2025-04-21 07:33:14The moment she heard the name “Gerald Arnold,” the tone of the bank receptionist changed completely.
“I– I’m so sorry, sir,” she stuttered, her voice suddenly soft with deference. “Please hold on just a moment, I’ll transfer you to the President immediately.”
She didn’t even wait for the answer to her second question before forwarding the call. Gerald blinked, then slowly broke into a grin. It was his first time being treated like someone important. The respect was almost… intoxicating.
Seconds later, a man’s deep, composed voice came through the line.
“Good day, Mr. Arnold. This is Marcus DeLorean, President of Aventos. It is an honor to finally speak with you.”
Gerald was stunned for a moment. This man's tone didn't just sound like respect, there was something else… reverence, in the way he addressed Gerald. He could practically hear the man bowing on the other end of the line.
“I’m calling to confirm something,” Gerald said slowly. “I was told my father, the late Henry Arnold, had an account with your bank.”
There was a pause— brief but weighted.
“Indeed, sir, he did.” DeLorean said finally, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped an octave, softer now, filled with something that sounded like awe. “The great Henry Arnold. My deepest condolences for your loss, Mr. Gerald. Your father was not only a legend, he was a titan in our world. I'm sure you've gone through so much, but rest assured… Those days are behind you now.”
Gerald sat up straighter.
“I’d like to know more about his account.”
“Certainly, sir. The trust left behind for you has now matured. As of this morning, your holdings have been evaluated at three hundred and forty-seven billion dollars. And that doesn’t include assets, stocks, or real estate currently managed by other branches.”
Gerald froze.
He’d been stunned at Uncle Sam’s mention of $200 billion, and now? Over $300 billion?
What could he even do with that kind of money? He thought, heart pounding.
A small, nervous laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “That’s… a lot.”
“Yes, sir,” DeLorean replied, completely serious. “And we are here to serve you. We’ve prepared a package for your arrival, including your exclusive Aventos Black Card.”
Gerald’s jaw dropped slightly.
He’d heard of the Black Card— the one only billionaires and royal families had. No limit. No questions. Not even celebrities had it. And now… he was about to get one?
“We’d like you to come into the bank at your earliest convenience to verify your credentials and pick it up personally.”
“I’ll be there,” Gerald said, still in disbelief.
“Very good, sir. And again… welcome back to your rightful place. The Arnold legacy lives on through you.”
The call ended. Gerald dropped his phone on the table and ran his hand through his hair.
So it was true… All of it.
His phone buzzed again. Uncle Sam.
Gerald picked up, still reeling.
“I wanted to check in on you. And find out if you've called the bank.” his uncle went straight to the point.
“I have,” Gerald replied. “They confirmed everything.”
There was silence on the line. Then Uncle Sam spoke in a more cautious tone.
“So… are you going to help the family?”
Gerald exhaled slowly, heart still heavy from everything he had gone through.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “You all abandoned my father. Let him die in shame. You watched us starve… I don't have an answer for you now.
That silence returned, heavier this time. And then:
“Understood,” Uncle Sam said, his voice quieter now. “But you’ll need to adjust your lifestyle, at least. You need to look more like the Arnold that you are.”
Gerald's brow furrowed, Sam went on.
“Head to Crimson & Crown, pick out a proper wardrobe, you don't need to pay anything, the family owns it.”
Gerald blinked, Crimson & Crown was the most elite shopping spot. Only the one percent of the one percent could shop there.
“And I assure you, if you do decide to help us out, it would be given to you as yours.”
Gerald's jaw clenched. “I didn't ask you for any charity, Mr. Sam. If you're going to try to buy my forgiveness, then I don't want anything from you all.”
“No, no, my goodness, I'm sorry! Please don't see it that way. In fact, you can have it today. I will inform the manager of your arrival. The deed will be signed in your name this afternoon, no strings attached.
A second later, his phone buzzed again. He checked his balance. A $10 million transfer had just landed.
“I’ve just sent you a little token, get yourself a car,” Uncle Sam said quickly. “Go to Crimson & Crown. Take what is rightfully yours.”
************
Gerald stood in front of Crimson & Crown, the wind whipping around him as he parked his brand-new electric bike. He had just come from a luxury car dealership, but truth be told— he didn’t know how to drive. And spending three hundred thousand dollars on a car he couldn’t even steer felt stupid. So, he’d bought the most efficient electric scooter instead.
He looked up at the massive marble entrance of Crimson & Crown. The building gleamed under the sun, like a palace dropped in the middle of the city. It was exclusive, elite, and unwelcoming to anyone who wasn’t a billionaire. It was exactly the kind of place he had once thought he’d never step foot into.
And now… he owned it. His heart raced.
He began to get off the bike when a loud crash stopped him.
A white sports car had just reversed from the lot and slammed into his bike, sending both him and it sprawling across the pavement. Pain flared through his hip and elbow as he landed hard on the ground.
Groaning, Gerald looked up, teeth clenched in frustration— only for that frustration to twist into dread.
No. It couldn’t be.
From the driver’s side, Susan stepped out, sunglasses perched on her head, looking like she owned the world.
From the passenger seat came Alex.
Of all people...
They burst into laughter as they spotted him struggling to get his bike upright.
“Gerald?” Alex called, mock surprise in his voice. “You? That’s your ride? My, my, Where'd you get $3,000 for a scooter?”
