Rise of the Lost, Slumdog Billionaire Heir

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The telephone in her office started to ring, interrupting the moment.

The manager brushed David off and picked it up.

“Ma, Mr. Walter is here already.”

Her heart jumped before dropping down. “Alright. Thank you. I'll be there right away."

She dropped the telephone down and then turned to David.

"He's here already, you have to leave,” she commanded with panic in her voice.

But David was adamant. He was still on his knees, begging. “Please, Ma, don't do this to me. I've no place to go. Everything has been taken away from me. This is my only hope of survival. Please."

But it was too late—-

Because the manager had grabbed back the telephone, dialing a number. “Yes. Come to my office right away. Come with some other security guards. Be fast."

Not up to five minutes until the call got disconnected, the door swung open.

Security guards dressed in uniformed outfits strode inside, batons in their hands.

The leader stepped forward and bowed. “Ma, you called.”

She nodded and pointed at David. “Throw him out.”

He nodded vigorously, obeying the command without questioning. He motioned to the others. They marched forward.

“Please, don’t do this to me, ma,” David begged, his voice breaking. “I have nowhere to go. This is my only hope of survival. Please, I'm begging you.” He repeated.

But—

The guards held him and yanked him up effortlessly like he was some kind of empty sack and started storming outside.

David kicked his legs in the air, begging and protesting but it fell on deaf ears.

“Please, forgive me, David. I have no other option.” the manager said emotionally as the door slammed shut to her face.

Then she exhaled. “Need to hurry downstairs.’ she said, grabbed her phone.

Meanwhile, outside, four exotic cars lined up.

One Rolls-Royce. Two pathfinders. One BMW. All black.

Six able-bodied men all dressed in black rushed out of the cars, one twisting the door of the Rolls-Royce open.

Outstepped was a man around the age of sixty dressed in a white suit.

“Long live, master Walter.” Their voices echoed in harmony as they bowed in respect.

The man tucked his hand into his pocket, eyes surveying the environment. He smiled lightly. “Finally visiting here after such a long time staying away inspecting other companies of mine.”

“The place is not bad. I must say she is doing a very great job,” he admitted before starting to walk toward the entrance.

The men followed swiftly, face tightened. No smile. Expression serious. They looked dangerous.

As the man entered the hall—

The atmosphere changed. The scent of his perfume filled the air, dragging attention toward where he stood.

Clinking of plates halted.

Heads turned.

Gazes went up, staring.

Whispering started.

“That's him. Mr. Walter Taylor." One said. “The chairman."

“Really? He looks more wealthy than I thought." Another whispered.

“Heard he's got a multi-billion dollar company aside from this restaurant that he manages."

“He's a billionaire. He has got assets. Investment. Pretty many of them."

“He's got no son? No wife? I mean he's getting old."

“Not pretty sure. Have gone through his biography but nothing of such. Don't know if he's trying to keep them out of the spotlight. Wealthy people do that a whole lot, you know?”

"Oh yes!”

The men whispered, still staring.

“Wow!” One woman exclaimed, admiring. " He's so handsome and looks taken. That's the kind of man I crave, for real.”

“I wish I were his wife. Would travel around the world.”

The women murmured, licking their lips as they stared, admiring.

They started waving their hands, greeting the man, shifting on their seats, showing their large butts, as if trying to look sexy.

Some even dragged down their outfits, exposing their breasts.

However, the man didn't spare them a glance. He simply smiled at them, waving back.

Not up to a minute, screaming erupted in the place.

The man frowned, raising an eyebrow.

Two of his bodyguards rushed forward, pulling out guns, ready to fire if anything harmful tried to get closer to their master.

Customers paused their meal, yanking up on their feet.

Just then—

“Please, I'm begging. Don't throw me out. I'll beg all the customers. I'll beg the managers. She'll forgive.”

Still hung on one of the security guard’s left shoulder, David was busy begging, tears in his eyes, the brown envelope containing the sack letter and the one hundred buck note still wrapped in his palm.

The man lifted his face as the security men stepped down completely. “What's happening? Who's he?”

The leader stepped forward and bowed as he replied calmly. “He’s been sacked, sir, but he's still acting stubborn not to leave. So, the manager asked us to throw him out.’

The man scanned David. He was reluctant. “Bring him down.”