Max Luckey: The Undisputed Student Billionaire

Chapter 11

The message from his grandmother blazed on the screen with a stark and almost unbelievable declaration. ‘I bought the whole movie house instead and prix now belongs to us.’ Max stared at the words and then looked around his small, familiar room. The worn carpet, the stack of textbooks, the faint smell of instant noodles. It felt like a dream, a sudden, jarring shift from the life he knew.

He snatched up his phone, his thumb fumbling over the contact. The line connected, a faint static crackling before her voice, calm and collected, filled his ear.

“Grandma?” Max asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Is that… is that true? About Prix Movie House?”

“Maxwell,” Lady Roslyn replied, her tone betraying no hint of the monumental acquisition. “Yes, it’s quite true. They were rather insistent on not selling the rights to the ‘Sun-Rost’ show. A peculiar attachment, I found. So, I acquired the entire company. It seemed the most efficient solution.”

“The… the entire company?” Max repeated, running a hand through his hair. “But… I just wanted the movie rights, you know…for Jacob.”

“I know,” she said, a soft, knowing chuckle on the other end. “And now you have them, and a great deal more. Think of it as a rather large and rather expensive gift wrap from your original request. Besides, it’s high time you understood the true scope of your inheritance. This isn’t about small-scale negotiations, Maxwell. It’s about influence as well as capability.”

Max was silent for a moment, trying to process the sheer scale of it. A whole movie studio. Just like that.

“Grandma,” he finally managed, “I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, dear,” she responded, her voice softening slightly. “You need to act. There’s something else you should know. Your inherited funds are now accessible. I’ve arranged for you to meet with Manager Benson at the Phoenix Bank. He’s expecting you. Go there tonight and he’ll guide you through the initial steps.”

“Phoenix Bank?” Max asked, glancing down at his still-damp clothes. He hadn’t changed since returning from the party. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” she affirmed. “The world doesn’t wait, Maxwell. And neither does your fortune. Don’t worry about your attire. Manager Benson understands and just asks for him directly.”

And just like that, the call ended. Max sighed while running his hand over his head and through his hair. He was still drenched from the rain and he had not changed into a cleaner and dryer pair of clothes. He took a look in the small mirror at his bedside table. He looked exactly like the ‘poor miscreant’ Evelyn had described. Nevertheless, he had no intention of changing as he grabbed his bicycle keys and dashed out. The ride to Phoenix Bank was a blur of damp street lights and the slush sounds of Max's damp clothes. As he arrived at the building he marveled at the bank. The building itself loomed in a monolith of polished glass and steel. It dwarfed everything around it as it was one of the largest banks in the country and a place he’d only ever glimpsed from afar.

He came down from his bicycle and locked it to a rack that seemed almost too out of place for the ambiance of the building. His shoe was filled with mud and it made a mark as Max stepped through the building. The air inside was cool, hushed, and smelled faintly of expensive leather and polished wood. His wet clothes felt heavy and were sticking to him. He could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere as eyes, or rather, glances, followed his every step.

A sleek and impeccably dressed woman with a severe bun sat behind a large and gleaming reception desk. She was on the phone with her voice a low and modulated murmur. Max approached the front desk and tried to be polite.

“Excuse me,” he began, his voice a little hoarse from the cold. “I’m here to see Manager Benson.”

The woman didn’t even glance up. She continued her conversation, and a faint and condescending smile played on her lips as she nodded into the phone.

Max waited. As a few minutes passed. The woman was on the phone with someone and it seemed it was not work-related.

“Excuse me,” he tried again, a little louder this time. “I have an appointment with Manager Benson.”

Still nothing. Her eyes were cool and dismissive, she looked at him from head to toe, then hissed and proceeded to continue her conversation on the phone.

Max felt a flicker of annoyance but remembered his grandmother’s words. ‘Just ask for him directly.‘ He took a breath.

“Ma’am,” he said, his voice firm, “I need to see Manager Benson. It’s very important.”

