Does he have no conscience? The question seared through Mary's mind like a hot blade as she darted after Adrian, frustration etched deeply across her face. Her hand shot out to grasp the door handle of the VIP lounge, but it wouldn't budge—it was locked firmly from the inside. Panic curled in her stomach. What on earth was going on in there?
**
Inside the softly lit VIP lounge, Jack Ripper, the bank's ever-watchful customer manager, lounged against the plush leather sofa with a casual air, eyes glued to his phone's screen. The muted hum of conversation and the faint clinking of glasses filled the room. He was in a rare moment of relaxed calm—until the heavy door abruptly swung open.
Startled, Jack quickly straightened up, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket. Normally, Mary would have given him a heads-up before any VIP appeared. The unexpected visitor wasn't on his list.
Jack had the daunting responsibility of overseeing thirty-one VIP clients, a roster he knew like the back of his hand. His polished greetings and practiced demeanor usually smoothed any interaction. But the young man standing before him—a striking figure who looked barely twenty—was an enigma. Jack's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening.
"May I ask your name?" Jack said cautiously, his tone professional but guarded.
The young man's gaze was calm, almost unnervingly so. "Adrian Vale."
The name didn't ring a bell, and Jack's suspicion deepened. "I'm here to collect what is owed to me," Adrian said plainly, his voice steady and unwavering.
Jack frowned, eyes flicking over Adrian's unassuming appearance. "Do you have one of our authorized cards?" he inquired, suspicion sharpening his tone.
"No," Adrian answered honestly, without hesitation.
Relieved at first, Jack's relief was quickly replaced by confusion. Access to the VIP lounge required a minimum net worth of three million dollars, yet this man seemed to carry no badge of wealth. How could he be so composed?
"I'm sorry, sir. Without a card, we cannot release any funds. Can I help you with anything else?" Jack said, masking his growing unease.
He's insane, Jack thought bitterly. Why let him in? I'll have to talk to Mary about this first thing Monday.
Then, as if sensing Jack's doubts, Adrian asked calmly, "You have fingerprint verification here, don't you?"
Jack blinked. The fingerprint ID system was reserved for the bank's wealthiest families and corporations but Adrian money was from his savings and the time he has spent creating his own power and he have not used a dim. Only a handful had their prints registered, especially at the Miami branch—and none had ever used it to access funds.
"Are you planning to use it?" Jack's voice hardened. The respect he'd held melted away.
"Yes," Adrian said, nodding coolly.
Jack's confusion morphed into disbelief. Why would a non-client insist on using fingerprint verification? Reluctantly, Jack decided it was safer to let Adrian try rather than risk an ugly confrontation.
He moved to the safe, unlocking it with a practiced hand, and withdrew the fingerprint scanner—a device he'd never operated himself. With a wary glance, he held it out.
"Place your thumb here," Jack instructed.
Adrian complied, pressing his thumb against the sensor.
[Beep!]
A glaring red light flared, and the screen flashed: Fingerprint not registered.
Jack's face hardened instantly. He glared at Adrian, reaching for his phone. He was ready to call security.
"Wait! Hold on a moment," Adrian urged quickly. "Perhaps I used the wrong finger. Let me try my index finger."
Jack sneered, cynicism dripping from his words. "Oh, so you have a backup finger? What next, your middle finger? When that fails, will you try your toes?"
Unflustered, Adrian placed his index finger on the scanner.
Jack's patience snapped; if it failed again, he would call the police immediately.
But then, the device blinked green, displaying a new message: Verification complete. Family account: 01. Verified by: Adrian Vale. Account number: 01104.
Jack's eyes widened. He stared incredulously at Adrian before forcing a tight smile. "Mr. Vale, my apologies. I didn't recognize you. I'm Jack Ripper, customer manager for the New York branch. How can I assist you today?"
"No problem," Adrian replied casually, rising to his feet. "Please show me the remaining balance in my account."
Jack swiftly typed commands into the computer. Adrian provided a few more fingerprints to verify his identity, and moments later the screen flickered to life.
"Done, Mr. Vale," Jack announced, hitting the confirm button.
The account details flooded the monitor.
Jack gestured toward the screen. "Your current balance is sixty-eight million dollars."
Jack gasped sharply.
