A Trillionaire Pauper

Chapter 10

The Chancellor’s gaze settled fully on Kendrick.

“Please,” he said, his tone controlled but firm, “explain this gift to us.”

Every eye in the hall snapped toward Kendrick.

The silence that followed was heavy—expectant, dangerous, suffocating. It pressed against his chest like a weight. Whispers hovered at the edges, waiting to explode.

Kendrick stood there, hands loosely at his sides, suddenly uncertain.

The truth was painfully simple.

He didn’t know what the gift truly was.

He had never opened it. Never examined it. Never asked questions. All he had done was make a call and give one instruction.

Prepare something befitting.

That was it.

Adrian hadn’t explained. Kendrick hadn’t asked. He trusted Adrian to do the right thing—because so far, Adrian always had.

He swallowed.

“Erm… Sir…” Kendrick began honestly. “I only asked for a gift worthy of you. You deserve so much more than anything I could personally choose.”

His voice faltered slightly despite his effort to stay composed.

For half a second, the room stayed quiet.

Then it erupted.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“We knew it!”

“You stole something you don’t even understand!”

“At least steal what you can explain!”

Smirks spread. Heads shook. Judgment poured down mercilessly.

Before Kendrick could say another word, Paul suddenly stepped forward.

“Sir, let me,” Paul said arrogantly, reaching out and snatching the scroll from the Chancellor’s hands. “I know a thing or two about artifacts—if this even counts as one.”

Gasps followed his audacity.

Paul examined it briefly, his lips curling in exaggerated disgust.

“Nahhh,” he scoffed loudly. “This is rubbish. Some ancient scroll from generations ago. Who even uses this anymore? It’s not even in English—I can’t understand a single word.”

He laughed, waving it carelessly as he continued mocking it.

“This is probably something he picked up from a flea market or stole from some museum basement—”

The scroll slipped from his hand.

Time slowed.

It struck the glass casing.

CRASH!

The protective glass shattered into sharp fragments.

The scroll hit the marble floor.

But it didn’t tear like paper.

It shattered.

Not into fibers—but into strange, jagged fragments made of a dark, crystalline material no one in the room had ever seen before.

The hall erupted.

“Ahhhhh!”

“What just happened?!”

The Chancellor leapt to his feet.

“PAUL!” he thundered. “What have you done?!”

Kendrick stepped forward instinctively, his voice tight.

“Paul—come on. Why would you do that?”

Paul waved him off dismissively.

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “If it were a real antique, it wouldn’t have broken. Authentic artifacts are durable.”

Several people nodded immediately.

“That’s true.”

“Fake things always break.”

The Chancellor hesitated.

He knew—deep down—that most genuine antiques were fragile. But doubt crept in anyway. The item was unfamiliar. Strange. Unexplainable.

Voices rose rapidly.

“This is too much!”

“He embarrassed the Chancellor!”

“He should leave the party immediately!”

“Stolen luxury items and now this?”

“Kendrick needs to get out!”

Jayson and Zara stood at once.

“Please,” Zara pleaded. “Let him explain.”

“You’re all wrong,” Jayson added urgently. “At least hear him out!”

But Kendrick didn’t wait.

Without another word, he turned.

The music.

The lights.

The whispers.

He walked straight through them.

Jayson and Zara rushed after him.

“Where are you going?” Zara asked anxiously.

Kendrick stopped just long enough to look back.

“Go back,” he said calmly. “Enjoy the party. I’m done here already.”

And he left.

Behind him, the Chancellor exhaled heavily, a strange unease settling in his chest. He gestured for Miss Doris, who had already crouched near the fragments.

“Can you identify it?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I only authenticate luxury items. This… is far beyond my field.”

The celebration dragged on awkwardly.

More guests presented gifts. Forced laughter returned. Conversations resumed—but something was broken beyond the scroll.

Then suddenly, a man stepped forward from the crowd.

He had been silent all along.

He knelt carefully, reverently, and began picking up the broken fragments. His hands trembled as he fitted them together, piece by piece, as if afraid they would crumble further.

His eyes widened.

“Can someone…” he said quietly, then louder, “can someone call that Kendrick back? I need to ask him something.”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Kendrick, who was nearly outside the building, was called back.

Reluctantly, he returned.

The man looked straight at him.

“Where did you get this?”

“Adrian Drax helped me prepare it,” Kendrick replied simply.

The Chancellor’s face hardened instantly.

“Enough,” he snapped sharply. “Do you know who Adrian is?”

The hall stirred.

