Robert McAfee; The New Student Trillionaire

CHAPTER 6

The slap came so fast, Robert barely saw it coming—only the burn that bloomed across his cheek gave him time to register it. 

Mr. Barron Barry stood in front of him, seething, eyes red with fury and champagne glinting at the corners of his lips. The room fell to an eerie hush.

“You lowlife scum,” Barron hissed, seizing Robert’s wrist like he were detaining a stray animal. “How did you even get in here? Who let you in? This isn’t a charity dinner for mongrels.”

Murmurs swept the ballroom like a cruel wind. Pearls clinked against champagne flutes as the elite audience leaned in, eyes sparkling with glee at the spectacle of the shaming. Some sipped their drinks, some whispered behind manicured nails—but all watched.

Robert said nothing. He stood stiffly, his face still stinging, his breathing tight but even. Inside, something cold and bitter coiled.

Barron grinned like a conqueror, pleased with his performance. “Security!” he barked. “Get this rat out of my sight.”

Two men in black suits approached swiftly. They took hold of Robert’s arms, one on either side. The crowd parted like a sea of wolves, their laughter a chorus of mockery.

But Barron wasn’t finished. He reached for a flute of champagne and with a sadistic flourish, poured it slowly over Robert’s head. Liquid dripped down Robert’s temples, past his brows, soaking his collar. 

The crowd gasped—and then burst into laughter. 

The orchestra paused mid-tune. Even the chandeliers seemed to flicker.

Barron raised his hand again—another slap, this one echoing off the marble. Then he stepped back, adjusting his cufflinks with theatrical flair.

“This!” he boomed, gesturing toward Robert, “this is what we must eliminate from society.

 Once I become president, I’ll pass a bill that ensures the likes of him will never share rooms with decent people again. 

Mark my words—this will be the first reform under my rule.”

The crowd applauded. Some raised glasses. Others chanted his name.

“And why not be confident?” Barron continued, walking across the floor like a performer center-stage. “The McAfees—the Ultimate family—are backing me. Everyone knows what that means. Victory.”

Robert’s voice was quiet but steady. “Let go of me.”

The guards hesitated. The young man standing between them wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t shouting or begging. He was… calm.

“I said let go,” Robert repeated.

As if spellbound, the guards obeyed.

Robert turned without another word and walked out of the hall. Not a backward glance. Not a flinch.

Outside, the night air was cool and oddly silent. The echo of glass and laughter was sealed behind thick double doors. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

It rang once.

“Robert?” Mr. Edward’s voice came urgently on the other end.

“Pull out,” Robert said flatly. “All of it.”

“Wait—what?”

“Everything McAfee has ever invested in Barron Barry's. I want it all withdrawn. Now.”

“Robert—Robert, slow down,” Edward said. “What happened?”

“He’s the wrong man,” Robert said, walking slowly down the marble steps, water still dripping from his soaked shirt. 

“He’s rude, arrogant, and he humiliated me—twice. He’s not a man who should hold office. 

Not in a country where I hold shares in every third major business.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Robert, your grandfather—Trump McAfee—he made a vow to the Barry's before he passed. A debt. He pledged his backing. That’s why I—”

“I’m not my grandfather,” Robert cut in. “And I’m not backing a tyrant. We’re endorsing Primora Rigs. Immediately.”

“But—”

The line went dead.

Inside the gala, Barron Barry laughed triumphantly, mingling with senators and business moguls like he’d just secured the crown.

Then his phone buzzed.

The display read: Edward Jones.

He smirked and answered the speaker.

“Mr. Edward! I hope you saw my little show. That street rat will never forget it—”

“Silence, Barron.”

The room quieted again, those around him craning to listen.

“You just humiliated the heir to the McAfee empire.”

Barron blinked. “WHAT? WHAT HEIR?”

 Mr Barron was beyond shocked that he began to stammer as he couldn't believe that the representative he had been waiting for came and he was humiliated.

Still in shock, he tried to explain himself but Mr Edward interrupted him.

“ That's your problem but I am calling to inform you that he is no longer interested in you or your campaign and is redrawing all the funds invested immediately, I advise you to use your savings to cover up all the cost of your mistake “ Mr Edward advised him and also pointed out that his actions really disgusted Robert and that was the reason for his action.

“ Don't forget to end the party now and start paying off your debts “ Mr Edward scoffed at Mr Barron and ended the call.

Mr. Barron’s knees gave up on him as he crashed to the floor.

Gasps erupted around him. Whispers flew.

“Was that true?”

“The McAfees are pulling out?”

“Backing Rigs now? Oh God…”

Barron clutched his chest. Two billion dollars. That’s what he owed. He had raised just enough to stay afloat through the McAfee pledge. The promises he’d made to donors, the silent deals, the shadowy favors—all banking on tonight. On that one signature.

And now, nothing.

He was finished.

In less than an hour, the news broke:

Breaking News: McAfee Heir Humiliated at BarryFundraiser

Ultimate Family Pulls Support, Backs Primora Rigs

Barron BarryPlummets from 70% to 5% in New Polls

The story spread like wildfire. Screens in the ballroom flickered with updates. Attendees quietly made their exits. Donors whispered to their aides. Phones buzzed. Panic spread.

Barron remained on the floor, hands over his face, a broken man in a suit that cost more than most people’s homes.

Meanwhile, Robert walked alone down a quiet street, head bowed. The silence of the night didn’t offer comfort—it rang with questions. 

The events of the past few days blurred together: his mother’s illness, the mall, the ball, the humiliation… and now this.

He stopped under a streetlight, pulled out his phone again, and dialed his mother’s doctor.

The line clicked.

“Doctor Oswin,” a voice answered.

“Doctor… this is Robert Hyman. I need to know. How’s my mother?”

There was a pause. Then a soft sigh.

“She’s stable. 

We’ve managed to control the bleeding in her brain. She’s still unconscious, but the vitals are good. If she keeps improving, she might regain consciousness within the week.”

Robert exhaled, his shoulders sinking with relief. “Thank you.”

There was a long pause. “Robert… I think it’s time we talk about the truth. About who you are. And who your mother really is.”

But before Robert could ask what he meant, screeching tires sliced through the quiet.

A black BMW swerved around the corner, headlights blazing. Robert jumped out of the way as the car screeched to a stop a few meters ahead.

The doors burst open.

Out stepped the Orlando twins—Da

vid and Damian.

David was grinning, his white teeth bared like a wolf. Damian leaned against the car, arms crossed, the same smirk plastered on his