Beyond Riches: The Inexplainable Trillionaire

Chapter 9: The Golden Prince

Ethan smiled at the sight before him, Austin Ross, president of a ten-trillion-dollar bank, and Golden Samson, who had just humiliated a lobby of billionaires, both kneeling, trembling and unable to meet his eyes. He wasn't Ethan the janitor anymore, he was the lost heir to the most powerful empire on earth.

"Rise," Ethan said.

They scrambled up, heads still bowed. "Young Master," Austin breathed. "Please, let us take you inside."

"Lead the way." Ethan responded calmly.

They ushered him into Austin's private office, in it was a floor-to-ceiling windows, a mahogany desk, leather chairs and an original art piece. Ethan took the main chair and Austin and Golden remained standing. "Sit." They perched on the edges of their seats.

"The hundred billion in my account," Ethan began. "I need full access."

"Done," Austin said immediately. "Unrestricted access within the hour."

"Good. I need a celebrity stylist who can come here and get me ready for an event tonight. I don't have time to shop."

Golden raised her head slightly. "I know the best, sir. Marco Fontaine he styles A-list celebrities and royalty. I'll call him now."

"Do it. And I need a befitting gift for my date tonight."

"Of course. Who is the lucky woman?" Austin asked.

Ethan face lot up, "Amelia Freeman."

Both Austin and Golden froze. "The same Amelia Freeman Ray Steflon was just bragging about?" Austin's voice strangled.

"Yes." Ethan responded.

Golden and Austin exchanged a look. "Ray Steflon," Golden whispered, "is in a world of trouble tonight."

"Disguise the gift," Ethan continued. " Make sure it elegant, but not too flashy. Something that whispers wealth, but doesn't scream it."

"I understand perfectly." Golden was already on her phone. "I'll handle everything."

Austin leaned forward carefully. "Young Master, do you have a car for tonight?"

Ethan raised a brow, "I don't."

"Allow me." He grabbed his phone with eagerness. "I know a dealer who can bring options here within the hour."

"Alright, make it happen." Ethan said.

Austin dialed, voice crisp and commanding. "Marcel, Austin Ross here. I need you at Spirit Bank headquarters immediately. Bring everything you have, but make sure it limited editions only, the best of the best. If you disappoint me today, you will never sell another car in this city. Understood? Good."

Within the hour, Marco Fontaine arrived, a small man with enormous presence, dressed in black, measuring tape draped around his neck, three assistants trailing with bags and cases.

"Young Master Ethan." Marco bowed deeply. "Miss Samson tells me you need transformation." He circled Ethan slowly, clicking his tongue. "The bone structure is excellent and you have high cheekbones and strong jawline, but the styling has been… neglected."

"I've been busy," Ethan said dryly.

"No more, we begin now."

For the next hour, Ethan was washed, trimmed, fitted, and adjusted. Marco's team worked like artists restoring a forgotten masterpiece. When they finished, Marco spun Ethan toward the full-length mirror.

"Look at yourself."

Ethan stared at the stranger in the glass, clean, sharp and handsome. Hair styled perfectly, skin glowing and his eyes shin brighter. The suit was dark blue, almost black, with subtle silver threading that caught the light only when he moved. Italian leather shoes and an understated watch that cost more than most houses.

"This suit is one of one, handmade," Marco said. "The fabric is a blend of rare wools. Total cost for today's service and outfit, fifty-two million dollars."

"Charge it to the account." Ethan said.

"Already done, Young Master." With that the broom boy was gone. In his place stood someone who looked like he belonged on a throne. "Let's go. I have a bank to walk through." Ethan said with a voice that commanded respect.

Austin and Golden fell in behind him. The elevator doors opened to the bank hall. Every head turned and every conversation stopped. The elite clients who had mocked Ethan earlier, the heavyset man, the diamond-draped woman, the gray-haired man all stood frozen, then bowed, one by one. The heavyset man folded in half and the diamond woman's jewels clinked as she bent forward. The gray-haired man's face was white with terror.

Ethan's eyes swept the lobby and the Golden Five were gone. "Pity," he muttered.

Golden stepped closer. "Did you say something, Young Master?"

"I wanted Brad, Jason, and Celia to see this. I wanted Celia to see what she threw away."