Clinton scoffed loudly.

“You couldn’t even add Mr,” he sneered. “So arrogant. So dumb. That’s why you will be a pauper forever.”

Kendrick didn’t respond.

He turned and walked away again.

Before the man could ask another question—before anyone could stop him—Kendrick was gone.

Laughter returned, forced and nervous.

“Don’t mind him.”

“He’s bluffing.”

“He doesn’t know Adrian Drax.”

Clinton stepped forward confidently, seizing the moment.

“As someone who visited the Hale Empire today,” he announced loudly, “I actually met Adrian Drax’s personal assistant—Ms. Lizzy Gold. That means I’m the closest person in this room to Adrian Drax.”

People nodded approvingly.

“And,” Clinton continued smugly, “I also met Kendrick there. We even hit his deadbeat bike and damaged it. I assure you he has no relationship with Adrian Drax. He was probably there for a job—but we sent him out ourselves.”

Agreement filled the hall.

Then the quiet man spoke again.

“If Adrian Drax truly sent this gift,” he said slowly, “then my suspicions are confirmed.”

“What suspicions?” voices asked.

The Chancellor raised his hand. “Explain.”

The man inhaled deeply.

“There is a legend,” he began, “that during the Sumerian age, a scroll was written and breathed upon by the last living dragon before its death.”

Confusion spread instantly.

“What does that even mean?”

He continued steadily.

“It is known as the Scroll of the Dragon Healer. It is said to hold the power to heal any sickness—any disease—if the rightful owner can read and interpret it.”

The Chancellor stiffened.

“I have heard of it,” he admitted quietly. “I tried to obtain it… but I could never find it, no matter how much I invested.”

The room fell silent.

Then the Chancellor spoke again, his voice breaking.

“That is because I am ill.”

Shock rippled violently through the hall.

“My days are numbered,” he continued. “I may not live to see my next birthday. That is why I held this celebration.”

Gasps. Whispers. Fear.

“I would have given everything I own for that scroll,” he finished.

Realization struck like thunder.

“If Kendrick truly gave you the Scroll,” the man said gravely, “then he gave you the greatest gift on earth—a chance to live again.”

He paused, staring at the broken fragments.

“But… it is destroyed now. It cannot be used.”

The Chancellor’s fury exploded.

Paul opened his mouth.

“This isn’t—”

SLAP!

Again.

SLAP!

Again.

Paul collapsed to the floor, blood staining his lips.

Silence fell.

Clinton searched desperately for somewhere to hide.

Bryan laughed—until the Chancellor turned toward him.

Instantly, he went mute.

“I finally had a solution to my problem,” the Chancellor said coldly. “And your foolishness destroyed it.”

“Bring Kendrick back,” the man added urgently. “The scroll can only be reassembled by those who know its origin. Kendrick must lead us to Adrian Drax.”

The Chancellor pulled out his phone.

He dialed.

“Mr. Reginald Brown,” he said when the call connected, “your son just cost me my life.”

On the other end, Paul’s father begged instantly.

Paul dropped to his knees.

“Please, sir… mercy.”

“If this is not rectified,” the Chancellor said calmly yet dangerously, “your entire family will be bankrupt before the end of today.”

He ended the call.

Paul turned desperately to Clinton.

“You can help me,” he whispered. “You and your father met Adrian Drax’s PA today.”

Clinton froze.

He had lied.

Going back meant arrest. Exposure. Ruin.

But backing down meant humiliation.

“Okay,” Clinton said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Paul brightened in relief.

“You see?” he said quickly. “We don’t even need that pauper.”

…

Meanwhile—

Kendrick walked away from the party and made a call.

“Adrian,” he said calmly. “I’m ready to start visiting the companies. We begin tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Adrian replied smoothly. “Where will you stay tonight?”

“Anywhere.”

Adrian laughed softly.

“Walk into any seven-star hotel in the city. They’re all yours.”

Kendrick smiled.

After the call, he scrolled through his phone.

A video played.

Clinton and his father—being humiliated and thrown out.

Kendrick smiled.

“I think it’s time,” he murmured, “to return the humiliation.”

He posted the video on the school platform.

Chaos erupted instantly.

“Clinton is a liar!”

“He’s a fraud!”

“They were thrown out of the Hale Empire?!”

Kendrick chuckled and slid his phone into his pocket.

“Let it blow up,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow… I deal with them one by one.”

His eyes hardened.

“They will learn who I am.”

Kendrick Hale.

Heir to the Hale Empire.