Zero: God Of Mercenary

Chapter 7: Debt

A billion dollars!

What kind of life did I have before I lost my memory?

Oliver wondered, staring at the number in disbelief.

The wealth alone stunned him, but the password he’d just used intrigued him even more.

“It was a birthdate... but whose?” Oliver frowned.

Just then, Rebecca broke the silence.

“Sir, with a red card, you don’t need to mind your balance, It is practically unlimited. You have full access to funds from any bank,” she explained.

Oliver nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around it.

“So, with a balance like this, does that mean I can withdraw money from anywhere?”

Rebecca smiled. “Yes, sir. Withdrawals can be made from anywhere in the world.”

He frowned, remembering his earlier attempt.

“Then why couldn’t I get any cash from the ATM earlier?”

Rebecca tapped on her tablet. Her eyes lit up as she found the answer.

“The card had been inactive for 3 years, so it was frozen.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair.

His mind racing.

This card is real. That woman wasn’t lying to me—I was once part of some elite force with unimaginable wealth.

Trisha had abandoned me over money, taken the house I’d worked myself to the bone for, and now lived with someone rich. If she knew how much money I actually have... It would be almost amusing.

Without waiting for the bank president, Oliver withdrew ten thousand dollars, pocketed a business card from Rebecca.

She assured him before he left.

“If you need anything, please call me. Our bank is always here to assist.”

Oliver’s next stop was the market, to collect his belongings.

 But as he arrived, his heart sank.

Anthony was there, swinging a baseball bat with a cruel grin, smashing Oliver’s stall to pieces.

Nearby, Nate—his only friend since losing his memory—was being beaten by one of Anthony’s goons.

A surge of anger blazed through Oliver as he marched forward.

“Stop!”

Oliver shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Anthony spun around, shock flickering across his face.

“I thought you were supposed to be out of the picture,” he sneered. “My men assured me they’d taken care of you.”

Yet Anthony didn’t know those “men” were now lying on the ground.

Oliver’s gaze was cold and steady, flicking from his broken stall to Nate’s bruised face.

“What are you doing?”

He asked, his voice sharp.

Anthony sneered, “For your debts, of course. Or have you forgotten what you owe me?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Oliver replied icily. “In fact, it’s you who own us two months’ wages. And why did you even hurt Nate? He had nothing to do with you!”

Anthony laughed, the sound echoing through the market.

“We roughed up this idiot because he tried to stop me,” he said, kicking Nate hard in the ribs. “Such a good friend, right?”

Oliver’s jaw clenched as Nate groaned in pain.

“You did all this just because he tried to protect my property?”

Oliver’s voice was dangerously calm.

Anthony chuckled, ugly and smug. “What do I care about worthless junk like you two?”

Oliver’s face hardened. “You’ll pay for this.”

As his eyes scanned the scene, he noticed an Umbrella Bank sign hanging nearby.

Suddenly, Rebecca’s words about bank investments echoed in his mind.

‘The wet market and the bank were connected.’ Oliver thought. A plan forming.

“Oliver, just leave,” Nate rasped, struggling to catch his breath. “You can’t win against them.”

“It’s alright, Nate,” Oliver murmured, keeping his voice steady despite the fury burning within.

Turning back to Anthony, he spoke firmly,

“Not only will you pay the wages you owe us, but you’ll answer for what you’ve done.”

Anthony leaned in, mocking him.

“And what if I say no? You think you can order me around?”

“Then you’ll regret it.”

Oliver exhaled slowly, took out his phone and Rebecca’s business card.

After a single ring, the call connected.

“Hello, Sir Oliver!” Rebecca’s voice was smooth, professional.

Oliver blinked. “How did you know it was me?”

Rebecca smiled. “I don’t give my number to many people, and any unknown number I answer is always noteworthy. It wasn’t too hard to guess.”

Clearing his throat, Oliver asked, “Your offer of help still stands?”

“Of course. Anything, anytime.”

“Does Umbrella Bank invest the largest wet market in town?”

“Yes, we do.” There was a hint of curiosity in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

“The market manager is abusing his power. It’s harming business and could damage the bank’s reputation. He just assaulted my friend.”

Her voice took on a sharper tone. “Is that so? What would you like me to do about it?”

“Make it hurt.”

“Understood. Give me five minutes,” she replied before hanging up.