Chapter 11

As James stood by Emily’s bedside, Michael Grant’s words echoed in his mind. “Victor Hill and Maple Group have a significant stake in this hospital. In a way, Mr. Carter, you’re effectively one of its owners.” James was still absorbing the weight of this revelation. His inheritance had afforded him much more than financial security—it had granted him influence, real power to protect and defend those he cared about.

He thanked Michael once more for his support and headed out of the hospital, feeling an immense sense of relief. Emily would receive the best care available, and those who had dared mistreat her now understood just how deeply connected he was.

Outside, Richard offered him a ride. “Allow me, Mr. Carter. I insist.”

James smiled, but he shook his head. “Thanks, Richard, but I need some time to think. I’ll make my own way there.”

The crisp night air felt grounding as he walked away from the hospital, his mind still turning over the events of the day. Just then, his phone buzzed. A notification from I*******m. Curious, he opened it and found a viral video at the top of his feed, marked with a headline: “Maple Properties Employees Face Justice!”

He tapped on it, and a familiar scene unfolded—the clip showed Ray Walters and the security chief kneeling in the restroom, faces red with humiliation, licking the toilet in front of the entire staff. The video’s comments were filled with a mix of disgust, approval, and schadenfreude.

Looks like the world is seeing how bullies crumble when they face someone with real power, James thought, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. So much has changed. Wealth, connections… they’ve finally given me the means to fight back.

As he continued down the street, his phone buzzed again—this time, Pamela’s name flashed across the screen.

“James, are you at the hospital with Emily?” she asked, a rare tone of concern in her voice.

“Yes, I was,” he replied. “She’s doing well after the operation. They’re finally giving her the care she deserves.”

Pamela sighed, a note of relief in her voice. “Good. I’ve been meaning to tell you—I know we haven’t always agreed on things, but family is family. And… make sure you’re at the family dinner tomorrow.”

“Family dinner?” James asked, slightly surprised.

“Yes,” Pamela continued, her tone turning serious. “You know how my cousin Giselle always tries to one-up us. She’s bringing her new boyfriend, and I can’t have her gloating about how much better her life is.” She paused, then added, “I’m sending you $300. Buy something decent to wear. Don’t let her outshine us.”

James bit back a laugh as the money arrived in his account. It was typical of Pamela, competitive to the core. “Alright, I’ll be there,” he assured her.

“Good,” Pamela replied, her voice relieved. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Arriving at the Golden Gate Hotel, James turned into the parking lot, only to hear the squeal of tires as a black BMW screeched toward him. He quickly stepped back as the car came to a sudden halt, the driver barely missing him. His pulse quickened as he approached the car, ready to address the near-accident.

But before he could speak, the window rolled down, revealing a woman with a sharp, haughty expression. She looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing. “What? Trying to blackmail me because you’re too slow to move?” she snapped.

James kept his voice calm. “No, I was just going to ask if you’re okay.”

She rolled her eyes, sneering. “A pauper like you, concerned about my welfare? Save it. People like you are always looking for a handout.” She revved her engine dismissively, pulling away with a flip of her hair.

Shaking his head, James made his way into the hotel, his mood dampened by the encounter. Yet, as he reached the entrance of the Spring Restaurant, he spotted the same woman. She was chatting animatedly with a pair of receptionists, her tone loud enough for him to hear.

“Oh, and keep an eye on that guy,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as she pointed toward James. “I saw him lurking around outside. Probably some kind of thief or scam artist.”

The receptionists exchanged wary looks, glancing at James as he approached the desk.

James, suppressing his irritation, approached calmly. “Excuse me,” he said, directing his attention to the receptionist with a polite nod. “I have a reservation under Carter.”

The woman’s face twisted with disbelief, a smirk forming on her lips. “Oh, is that so? Carter. And who exactly do you think you are, with such a grand reservation?”

James met her gaze evenly. “The reservation should be there. Perhaps you’d like to check again.”

The receptionist pulled up the reservations, her confidence waning as she scanned the list. Her expression changed as she spotted the name, her eyes widening. “Mr. Carter… I’m so sorry, please come this way.”

The rude woman’s face went blank as she realized he wasn’t some passerby to be dismissed. “Wait—you’re… you’re really here as a guest?”

James didn’t bother responding, letting the silence linger as he followed the receptionist into the main dining area. He could feel the woman’s eyes boring into his back, her assumptions crumbling before her.

The dining room was softly lit, with tables arranged under chandeliers and a view of the city skyline stretching across the windows. As he was shown to his table, James felt a sense of calm returning. Tonight, he was no longer the man people assumed was beneath them; he was someone who commanded respect. And for once, he felt at ease in his own skin.

Settling in, he placed his napkin on his lap and glanced around. The tables were filled with elegantly dressed guests, most of whom were oblivious to his presence—just as he preferred. He’d had enough attention for one day.

Just as he began to relax, his phone buzzed again, displaying a message from Victor: Remember, James, you have allies. Any trouble, and we’re a call away.