This young man held an unimaginable fortune—an amount placing him squarely among the world's wealthiest elite. For most people, this was a distant fantasy, an unreachable dream.
Adrian stared at the numbers, a strange sensation washing over him. After years of hardship and exile, this was his reality now. Yet, beneath the wealth lay a different challenge: reclaiming his place in a world that had long forgotten him.
"Oh, and you have other assets as well. Let me show you," Jack said, clicking through several pages rapidly before pressing "Confirm" again.
The screen split into a 4x4 grid of live surveillance feeds.
"This panel displays all your physical holdings across our branches," Jack explained.
He clicked the top-left screen, revealing a sleek sports car parked at the bank's branch in The Hague. The label read: Ferrari Pagani Huayra.
One by one, Jack opened more screens.
The Hawaii branch showed a stunning Dominica blue pearl bracelet beside four stacks of gleaming gold bars.
The feed from the French branch in Nice revealed priceless original Picasso paintings and two exquisite Rodin statues.
Meanwhile, the Cape Town branch displayed fifteen flawless ten-carat diamonds, ten carved ivory pieces, and yet more stacks of gold bars.
Jack's eyes nearly popped from their sockets as he surveyed Adrian's immense wealth. He'd never met anyone so rich—perhaps not even among his VIP clients.
"Alright, I want a card," Adrian declared before Jack could regain his composure.
"Of course. I'll arrange that immediately. Please wait a moment." Jack hurried to make the necessary arrangements.
Within ten minutes, the highest-tier Supreme Card was produced.
Jack examined the card thoughtfully. Though it wasn't a perfect fit for Adrian's status, it was the most prestigious card the Miami branch was allowed to issue.
Handing it over, Jack said, "Mr. Vale, your card."
"Thank you," Adrian replied, pocketing the card and heading toward the exit.
"Mr. Vale, please wait." Jack wasn't about to let such an important client leave unattended. He planned to escort Adrian personally, but the asset verification system and sensitive devices—including fingerprint and iris scanners—were still active and not yet secured. The VIP lounge surveillance was connected directly to the district manager's office.
Outside, Mary paced anxiously in the hallway, biting her lip. Minutes stretched like hours. What was happening inside? Could that reckless young man have harmed Jack Ripper?
Her fear grew until she was on the verge of pounding on the door, demanding answers—when Adrian strode confidently out.
"Stop!" Mary shouted, rushing forward and grabbing his coat. "You're not leaving. You broke into the VIP lounge. Once we confirm nothing's missing, I'll call the police and have you held for questioning."
"What are you talking about?" Adrian said coolly. "Let me go."
Mary fumbled through his pockets but found nothing.
What's wrong with this woman? Adrian thought, irritated. He wasn't resisting, yet she manhandled him.
Then, Mary's eyes caught the Supreme Card lining Adrian's pocket. She yanked it out triumphantly, as if clutching proof of guilt.
"Oh, you stole this card! That's a crime. I have to alert the authorities."
She didn't stop to consider that the card might actually belong to Adrian. Instead, she pictured him sneaking in, distracting Jack with questions, and stealing the card while the manager was distracted.
"Let me go!" Adrian snapped, exasperated.
"Don't you feel guilty for being a thief?" Mary pressed, eyes blazing.
Their argument drew attention. Curious onlookers began to gather, ready to help Mary stop Adrian's escape.
At that moment, Jack emerged, freshly composed.
He glanced between the two, noting Mary's aggressive stance and Adrian's rising anger.
After reviewing Adrian's assets, Jack recognized him as the most important client the New York branch had ever served.
The system showed Adrian's account was just one among many linked to a family group labeled 01. If one account was this lucrative, the entire family's wealth must be staggering.
Jack understood the gravity of the situation. Handling such a client meant careful diplomacy, and he knew building a strong relationship with Adrian could lead to monumental success—for both Adrian and himself.
Seeing Mary struggling with Adrian, Jack's fury boiled over. She was reckless, playing a dangerous game that could easily drag him down.
Among so many clients, why did she choose to provoke this one? One wrong move, one swipe of Adrian's finger, and their careers could be over.
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken stakes. Adrian's return was not just about reclaiming money—it was a silent declaration that the heir had come back. And the world of power and wealth he was stepping back into was far more treacherous than he remembered.