The Slumdog Billionaire

3. 50 Billion Dollars Black Card

Chapter Three

His sharp, cold eyes locked onto Henry, and without a word, he gestured for Henry to approach. Henry hesitated, his instincts telling him to run, but something about the man’s calm demeanour held him in place.

“You’re Henry, correct?” the man asked, his voice authoritative.

“Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped aside, motioning for Henry to get into the limousine. “Get in. We need to talk,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Henry glanced around, his heart still racing, unsure of what to do. He was desperate, and desperate men don’t have the luxury of asking too many questions.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside the limousine, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

Henry sat stiffly in the back of the luxurious limousine, glancing nervously at the man in the black suit sitting across from him.

The silence was thick, and Henry, still rattled from nearly being hit by the car, finally broke it.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “Look, the only reason I got into this car is because I’m desperate. I need money—someone close to me is dying of cancer, and I have no way to pay for her treatment.

If you can lend me the money, then I’ll listen. But if you’re planning on kidnapping me, don’t bother. No one would come for me, and no one would bail me out.”

The strange man looked at Henry with a soft, almost amused smile. He shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“Forgive me, young master,” the man said, bowing his head slightly.

“My name is Mr. Anderson, and I am here at your service.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up in shock. His mind couldn’t wrap around the words he had just heard.

“Young master?” What kind of strange joke was this?

“Is this some kind of prank for social media?” Henry asked with a bitter laugh.

“Am I being filmed or something? This is ridiculous.”

But Mr. Anderson didn’t flinch. He remained calm and bowed again, this time more deeply.

“I would never dare joke about such serious matters, sir.”

Henry frowned. The man’s calm demeanour and unwavering seriousness were unsettling. This wasn’t some prank.

This was real.

He swallowed hard and leaned forward, staring at Mr. Anderson with intense suspicion. “Why are you calling me ‘master’? What do you want from me?”

Mr. Anderson sighed deeply, as though he had been waiting to answer this question for a long time.

“You, Henry, are the heir to the most powerful consortium in the world,” he said gravely. “An empire that has businesses spread across the seven continents.”

Henry stared at him in disbelief, his mouth falling open. Then, he laughed, a hollow, disbelieving laugh that filled the car.

“What? You can’t be serious. Me? A billionaire heir? Do you have any idea what my life has been like? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

But Mr. Anderson didn’t flinch. He calmly reached for a tablet in the car’s armrest, unlocked it, and handed it to Henry.

“This is no joke, young master. Here, look at the information. You were separated from your family after a tragic incident. It took us years to find you.”

Henry hesitated, his eyes flickering over the screen. The tablet showed documents, pictures, and records—his records.

His birth date, his childhood, everything. The details were too precise, too real to be fake. It was all there, outlining how he had been separated from his biological family. His heart pounded in his chest, the confusion swirling in his mind. But instead of feeling joy or relief, he felt anger.

Henry’s face darkened, his fists clenching as he handed the tablet back.

“If all of this is true,” he said through gritted teeth, “then why did you let me suffer for so long? Why did your ‘powerful family’ let me struggle and starve, working manual labour, feeling like nothing my whole life? Where were you when I needed you?”

Mr. Anderson's face softened, and he looked down at his hands, as if the weight of Henry’s pain was tangible. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, sir.

The incident that separated you from your family was unforeseen, and it took far longer than expected to locate you. The consortium has been searching for you, but fate delayed our reunion.”

Henry shook his head, rage bubbling inside him. “I don’t care about your excuses. I don’t have time for this family drama. All I need is one million dollars to save the life of the woman who raised me. She’s the only family I’ve ever had.”

Mr. Anderson studied Henry for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, black card. He handed it to Henry without a word.

Henry looked down at the card, turning it over in his hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s a card linked to the family’s accounts,” Mr. Anderson replied.

“There are fifty billion dollars on that card. Use it for whatever you need. And here,” he said, handing Henry a business card, “is my personal number. You can contact me any time, day or night. I’m here to serve you in any way you need.”

Henry looked at the card in disbelief, his fingers trembling as he held it. Fifty billion dollars? It sounded like a dream, a fantasy.

But the reality of the situation, the sheer enormity of it, didn’t quite sink in. He felt overwhelmed, unsure of how to process everything.

With a deep sigh, Henry pocketed the card and looked at Mr. Anderson.

“I need time to think,” he said, his voice quiet. “This is all too much. I can’t process it right now.”