RICHARD"Give me a minute, sir," the receptionist said.After a few taps on her computer, she nodded in a satisfied manner. Beaming, she handed me my debit card. Shock had made him pale considerably even under his tan."Your payment is successful, Mr Richard," she said."I can see that. Thank you." I leaned casually against the desk and turned to Samson who still had not recovered the power of speech. I brushed an invisible speck off my shirt and regarded him coolly. "What was that you were saying?"His eyes flashed and burned. The veins stood out on his forehead."You- you-" he stammered, paused."Me what? If you have something else to say to me, now is the time because I will soon go in there-" I jerked my thumb in the direction of the exclusive part of the mall. "-to buy stuff, and I don't imagine I will be out for hours. Or perhaps you don't have anything else to say. You seem to have exhausted your supply of words since you had so much to say earlier."I straightened and made it
RichardAs soon as we were out of earshot of the receptionist, Tom spoke up. "Samson's right, you know," he said, his voice low and serious. "No one uses this level of membership card without being a millionaire." I shook my head, trying to brush off the feeling of dread that was growing inside me. "I paid for this membership, Tom. I have the receipt right here." Tom raised an eyebrow. "I hope you have it, because I don't think anyone's going to believe you.“I sighed and rubbed my temples, trying to think. Meanwhile, Samson's words echoed in my mind, refusing to fade away. "But- but you can't let him go in there," he had exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief. The irony of it all hung heavy in the air, a bitter twist to the situation.Tom led me deeper into the mall, the receptionist's instructions to guide me through my shopping trip still ringing in my ears. As I moved through the crowded corridor of shoppers, I felt eyes on me. It felt like stepping into a battlefield, wi
The manager's gaze held a quiet authority as he beckoned me to share my story. "Please, tell me what happened," he said, his voice a calm anchor in the storm of accusations.I drew in a deep breath, feeling the weight of every judgmental stare that had followed me since I entered. "I paid for the platinum membership card before entering the mall,” I explained, my voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions churning within me. “I came here with the sole intention of shopping for clothes, nothing more. I have no reason to steal anything.”The sales girls tried to cut in, their voices sharp and erratic, but Mr. Damian raised his hand, silencing them with a gesture that spoke volumes of his desire for fairness.“Let him speak,” he declared firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “I want to hear his side of the story.”But even as I spoke, the salesgirls persisted in their attempts to interrupt, their voices growing more frantic with each passing moment. They tried to inject doubt into Mr
And so, I found myself alone again, surrounded by the quiet luxury of the mall. The air was rich with the smell of expensive things; each shop was like a chest full of treasures waiting to be discovered. I wasn’t just there to buy clothes—I was there to shape how the world would see me, to craft an image as sleek and polished as the shiny floors I walked on.I began at the high-end boutiques, where the air was scented with a blend of leather and perfume. Attendants, dressed as immaculately as the mannequins, greeted me with practiced smiles, their eyes subtly appraising. I nodded at them, my mind already sifting through the racks of designer suits and limited-edition watches.The first purchase was a suit, tailored to perfection, the fabric a whisper against my skin. The price was a mere drop in the ocean of my budget, and I handed over my card with a nonchalance that belied the thrill of the transaction.Next, I strolled into the jewelry store, the twinkling display of diamonds and g
I turned to face the direction of the source of the voice, my heart pounding in my chest, and there he was, approaching me. “Mr. Edmund?” I muttered with a hint of skepticism, relief flooding through me. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you were real.”He chuckled softly. “I assure you, young master, I am very real.” He was dressed impeccably, his demeanor calm and collected. “I’m Mr. Edmund,” he said with a smile on his face.I stood there, rooted to the spot as the elderly gentleman before me bowed deeply. "Please, rise. There's no need for all the…formalities," I urged, discomfort creeping into my voice.“Ah, but sir, it is my duty and honor to show the utmost respect to my master,” he replied, his voice a soft, melodious tone that spoke of a bygone era of decorum and deference.I was taken aback, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. “How can I be your master when we've only just met?" I questioned, my mind racing to piece together this unexpected puzzle.But the man, who had
A heavy silence descended upon us, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric as he lowered his head. Edmund's eyes, once bright with the wisdom of years, now glistened with the onset of tears. They clung to his lashes like dew on the verge of falling, each one a silent testament to the pain of secrets held too long.“Richard,” he began, his voice trembling with emotion, “there are truths that have long been concealed, burdens that I can no longer bear alone.”I watched as tears welled in his eyes, glistening like liquid diamonds in the dim light of the room. And then, like a dam breaking, the floodgates opened, and he poured forth the secrets that had haunted him for years.“Your mother," he said, his voice quivering like a taut string ready to snap, "she was a maid in your father’s employ, a woman of humble origins who captured his heart with her gentle spirit and unwavering devotion.”I listened in stunned silence as Edmund unraveled the story of my origins, each revelation pierc
RichardBeside me stood Edmund, my father's loyal friend and confidant. He was a beacon, guiding me through the murky waters of my father's past, his debts, and the tangled affairs he left behind.Our first meeting was with Mr. Thompson, a seasoned businessman who had worked closely with my father. His office was a testament to his success, adorned with accolades and framed photographs capturing moments of triumph.“Richard, good to see you stepping up,” Mr. Thompson greeted me warmly, extending his hand for a firm handshake.“Thank you, Mr. Thompson. It’s a big responsibility, but I’m ready for the challenge,” I replied, returning his handshake with confidence.The conversation flowed smoothly. Mr. Thompson was understanding of our situation and offered valuable insights into navigating the complex world of business negotiations.“You’ve got your father’s sharp mind, Richard. I have no doubt you’ll steer Megastar in the right direction,” Mr. Thompson remarked, a genuine smile gracing
Mrs. White (Amelia’s grandmother)Bathed in the warm glow of the early afternoon sun that filtered through the curtains, I sat comfortably in my favorite chair in the cozy sitting room, enjoying the warmth of a hot cup of coffee cradled in my hands, while the TV murmured in the background. The room had a charming feel as always, with family photos hanging on the walls and soft blankets draped over the couch, and I had spent countless hours in this space, half-watching the news.Casually, I flipped through the TV channels, my gaze drifting over the flickering images without much interest. That was until a familiar face appeared on the screen, and I leaned forward, adjusting my spectacles to get a clearer view.“Richard Thorne, the long lost son of Business Mogul and Billionaire, Mr. Archibald Thorne," the headline blared, as if the very letters were mocking me. I choked on my coffee, the bitter liquid catching in my throat as I stared in disbelief. It couldn't be the same Richard, coul