Kingsman's Return

Black Card

"Diamond... Diamond Black Card?" Her voice trembled slightly.

Adam froze.

He looked down at the unremarkable black card in his hand. Deep black all over, with a diamond pattern on its face. This card had lain in his garbage bag for three years. He had never given it a second glance.

Could it be that the woman named Sarah Jenkins was telling the truth? Had he really been an incredibly wealthy person before?

Viola took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. After a moment, she quickly composed herself and gave Adam a sincere, respectful smile: "Esteemed Diamond Card client, the guard's rudeness was a failure of our service. I will deal with him and give you a satisfactory resolution."

The security guard, Jack, turned pale.

Clang—

The baton fell from his hand, and his whole body trembled: "Es... esteemed Diamond Card client, I... I..."

Although he was just a security guard, he knew exactly what the Diamond Black Card meant. Since its founding, New York Bank had reportedly issued fewer than ten Diamond Black Cards. Every single cardholder was among the top tier of the country.

He had just blocked such a client—his job was gone, and he might even have to pay a huge compensation according to the security agreement.

Viola ignored him. She stepped aside and made a "please" gesture, her tone gentle: "Please follow me. I'll first escort you to the VIP lounge. Our branch manager is on his way and will personally receive you within half an hour."

Adam followed her dazedly through the bank's doors, across the spacious and bright lobby, straight to the VIP area in the back.

New York Bank didn't have many clients. At that moment, only Grace and Marcus were in the lobby.

When Grace saw that Adam had actually gotten in and was being personally escorted by Viola Sinclair to the VIP area, her smile froze on her face.

"How did he get in?" Grace asked the counter staff, frowning. "That man is my ex-husband, a rickshaw puller. Does your bank let just anyone in?"

The counter staff member replied politely, "That gentleman is a Diamond Black Card client of our bank. Naturally, he is qualified to enter the VIP area."

"What?!" Grace's voice turned shrill. "Diamond Black Card? Impossible! You must be mistaken! He's a poor loser who pinches every penny!"

Five minutes later, the entire bank was in an uproar.

A counter employee was on the phone: "Hello, Branch Manager? A Diamond Black Card client has arrived at our branch. Yes, Diamond Black Card. Ms. Sinclair is already receiving him. Please come as soon as possible."

Grace's face flushed red and pale by turns.

She grabbed the counter staff member and demanded, "Tell me clearly—what level is this Diamond Black Card?"

The counter staff member maintained her smile: "Our bank has a tiered card system. For example, Mr. Marcus Sterling's card is Silver level, which requires a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars. One million dollars gets you a Gold card. Ten million gets you a Platinum card. As for the Diamond Black Card—"

She paused, her tone becoming respectful: "Since our bank was founded, I believe we have issued only nine Diamond Black Cards. Every single cardholder is on the level of Rockefeller or Morgan."

Grace's eyes widened. She whipped her head toward the VIP area.

Adam Walker? The useless nobody she had kicked to the curb? The poor guy whose fingers she wouldn't even let touch her? He had a Diamond Black Card? He was on the level of Rockefeller and Morgan?

"Impossible!" Grace slapped the counter, her voice shaking. "You must be mistaken! He's a rickshaw puller! That T-shirt he's wearing was bought by my mother! He can't possibly have a Diamond Black Card!"

The counter staff member kept smiling: "That's not something we can intervene in. Our branch manager is on his way. He will verify it personally. If you have any doubts, you can wait for the branch manager to arrive and confirm."

"Come on, Grace, calm down." Marcus pulled her back. His expression wasn't great either, but he still forced a dismissive look. "Even if he has some card, it's probably stolen. What could a rickshaw puller possibly have going for him?"

Grace bit her lip, staring intently in the direction of the VIP area.

Only one thought ran through her mind—had she made a mistake?

Meanwhile, in the VIP area.

Adam sat on a soft leather sofa. On the coffee table in front of him was a cup of freshly brewed Blue Mountain coffee, accompanied by a small plate of handmade cookies. The entire VIP area was exquisitely decorated, with a replica of Monet's Water Lilies on the wall and a view of the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Viola Sinclair stood before him, handing him a tablet. Her tone was gentle: "Mr. Walker, please enter your password here, and you'll be able to check your bank account balance. The branch manager will need about twenty more minutes to arrive. You can check first."

Adam took the tablet, his finger hovering over the screen.

He took a deep breath.

Entered his birthday—the date written on that sticky note.

The screen flickered.

Then, a long string of numbers appeared before his eyes.