Charismatic Shoemaker Lloyd

Chapter 5

*Charismatic shoemaker Lloyd *

Old Charles scurried after Benton, his weathered face alight with relief as he caught up in the dimly lit garage. “Young master, you’re finally back! I’m over the moon! Those scheming cousins of yours were ready to toss your mother out on the street and carve up the business like vultures. The news of your return will definitely hit tomorrow's first headline !”

Benton froze, his breath catching sharply in the cold air. Silence hung heavy, his mind racing with several thoughts as Old Charles’s words sank in. The old man had been Lady Lisa’s loyal servant, sharing every ounce of her anxiety over the family’s crumbling empire.

“I don’t care about any of this,” Benton snapped, his voice flat but edged with defiance. “I’ve got my own life. Your petty fortune means nothing to me.” he threw the black card in front of Old Charles.

Old Charles threw his head back, letting out a harsh, throaty laugh that echoed off the concrete walls of the garage. “Petty fortune? Oh, young master Benton, you’re the heir to the Lloyd empire! You’re clueless about the weight of this family’s wealth and power, aren’t you?.”

He leaned in, his eyes glinting with a mix of pity and amusement. “Sixty-five company affiliates. High-end shoes crafted in Spain and beyond and a logo every little company will die to have. Can your little cobbler’s brain even fathom the kind of money the Lloyds play with?”

Benton’s eyes flickered, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the sprawling empire Old Charles described. The shoe company he’d been handed to manage suddenly felt like a puzzle piece in a much larger, more dangerous game. “Regardless I have a skill that will soar the Lloyd empire higher.”

“You’re not wrong,” Old Charles continued, his tone softening but still sharp with mockery. “Lady Lisa’s got no reason to bleed you dry like the Tyson family did, stealing your designs and leaving you in the dust.”

“Think about it, the Lloyd family has nothing to lose and it would be a stain on their reputation to take advantage of you.”

“Old man I have heard enough of your sugar coated mouth and I won't waste a second listening further.”

—

Benton swung the door to his small shop open, in the dim glow of his old poor shop, Benton sat hunched over, staring at the black master card in his hand like it held the secrets of the universe. He thought this kind of drama belonged in movies, not his life. But the memory that had struck him the night before—holding that damn shoe, the one Lady Lisa had spun her story about hours ago—felt too real. Too familiar. Anger simmered in his chest. He needed answers about his father’s death, and he wasn’t waiting any longer.

Benton snatched his threadbare coat from under the shop’s cluttered drawer and stormed out, his boots crunching against the icy pavement as he made a beeline for the Pendergast Six-Star Hotel. He clung to the faint hope that old Charles might still be there just after they're departure he headed towards the six star hotel.

Snowflakes stung his face as he approached the hotel’s grand entrance, with the towering glass doors gleaming under golden lights. He rubbed his palms together, trying to chase away the chill. The Pendergast wasn’t just any hotel—it was a fortress for the elite, a playground for the powerful who pulled the strings of the global economy.

As he neared the entrance, two hulking bouncers stepped forward, their faces like stone. “Show us your Membership card m,” one growled, his voice low and clipped, an earpiece glinting in the light.

Benton raised a brow, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don't have one,” he admitted, his breath visible in the freezing air. He cursed himself silently. A six-star hotel? What was he thinking, walking in like he belonged? Even at his ex-father-in-law’s lavish birthday party, entry had been by exclusive invitation only.

The bouncers stiffened, their eyes narrowing. “Entry is for members only. Reservations are required,” the second one said, his tone final.

Just as Benton turned to pull out his phone, a voice sliced through the frosty air like a knife. “Well, well, look at this! The lowly cobbler dares to show his face here?”

Benton spun around, his gaze locking onto Avery’s mother, Margaret, her lips curled into a venomous sneer. She strutted forward, draped in a fur coat that screamed wealth, her eyes raking over him with undisguised disdain.

