A Trillionaire Pauper

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

For several seconds, no one breathed.

Clinton’s face twitched—just a fraction—before he threw his head back and laughed loudly. The sound rang too sharp, too forced, echoing unnaturally through the grand hall.

“Secret?” he scoffed, spreading his arms wide as though presenting himself to the crowd. “I don’t have any secret. The only thing people should know about me is this—” He paused for effect. “I’m officially the richest guy on this campus.”

Laughter followed instantly, encouraged by Paul, who clapped exaggeratedly into the microphone like a trained seal performing on cue.

“You heard him!” Paul boomed. “Rich, powerful, untouchable!”

The crowd fed off it. Applause swelled. Cheers bounced off crystal chandeliers.

Kendrick didn’t move.

He remained standing, hands relaxed at his sides, gaze locked steadily on Clinton. There was no anger in his eyes. No excitement. Just calm—so unnervingly calm it stood out like silence in the middle of a storm.

“By the time I say it,” Kendrick replied evenly, his voice carrying clearly through the hall, “everyone here will know the truth.”

The crowd exploded again.

“Truth?” someone shouted.

“He’s an errand boy—what truth does he know?”

“Sit down and stop embarrassing yourself!”

Paul shook his head dramatically, clicking his tongue. “This is getting sad. You’re just a delivery boy who cleans tables and carries bags. You don’t belong in conversations like this.”

Then—

A chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.

Melissa stood.

All eyes snapped toward her.

She smiled first—sweet, composed—but beneath it lay something sharp and poisonous.

“No one should listen to Kendrick,” she said loudly, her voice smooth and rehearsed. “He’s been acting strange all day because he just got a job as an errand boy for a billionaire who actually owns a premium black card.”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Whispers broke out instantly.

“A black card?”

“For real?”

Melissa continued, gaining confidence with every murmur. “People give him black cards to shop for them at luxury stores. He carries those cards around just to feel important. To brag. To act like the money is his.”

She turned toward the crowd theatrically. “Bryan and I saw him today. He pulled the same trick on us. We were embarrassed because of him.”

Bryan nodded smugly, folding his arms, his lips curled into a satisfied smile.

“The store manager even thought the black card belonged to Kendrick,” Melissa added, shaking her head as if pitying him. “All because he used it to buy a Birkin bag, a Rolex, other things.”

The hall buzzed louder now.

“A Birkin?”

“A Rolex?”

“That’s impossible.”

Melissa raised her chin. “Yes. Things worth over a million dollars. Everyone was shocked.”

People leaned forward. Phones subtly lifted. Even the Chancellor’s expression shifted as he watched closely.

“But don’t worry,” Melissa said lightly, waving a dismissive hand. “I later found out the truth. None of those things belonged to him. He was shopping for a billionaire and his wife. He just wanted to feel among.”

She laughed. “So now he’s here pretending again—like he knows something nobody else knows.”

Laughter exploded.

Paul nearly jumped with excitement. “Did you hear that? Poverty will make you act mad!”

People pointed openly at Kendrick now.

“Imagine bragging with someone else’s wealth!”

“So that’s his superpower?”

“Luxury delivery boy!”

Zara and Jayson stiffened in their seats.

They exchanged glances—uneasy, uncomfortable. Their hands clenched. They knew Melissa was lying. The Rolex was literally on Jayson’s wrist. Zara was holding the bag.

Zara stood.

“Melissa,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise, “you’re lying.”

The laughter dipped—for just a moment.

Melissa turned slowly, eyes cold. “How am I lying?” she snapped. “You?” Her lips curled. “The most beautiful girl on campus, yet you choose to associate with a pauper like Kendrick and his dumb friend?”

She gestured dismissively. “You’ve lost all your credibility here. No one respects you anymore, so you don’t get to accuse me of lying. Sit down.”

A collective ooooh rippled through the hall.

Zara didn’t flinch.

“A lot of people still respect me,” she replied steadily. “Unlike you—jumping from man to man just because of money. I still have my virtue intact.”

Melissa flared instantly. “Shut up! You don’t get to say that!”

The Chancellor half-rose from his seat, then paused.

The crowd was alive now—buzzing, entertained, hungry. After a brief hesitation, he slowly sat back down.

