2024-08-20 10:04:09“Yes, ma’am,” the staff member nodded,
“That card’s extremely rare—no more than 50 exist worldwide. So, the holder is treated as a VVIP at any bank they visit.”
Trisha’s eyes widened in shock. She bit her lip, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
She had spent years chasing wealth, hopping from one rich man to the next, trying to keep her lavish lifestyle.
The inheritance she withdrew every month from her father’s account, was barely enough to keep her lavish lifestyle.
‘I’ve only heard about the red card from my father, but I never thought I’d see someone with one…’ Trisha thought, frowning as she processed the revelation.
‘But Oliver? Impossible!’
Next second, Trisha marched over to Rebecca.
"Don’t trust this man, Miss. Rebecca! He’s a fraud, trying to scam you!"
Rebecca raised an eyebrow, her voice calm but sharp.
"A fraud? That’s a serious accusation, Miss Trisha."
"I’m not accusing him; I’m telling you the truth!" Trisha’s tone grew louder, "He probably found the card on the street, or worse - stole it!"
Rebecca’s expression remained steady as she asked:
"Do you have any evidence to back up your claim?"
Trisha’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with disdain.
"I’m his ex-wife. I know everything about him. Oliver’s poor—he works at the wet market, for God’s sake! You really think someone like him could own a red card?"
Rebecca nodded, holding her composure.
" Miss Trisha, we will verify it ourselves."
Trisha wouldn’t back down. Her voice rose, almost desperate now.
“Why bother? I’m telling the truth! I’m Trisha Henverton, daughter of the wealthiest family in this town! You really think I’d lie about this?”
The onlookers began to murmur, tension building in the room.
"Just look at him," Trisha sneered. “That shirt’s so worn out it’s practically gray. How could he have a red card?”
Several customers nodded in agreement.
"Exactly! Why would a rich man work at the wet market?" one muttered.
“He should be put into the jail!” another chimed in.
Rebecca’s voice cut through the whispers, firm and unyielding.
“I know who you are, Miss Trisha, and I’m well aware of your family’s position in town, especially your father’s former VIP status with this bank.”
Rebecca stressed the word “father.”
Trisha’s father was a VIP client. But that title hadn’t passed to her family, much less to Trisha.
Trisha picked up on the hint, her eyes narrowing, and anger flared across her face.
Rebecca gave a small, controlled gesture.
"The bank president is on her way here now.
“I suggest you avoid causing any further disruptions, or we may have to escort you out."
A thick silence fell over the room.
The customers who had agreed with Trisha a moment ago suddenly looked away, unwilling to draw attention to themselves.
Rebecca turned back to Oliver with a respectful nod.
"I apologize for the disturbance, Sir. Please follow me to the VVIP room."
"Alright," Oliver replied, casting one last look at the crowd before following her inside.
Behind them, Trisha stood frozen, her face a mask of shock.
The reality of the situation dawned on her, and she lunged forward, trying to follow.
"Stop her," Rebecca ordered coolly.
Two guards quickly stepped in, blocking Trisha’s path and holding her back.
“Sorry, Miss Trisha, but you’re not allowed in the VVIP room,” one guard said politely.
“No way! Why can’t I go in, but he can?”
Trisha spat, her voice shrill with anger as she tried to pull free from their grip.
“I should be in that room, not that loser!”
She screamed; her face red with rage.
The guards tightened their hold as she struggled against them.
“Let me go, or I’ll have you both fired! Don’t you get it? I’m the richest person in this town!”
She shouted, her voice breaking with fury.
One guard leaned in and said, calm but firm,
“Miss Trisha, if you keep causing a scene, we’ll have to ban you from this bank.”
Trisha fell silent immediately.
She knew this was the only bank where she could access her father’s inheritance.
She glared at Oliver, her manicured nails digging into her palms.
To her surprise, Oliver glanced back at her. His eyes held a quiet disappointment.
“Bastard,” she hissed under her breath as the doors closed behind him.
Inside, Oliver shook off the thought of Trisha, though a faint sadness lingered.
She had always measured people by money and status.
But his attention shifted as he looked around the VVIP room.
It radiated wealth—polished wood panels, elegant artwork, and plush leather chairs that spoke of pure luxury.
“Please, have a seat, sir,” Rebecca said, gesturing to a luxurious leather chair.
Oliver sat down, and Rebecca took the seat across from him,
Her professional demeanor never breaking, though a flicker of curiosity sparked in her eyes.
She wanted to know more about this mysterious man holding the coveted red card.
"What business would you like to conduct today, Sir?"
Oliver hesitated: "I just want to withdraw some money."
"Of course, Sir," Rebecca smiled, handing him a sleek tablet. "Please enter your password."
That’s when Oliver froze.
His stomach twisting as he realized—
He didn’t know the password.
Taking a deep breath, he tried his birthday.
[Password Incorrect]
‘Damn,’ Oliver thought, his heart pounding.
Across the table, Rebecca’s polite smile wavered just slightly as her sharp eyes stayed focused on him.
‘Did I make an incorrect judgment? Is this man really the card’s owner, or did he somehow get his hands on it by other means?’
She wasn’t just curious anymore—she was suspicious.
Oliver furrowed his brow, deep in thought. There had to be something.
He stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Suddenly, a faint memory flickered.
A string of numbers flashed in his mind, though he couldn’t quite place where he had seen them before.
Oliver typed in the password and hit "Enter,"
His nerves tingling a bit. If he got it wrong again, he knew Rebecca would kick him out on the spot.
[Password Correct]
Relief washed over him as the card unlocked—only to be replaced by utter shock.
He saw the account balance flash on the screen.
When the final digit appeared, Oliver’s eyes widened.
It started with a "1," followed by nine zeros.
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