to step in, his phone rang. He answered it, and as soon as the call ended, his expression shifted to one of confusion and alarm.

"Is everything alright?" the man asked, concerned.

"I'm sorry, but I can't join you right now. Something urgent came up," Desmond replied apologetically.

"Understood. I'll send you the address. Just give me your number," the man said, refraining from prying further, sensing that Desmond wasn’t about to explain.

After sharing his number, Desmond hurried off as the cars and helicopter disappeared down the quiet, dusty street.

In a rush, he flagged down a cab. The call had been from the bank, and although the message wasn’t clear, Desmond knew he had to handle the matter in person.

When the cab pulled up, Desmond paid the fare and glanced at the building in front of him. "Omcent Bank & Trust" was prominently displayed on the front wall.

With a sigh, he hurried inside. As soon as he entered, Desmond approached the receptionist.

“Hello, may I speak to the branch manager, please?” he asked politely.

The receptionist looked up with a neutral expression before responding.

"And who are you?" she asked.

“I’m Desmond Ice. I received a call—”

Before he could finish, the receptionist let out an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, so it’s you?" she said, her tone suddenly dismissive.

"I’m sorry, what do you mean?" Desmond frowned, baffled by her sudden change in attitude.

"You’re that Desmond Ice? Not a surprise, looking at you," she muttered, casting a judgmental glance at him.

"Can I see the branch manager now? He asked me to come here," Desmond repeated, ignoring her rudeness.

“He’s busy. He waited for you, but you were late. You can either sit and wait until he’s free or leave,” she said, her tone indifferent.

"Excuse me? Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier? Do you think I came all the way here for nothing?" Desmond’s voice rose slightly, frustration building.

"Look, you can leave or stay. It’s up to you. Just know that if you walk out, you’ll have to deal with the consequences," she said with a shrug, her attention shifting back to the book in front of her.

“I’m still talking to you!” Desmond snapped, slamming his hand on the desk, trying to get her to pay attention.

The receptionist glared up at him. "Could you stop shouting? This isn’t some cheap corner store where you can make a scene."

"Just let me speak to the branch manag—"

Before he could finish, a tall man in an expensive suit walked in.

"I’d like to see the branch manager," the man said confidently.

"Certainly, sir. I’ll take you to his office right away," the receptionist replied, her attitude suddenly polite and accommodating.

Desmond watched, stunned by the difference in her treatment of the man. He glanced at his own appearance and then at the man’s.

Was she judging people based on their clothes? She had told him the branch manager was busy, yet now she was happily directing someone else to his office.

His thoughts were a whirlwind until he realized the man had already left.

“I don’t understand why you let that man meet the branch manager while telling me to sit and wait. I was here before him!” Desmond was about losing his temper.

“Take a good look at yourself, and you’ll have your answer. You're hardly a customer worthy of being granted direct access to our branch manager,” the receptionist replied coldly.

“Then why was I called here in the first place?” Desmond's voice rose in frustration.

What nonsense is she talking about—barely a worthy customer?!

The receptionist rolled her eyes. “You can either sit down and wait or leave and deal with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” Desmond growled angrily, causing others nearby to glance over.

[What's happening here?]

[Why the loud argument?]

The curious crowd began to gather, eager to see what was going on.

“If I’m not worthy, then who is? Why can’t I see your branch manager directly? He’s not better than me,” Desmond snapped.

The receptionist looked him over and burst into laughter.

“Better than him? But you took out a huge loan. You're worthy, yet you look like this? Please stop with the jokes.” She laughed harder, tears forming from her uncontrollable amusement.

The crowd, stunned at first, soon joined in after processing her words.

[Haha, this is hilarious!]

[For a second, I thought he might be important, but honestly, the receptionist is right. His appearance says otherwise.]

[He even took a massive loan!]

[Taking a loan isn’t the issue—his attitude is.]

Desmond stood there, confusion written all over his face. Loan? Huge loan? What is she talking about?

“What’s with that lost expression?” the receptionist sneered.

After trying to make sense of her words and failing, Desmond’s became angry.

How could be treated like this by a worker?!

“Don’t throw around false accusations! You better watch your mouth!” he shouted.

“What’s going on here?” A firm male voice suddenly sounded from behind him, making him turn.

“Oh, branch manager! You’re here,” the receptionist exclaimed, her tone instantly happy.