A little hurdle won’t hurt, he thought. It might even make the party more lively.

Melissa folded her arms tightly. “If you accuse me again, bring proof. Otherwise, I’ll make sure no one respects you in this school ever again.”

Zara inhaled slowly.

“Fine,” she said. “You’re lying. Kendrick didn’t shop for anyone. He bought those things for us. For me and Jayson.”

The hall erupted.

“For YOU?”

“A pauper?”

“That’s the funniest joke tonight!”

Paul doubled over laughing. “Look at Kendrick! Look at how he’s dressed!”

People joined in eagerly.

“He only changed his worn-out clothes today!”

“Probably from errand money!”

“At least he looks neat now!”

Paul raised the mic again. “If he can afford over a million dollars’ worth of gifts, shouldn’t he be wearing expensive clothes himself?”

Heads nodded all around.

Bryan stood, smoothing his suit with pride. “Look at me,” he announced. “This suit alone is forty thousand dollars. My shoes—twenty thousand. My watch—thirty thousand.”

The crowd cheered.

“Bryan! Bryan!”

Clinton stood as well, unwilling to be outdone. “And I’m wearing over eighty thousand dollars,” he added smugly. “From head to toe.”

Applause followed.

“So if someone is truly rich,” someone shouted, “it shows!”

Even the Chancellor chuckled lightly.

Melissa turned back to Zara with a cruel smile. “You’re destroying yourself. Defending someone like Kendrick is a self-destructive mission.”

Zara’s hands trembled—but she lifted her chin.

“I’m not destroying myself,” she said. “I have proof.”

The crowd buzzed instantly.

“Bring the proof!”

“Let’s see it!”

“Expose the lie!”

Zara slowly raised the orange box. Carefully, deliberately, she lifted the bag high.

“Here’s the proof,” she said clearly. “This is the Birkin bag Kendrick bought for me today.”

The laughter faltered.

Jayson stood next. He unclasped the watch from his wrist and raised it above his head.

“And this,” he said firmly, “is the Rolex Kendrick bought for me today. He doesn’t work for anyone.”

A stunned silence followed.

Then chaos.

“How?!”

“That’s impossible!”

“No way!”

Some people shook their heads violently.

“Fake!” someone yelled.

“Replica!”

Paul laughed loudly. “That’s even worse! It’s better not to own a Birkin at all than to carry a fake one. That’s fraud!”

Others joined in eagerly.

“You can be arrested for that!”

“Same with a fake Rolex!”

Melissa clapped mockingly. “Congratulations, Zara. Not only have you lost credibility, you and Jayson are going to jail. That’s what happens when you move with paupers.”

Zara’s confidence wavered.

She stared at the bag in her hands.

She had never seen a real Birkin before.

She knew how rare it was.

How impossible it was to get—even for the rich.

What if…?

Clinton leaned forward, smiling cruelly. “You know,” he said casually, “they make replicas like that for twenty thousand dollars. Still fraud. Still five years in prison.”

Gasps followed.

“So Zara,” Clinton continued, enjoying himself now, “you, Jayson, and Kendrick will all go to jail. At least the stench you bring to this school will finally end.”

Zara slowly sat down, shaken, confused.

Then—

Kendrick stood.

The hall quieted instantly.

His voice was calm. Controlled.

“Everything is real,” he said. “No replicas.”

Murmurs spread.

“And if anyone here is qualified to confirm that,” Kendrick continued evenly, “they should step forward now.”

People looked around.

“Who would know?”

“Who’s ever seen a real one?”

“Is there even an expert here?”

The Chancellor stood fully this time.

“I have an idea,” he said thoughtfully.

He turned and pointed. “Miss Doris.”

A well-dressed woman stiffened in surprise.

“She is a certified authenticator of luxury items and antiques,” the Chancellor announced. “If anyone can verify them, she can.”

The room erupted.

“Yes!”

“Check it!”

“Let’s see the truth!”

The Chancellor’s voice hardened. “If they’re fake, all involved will face arrest.”

He paused.

“If they’re real…” His gaze swept across the hall.

“…then we make the next judgment.”

Every eye turned to Miss Doris.

And then—

To Kendrick.

The room held its breath.