The Return Of Franklin Miles

CHAPTER SIX

The bank was a sight to behold, with its looming height towering towards the sky. Even the security guards were dressed in suits, looking more like bodyguards for celebrities than ordinary bank employees.

Franklin approached the entrance, where a man with a black outfit stood behind the door. He looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his uniform.

“What are you doing?" He asked in a tone that suggested he didn't think he belonged there.

"I need to make a verification," Franklin said confidently despite the looks he was getting from the man and the others.

“Go inside and join the line?" the man said.

Franklin walked into the grandiose bank, his delivery uniform sticking out like a sore thumb among the well-dressed clientele. He was out of place, but he was here for business and wasn't going to let his attire deter him.

Geschäftskredit Bank was a prestigious institution, well-known for catering to the rich and powerful. It was owned by a group of German influencers, who had come to the United Kingdom with the intention of settling in and becoming UK citizens.

Every customer who walked through the doors was decked out in designer clothes, dripping in opulence, except Franklin. But he didn't care, he had more important things to worry about, like his homecoming.

Franklin approached the teller. Her eyes were cold, sizing him up as he drew closer. He did his best to put on a friendly face, despite her obvious contempt.

"Hello," he said. "I'd like to withdraw some cash, please."

But the woman seemed to have already made up her mind about him. She regarded him with utter scorn, as if he were a stain on her pristine countertop and she made no effort to respond.

"Is this how you treat people here?" Franklin muttered so low, that she could not catch a word of what he said.

"Sorry, what did you say?" the teller asked.

"I said I wanted to make a withdrawal," Franklin replied.

"Go and use the ATM outside," she replied.

Franklin took a deep breath, biting back his frustration. "The ATM can't help me with what I need. I need to make some verifications before withdrawing. I'm not here to waste time."

"You must have at least $10,000 to make a withdrawal here," the teller said arrogantly. "We don't deal with small amounts of money here. This is a bank for the rich and powerful, not for people like you. So, I suggest you leave before you go outside and use the ATM."

Franklin gritted his teeth. He couldn't help but wonder why people were so quick to judge. Ever since he had started working as a delivery guy, he'd encountered countless people who were snooty and dismissive, just like this teller.

Some of them had been initially friendly, only to turn cold when they realized he wasn't as well-off as they'd assumed. It made him question whether the people he knew were only being nice to him because of his status.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, and a security guard strode into the room. He announced, in a booming voice. "Hello everyone! Sorry to interrupt, but I've got an announcement to make."

The room fell silent, everyone's eyes fixed on the security, who took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room. "There's a scooter parked in the wrong spot, and it's blocking another car from entering the lot. Can someone please help me find the owner?"

Everyone just looked at each other, amused by the absurdity of the situation. After all, everyone who frequented this bank was wealthy enough to own a car - who would it be?

"I know who owns the scooter," the woman behind the teller said. "It's this lowly brat!" Her finger pointed directly at Franklin, who was now the center of everyone's attention.

Everyone turned to look at him, their confusion turning into full-blown laughter.

"Doesn't your company provide you with a car?" one person said, snickering.

"You're not even properly dressed and you want to mingle with the elites!" someone else chimed in, the room erupting into more laughter.

"Did you forget where to deliver food?" another voice added, and the laughter reached a crescendo.

In his office, the bank manager sat at his desk, trying to focus on his work. But his concentration was broken by the sound of raucous laughter from down the reception hall.

He rose from his chair and made his way to the source of the commotion. He entered the hall in confusion, wondering what could possibly be so funny.

"What is going on here?" he demanded.

The woman behind the teller said. “It's just this dirty delivery guy who came in dressed like he was lost in a fashion disaster," she said maliciously pointing at Franklin.

"And you need to check out his Rolls-Scooter!" The security guard added with a laugh and everyone in the bank rolled out in laughter again.

The manager shot them a look of irritation, then turned to Franklin. But before he could ask any more questions, Franklin reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card.

The manager's eyes widened as he recognized the logo on the card. It was the logo of this bank's most exclusive clientele - the Elite.

Franklin handed the card to the manager, a small smile playing on his lips.

The manager stared at the identification card, dumbfounded. The face on the card matched the face of the young man in front of him, but it was hard to believe that such a man could have such a high level of access.

Franklin was not just some ordinary delivery man. He was someone of importance, someone who held the key to power and influence.

The manager's knees began to shake, his hands trembling as he handed the card back to Franklin. "I am truly sorry sir," he said, his voice quivering. "We did not mean to offend you in any way. Please forgive our lack of judgment."

The whole room went silent, everyone held their breath, wondering...

Who the hell is this delivery man!?