He circled Gerald slowly, snickering. “Who would’ve thought you’d upgrade from walking to… this?”
Gerald remained silent. He didn’t want a scene. Not here. Not now. But Susan wasn’t done.
She walked up to him, nose wrinkled. “You scratched the car,” she snapped. “You better apologize.”
Gerald stood, now seething. “You hit me! You should apologize. You’re the one who sat behind a wheel without knowing how to drive.”
Susan’s face darkened. “Excuse me?”
Alex leaned against the car, enjoying every second. “I’m pretty sure you aren't referring to my woman like that, loser.”
“I said what I said,” Gerald muttered, inspecting the damage. One side of his bike was deeply scratched. The side mirrors were gone. Meanwhile, the car had a minor scratch at best.
He turned back toward them. “Look what your reckless driving did.”
Susan saw the scratch. There was no way she was going to let Alex blame her for it. Gerald was the nobody here, it was all his fault.
Susan shoved a finger in his face. “You want to make this about me? Do you know how much this car costs? You’ll be lucky if we don’t sue you.”
Gerald’s patience snapped.
“Lucky?” he scoffed. “You can't even see where you're going, how would you find a lawyer?”
“You bastard—”
Susan raised a hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid-air.
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After everything that went down at Crimson & Crown, Gerald didn’t have the time, or luxury to revel in his win. He spent the rest of the day being advised, measured, and prodded for a perfect wardrobe fitting.Steph was exceptional at her job, and while shopping was not something he had interest in, he enjoyed the attention and respect he got during the entire process.After that, he'd signed the documents making him the new owner of the most prestigious luxury clothing brand in the country.Uncle Sam called not long after to offer his congratulations, although it came wrapped in a reminder that the family was still in desperate need of his help. But right now, none of that mattered. He was planning to have the most relaxing night he'd had in a very long time. The VC's birthday party was the perfect occasion.Gerald barely had enough time to dash home, take a quick shower, and throw on something clean. He wasn't one given to flashy appearances, so most of the clothes he'd gotten today
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“Don’t you dare,” he warned.Her eyes widened, she'd not expected resistance.Alex stepped forward. “Let go of her.”Gerald released her hand and stepped back, glaring at both of them.“You both had better apologize now.”Susan narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think you are now?”The noise drew attention faster than flames drew moths. The head of security came striding toward the scene, eyes scanning the tension in the air like a general assessing a battlefield. As soon as he recognized Alex Lambert and Susan, his posture shifted. He softened his approach, gave a quick salute of acknowledgement, and immediately began apologizing for the "unfortunate incident."“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, bowing slightly. “Please don’t worry, sir. The store will take full responsibility for the damage done to your car.”Susan looked smug, arms folded like a queen expecting her tribute. Alex gave a curt nod, soaking up the attention like it was his birthright. But before they
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The moment she heard the name “Gerald Arnold,” the tone of the bank receptionist changed completely.“I– I’m so sorry, sir,” she stuttered, her voice suddenly soft with deference. “Please hold on just a moment, I’ll transfer you to the President immediately.”She didn’t even wait for the answer to her second question before forwarding the call. Gerald blinked, then slowly broke into a grin. It was his first time being treated like someone important. The respect was almost… intoxicating.Seconds later, a man’s deep, composed voice came through the line.“Good day, Mr. Arnold. This is Marcus DeLorean, President of Aventos. It is an honor to finally speak with you.”Gerald was stunned for a moment. This man's tone didn't just sound like respect, there was something else… reverence, in the way he addressed Gerald. He could practically hear the man bowing on the other end of the line.“I’m calling to confirm something,” Gerald said slowly. “I was told my father, the late Henry Arnold, had
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Gerald walked through the school gates that morning with a different air around him. His mind was a raging storm. The conversation with Uncle Sam replayed in his head on loop like a broken record.Each time, it hit harder. It wasn’t just some tale to make him feel better, Uncle Sam didn’t look like someone to joke. The man was serious, calm, and matter-of-fact when he revealed the truth. Gerald Arnold, the poor orphan everyone pitied and mocked, was now the heir to a fortune so vast it could buy the entire city if he wished. Two hundred billion dollars. At least. That number alone could paralyze a man.But with the truth came anger. Boiling, pulsing anger. Why did they let him suffer? Why did no one come to help when he lost everything—when his parents died, and he was tossed around like baggage with no one to care? His so-called family watched him starve while they basked in luxury. They turned their backs on his father and pretended Gerald didn’t exist. And now that he had become th
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Gerald was left there lying in the grass. The crowd dispersed, people crossed over him, no one offered a hand. The laughter echoed in his ears like his own personal humiliation playlist.It wasn’t just the betrayal or the beating—it was the shame, the mockery, the way Susan had looked him in the eye and denied knowing him like he was some worthless stray.His friends—Terry and Juliet— soon came, harried and frantic. They pushed through the crowd, panicked and breathless, only to find their friend on the ground, bloodied and silent.“Gerald! Oh my God! Gerald, can you hear me?” Juliet cried out as she cradled his head.Gerald couldn't respond. His head was spinning, his vision blurry, his hearing distorted.Terry didn't waste time, he flagged down a cab and together, he and Juliet got him to the hospital. His wounds were cleaned and stitched, but still Gerald said nothing. He lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind spiraling into a thousand places at once— but always returni