Golden smiled knowingly. "They'll find out tonight when you walk into the Donor Banquet looking like this, stepping out of a car worth more than their trust funds combined. They will know, and they will bow at your feet."

Ethan smiled. "You're right, they will."

He pushed through the revolving doors and stopped. The entire block in front of Spirit Bank had been transformed. Twelve cars lined the curb, gleaming under the afternoon sun. Behind them stood salespeople in crisp uniforms, and at the front, a man with slicked-back hair and a nervous smile.

"Young Master Ethan!" Marcel rushed forward, bowing repeatedly. "Marcel Devereaux. I've brought everything, the best of my limited editions, one-of-ones. Cars never photographed, never reviewed, never seen by the public."

Ethan walked the line. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Bugattis, Paganis, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces and cars that cost more than mansions. Banking activity had stopped and everyone inside pressed against the windows. A crowd gathered on the street.

"The least expensive car here," Marcel announced loudly, "is sixty-three million dollars." Murmurs rippled. "The most expensive is three hundred million." Gasps filled the air.

Ethan walked the line four times, sitting in every car, testing seats, revving engines. Marcel talked nonstop about horsepower and torque, but Ethan barely listened. He wasn't looking for the fastest or most expensive car, he was looking for the right car.

After a few minutes, he made his choice. "This one." He rested his hand on the hood of a Pagani Huayra with silver-blue like lightning frozen in metal. Aggressive but elegant lines with an engine that purred like a predator and hand-stitched cream leather interior.

"Excellent choice, Young Master!" Marcel vibrated with joy. "One hundred and ten million dollars. One of only three in existence. Zero to sixty in two-point-eight seconds. Top speed two hundred thirty-eight miles per hour. This is a mansion on wheels."

"I'll take it and I will drive it now." Ethan said. He slid into the seat as the leather embraced him. The steering wheel felt made for his hands. He pressed the start button, and the engine roared to life. As he pulled out, he dialed his phone.

Donald Steflon answered on the first ring. "Young Master, I've been waiting. Have you made your decision?"

"I'm ready. I'll meet my father." Ethan said.

Donald exhaled pure relief. "Thank you, Young Master. Your father threatened to fire me if I couldn't bring you home. You've saved my career and my life."

"I have two requests first." Ethan interrupted.

"Anything. Name it."

"The Cole family and the Flinch family, there are Adam Cole's and Jessica Flinch's families. I want them bankrupt for messing with me and my friends."

Donald laughed, the sound of a man asked to do something insultingly simple. "Those insects dared to mess with the young master of the Silvercrest family? Consider it done. They will be sinking in the gutters before you've finished dessert tonight."

"Good." Ethan paused. "Second request: I don't want your son, Ray, to attend the Donor Banquet tonight."

The line went quiet. "Young Master, has my son offended you?"

"That's not important. What's important is I need you to make sure he stays far away from the banquet."

"I see." Donald's voice hardened. "Let me apologize now for whatever my foolish son has done. Our entire family owes everything to the Silvercrest Clan. I will not allow anyone, not even my own son to jeopardize that."

"Actually," Ethan said, a new thought forming, "scratch that. Let him come, infact make sure he attends even if he doesn't want to."

Donald hesitated. "I don't understand."

Ethan gripped the steering wheel, the city blurring past. He remembered the three slaps still stinging his cheeks, Ray bragging about Amelia, calling Ethan a stench. "But warn him, tell him not to go anywhere near Amelia Freeman. He's not to speak to her, touch her, or even look at her."

"Done." Donald said in a hurry.

Ethan continued "And he needs to apologize to me publicly at the banquet. Don't tell him who I am."

"It will be done exactly as you've instructed." Donald responded like a soldier.

Ray would walk into that banquet thinking he was still the most powerful man in the room, then be forced to apologize to the nobody he had slapped that morning, with no idea why.

"What time would you like to see your father?" Donald asked.

"After the banquet. Later tonight or tomorrow morning."

"I'll have everything prepared. The entire manor is buzzing with the news. Your father hasn't stopped smiling."

"Tell him I'm coming." Ethan ended the call and pressed harder on the accelerator. The Pagani surged forward with a roar that turned heads on every street he passed.