This time, she lowered the phone, though she didn’t hang up. Her eyes which were sharp and judgmental had finally landed on him fully. She took a long look at his appearance, lingering on the damp patches on his clothes and the faint trail of water he was dripping on the marble floor. A look of utter disgust was evident on her face.

“Can’t you see I’m on the phone ?” she snapped with her voice laced with venom. “And besides, look at you. You’re dripping all over my clean floor. This is a bank you know, not a public swimming pool. Sit your ass down and I’ll get to you when I’m done.” She waved a dismissive hand towards a row of plush and empty chairs.

Max’s jaw tightened. He wanted to argue and to tell her who he was, but he swallowed his words. “Show, don’t tell.“ He thought to himself as turned, and began walking towards the chairs.

As he navigated the opulent lobby, his eyes were fixed on the seating and he wasn’t watching where he was going. He felt a sudden impact as bumped into a stranger. He stumbled back almost catching himself before he fell.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Max began, looking up.

Standing before him was an older man, who was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit with his face a feeler with anger. His silver hair was slicked back, and his eyes were cold and piercing as glared down at Max.

“Sorry?” the man boomed, his voice echoing slightly in the hushed lobby. “You clumsy oaf! Watch where you’re going, boy!”

Before Max could offer another apology, a stinging sensation landed on his cheek.

‘Smack,’

The man had slapped him hard in the face. The force of it snapped Max’s head to the side, leaving a burning imprint.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” The man yelled as he turned his direction to the receptionist's desk. “What kind of establishment are you running here? Uh, allowing street riff-raffs to wander in and out like this is some cheap parlor house. Even my maid is better dressed than him. This is Phoenix Bank for crying out loud! The Premier Financial Institution! Jesus Christ this company has gone downhill.”

The receptionist, who had been watching the scene unfold with a mixture of disdain and amusement, now sprang to action. She rushed over with her face a mask of frantic apologies.

“Mr. Lesley! Oh, Mr. Lesley, I am so sorry!” she gushed, practically bowing. “This… this idiot must not know who you are! I’ll handle it immediately.”

Just then, before Max could even register what was happening, another sharp crack echoed through the lobby.

‘Smack,’

The receptionist had slapped him too. Her hand connected with his other cheek, a less powerful but equally humiliating blow.

“How dare you!” she hissed at Max with her eyes blazing with a newfound ferocity and clearly trying to appease the furious Mr. Lesley. “You heard Mr. Lesley, Get out and never set foot in the bank ever again. Security! Security!”

Mr. Lesley, apparently satisfied with the display, huffed, adjusted his tie, and strode away, muttering about “standards” and “the good old days.”

Two burly security guards were drawn by the commotion and the receptionist’s shrill calls. Their faces were grim as they surrounded Max.

“Alright, kid, you heard the lady,” one of them grunted, grabbing his elbow. “Time to go.”

“No wait, I have an appointment!” Max pleaded while trying to pull away. “With Manager Benson!”

“Save it for the street,” the other guard said, pulling his other arm. They began to drag him towards the main entrance.

Just as they reached the massive glass doors, a distinguished-looking man with kind eyes and a neatly trimmed beard emerged from a side office, drawn by the escalating noise. He wore a suit that seemed to fit him perfectly, and a subtle air of authority clung to him.

“What’s going on here?” the man asked, his voice calm but authoritative. “Why are we removing a client?”

The receptionist, seeing the manager, quickly tried to explain, her voice a rush of indignation. “Mr. Benson. Thank goodness. This… this young man, he’s a nuisance. He came in soaking wet, bumped into Mr. Lesley of Les Oil company, one of our biggest clients, and then had the audacity to demand to see you. I had to call security to remove him from the premises.”

The guards continued to pull Max, who struggled against their grip. He knew this was his last chance. He had to make himself heard.

“My name is Max Luckey!” Max yelled, his voice echoing through the silent and suddenly attentive lobby, overriding the receptionist’s frantic explanation. “I’m here to see Manager Benson!”

Manager Benson’s eyes, which had been scanning Max’s face with a flicker of recognition, widened slightly. He looked from Max to the security guards, then back to the stunned receptionist. A slow, thoughtful expression settled on his face.