THE BEGGER BOY IS RICH HEIR

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

The guard stood there, still rubbing his reddened cheek, staring at the manager in shock and confusion. 

“Sir… why did you slap me? He’s just some nobody on a cheap scooter bike!”

The manager’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening with each word.

He glanced out the glass doors at the sleek, streamlined scooter parked outside. 

Then, without warning, he delivered another stinging slap to the guard’s face.

“Are you blind, or just incredibly stupid?” the manager snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.

 “That ‘cheap scooter’ you’re so eager to mock is made of carbon fiber! Do you have any idea what that means?”

The guard’s eyes went wide, struggling to grasp the manager’s words.

“Carbon fiber?” he echoed, his voice faint.

“Yes, carbon fiber!” The manager shook his head, his voice laced with contempt.

 “That’s not some regular run-down scooter from a junkyard. That machine costs at least a hundred thousand dollars!”

The guard’s mouth fell open, and he stammered, “A hundred… thousand? For a… scooter?”

The manager scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 “What did you think? That people with that kind of money walk around looking like they’re dripping in gold? How could you not recognize quality when it’s right in front of you?” He paused, looking the guard up and down with disgust.

 “I should be slapping you for embarrassing this bank with your utter ignorance.”

The guard’s face paled, his earlier confidence evaporating into thin air.

“I… I didn’t realize…”

The manager sneered, unimpressed.

“Of course, you didn’t. You’re too busy judging people by appearances to actually do your job.”

Ethan, watching the scene, let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Are we done here?” he asked, his voice calm but clipped.

“I’d like to withdraw my money, if that’s possible.”

The manager’s face instantly softened, his tone transforming from scornful to deferential in a heartbeat.

 “Of course, sir! There’s no need for any waiting or application process. Please, you can withdraw any amount you’d like.” He chuckled, a nervous edge to his smile. 

“After all, sir, this bank is… well, it’s part of your family’s assets.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he looked at the guard, who now stood frozen, the weight of his mistake finally sinking in.

The guard’s face went pale, his legs trembling as he tried to process what had just happened. 

Finally, he couldn’t hold himself up any longer and dropped to his knees, reaching out in desperation.

“Sir… please, please forgive me,” the guard stammered, his voice choked with regret. 

“I didn’t know who you were. I… I thought you were just… I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I’ll do anything. Just… please, don’t punish me.”

Ethan looked down at him, his expression cold and unmoved. 

“Anything?” he echoed, the faintest hint of disappointment flickering in his eyes. 

“It’s funny—you didn’t care about respect a moment ago. And now, here you are, begging for forgiveness. Perhaps next time, you’ll think twice before judging someone based on appearances.”

The guard’s head dropped in shame as he whispered, “I… I’m so sorry, sir…”

Ethan turned away, uninterested in further conversation. “I don’t want apologies. I just want my money.”

The guard looked up in disbelief, hoping for a chance to redeem himself, but Ethan was already walking toward the manager, dismissing him without a second glance.

The manager stepped in swiftly, his voice deferential. 

“Mr. Ethan, please, allow me to escort you to our VIP room. We’ll have everything prepared immediately.” He threw the guard a withering look, making it clear that any further disruptions would not be tolerated.

Inside the VIP room, the manager worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he counted out stacks of cash. 

“Here we are, sir,” he said, presenting the neatly bound bundles. 

“One hundred thousand dollars, ready in just five minutes. As for the full million… it would simply be too heavy to carry out at once.”

Ethan nodded, glancing at the cash before reaching into his bag. 

The manager’s eyes widened slightly as he saw the worn, shabby bag Ethan pulled out—clearly old and stained, probably from years of rough use.

 But Ethan loaded the stacks inside with an air of complete calm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you for your service,” Ethan said, his tone polite yet firm. 

“And a note of advice,” he added, looking the manager directly in the eye, “perhaps you should make sure your staff understand the value of respect.”

The manager swallowed, his nod hurried. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll be sure to address it immediately.”

With a final nod, Ethan turned and walked out, his bag slung over his shoulder, a faint smile playing on his lips.

 As he passed through the lobby, he didn’t see the guard anymore—likely sent off to nurse his bruised pride elsewhere.