“What’s this, Benton? Think you can sneak into a place like this and worm your way back into Avery’s good life and accomplishments?” Her voice dripped with mockery, each word a calculated stab. “Such a pity.”

One of the bouncer cleared his throat, his tone professional but firm. “Sir, if you’re here to dine, you need a membership card. No exceptions.”

Margaret’s head tilted back, her laughter sharp and saccharine, like poisoned honey. “Oh, don’t waste your breath on him! Look at his rags, does he look like he belongs here? He’s just sniffing around, pretending he’s somebody.”

She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “Oh, Benton, this place could’ve been yours to conquer if you hadn’t fumbled everything. That shoe design? You could’ve wowed the investors, but you’re too weak to play the game.”

Benton’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists as her words cut deep. “Your family stole my hard work, my sweats, my designs,” he shot back, his voice low but seething.

Margaret laughed again, louder this time, her voice ringing with condescension. “Stole? Oh, please, Benton. You’re nothing. Our family would never waste a second on a nobody like you. Henry’s twice the man you’ll ever be, and Avery? She’s thriving without you dragging her down.”

“No one will believe your little sob story.”

Her smirk widened as she flicked her wrist, flashing a sleek, metallic card in his face. “See this? It’s a platinum card close to the Amex card. Not some trinket you’d cobble together in your sad little shop. You need real connections to even dream of touching one. Don’t beg me to let you in, because I won’t.”

Benton’s eyes narrowed, his voice cool and steady despite the fire in his chest. “Did you just say it’s like an Amex card?”

Margaret’s laugh was shrill now, her arms crossing smugly inside her coat. “Streetdog, Do you even know what an Amex card is? It’s exclusive to the five great families of the Central Planet, Amex card is a black mastercard—Power, prestige, access to everything. Our family waited years and jumped through hoops to get ours very soon. It’s a world you’ll never climb to.”

“Sounds fancy,” Benton said, his tone deceptively calm as he pulled out his phone. “Old Charles.”

“Young master!” Old Charles’s voice crackled through the line, eager and warm. “Are you at the Pendergast already?”

“Were you expecting me.”

“Of course, you will need me to get every information about your new inheritance, that's why I hanged around.”

Benton kept his eyes locked on Margaret, whose smirk faltered slightly. “I’m out here freezing in the snow, and your staff’s telling me I need a membership card. But I’m not here to beg for entry. I want an Amex card.”

Margaret’s jaw dropped, her laughter erupting in a high-pitched cackle. “An Amex card? Oh, this is rich! You think you can just demand one? Who are you play-acting for, streetrat? Everyone here knows you’re putting on a pathetic little show.”

Old Charles’s voice boomed through the phone, undeterred. “Young master, an Amex card? Say no more. I’ll have one delivered to you within thirty minutes. The Lloyd family’s name opens every door.”

Margaret’s face twisted, her eyes blazing with contempt. “You’re bluffing. An Amex card isn’t some trinket you can just wish for. It’s a nightmare even for elites like us!” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Benton? You’re a nobody, scraping by in your filthy shop. Go back to your hole.”

Benton’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “You talk a big game, Margaret. But you’re about to choke on it.”

Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, tossing her head back with a scoff. “Choke? On you? Don’t make me laugh harder than I already am. You’re not even worth the dirt on my heels.”

The bouncers shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension. One cleared his throat. “Sir, if you don’t have a card, you need to leave.”

Benton ignored them, his gaze never leaving Margaret’s smug face. “Old Charles, make it quick. I’m tired of standing in the snow while this lady runs her mouth.”

“Young master, it’s as good as done,” Old Charles replied, his voice brimming with confidence. “The card will be there, and the Pendergast will roll out the red carpet for you.”

Margaret’s smirk faltered again, her eyes darting between Benton and his phone. “You’re wasting everyone’s time,” she spat, but her voice wavered, just for a moment. “This is sad, Benton. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Benton slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. “Keep talking, Margaret. We’ll see who’s sad when I walk through those doors. It's such a shame that your tricks have to wait years to get an Amex card.”