THE BEGGER BOY IS RICH HEIR

CHAPTER 6

Ethan stood in the lavish living room, the weight of the golden bank card pressing against his palm.

His mind was a whirlwind of questions, the biggest being Who is Lisa Barrett?

 His future was now tied to a woman he knew nothing about, and though the thought of her stirred a flicker of curiosity—Was she beautiful? Kind? Spoiled?—his gaze shifted back to the bank card.

Money, he thought. Money changes everything.

The memory of endless humiliation, the constant weight of struggling just to get by, flashed through his mind.

 All those times he’d been belittled and beaten down, just because he wasn’t rich.

Now, he held the power to change it.

Just as Ethan was about to ask his father more, his father’s phone rang.

Ethan’s father’s expression changed, a flash of urgency in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, son. There’s an emergency I have to attend to,” his father said, his voice quick and businesslike. “For now, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Ethan watched his father disappear through the grand doors, the sound of his hurried steps echoing in the vast hallway.

 Ethan looked down at the bank card, feeling a surge of determination.

“I’ll go to the bank,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll get some cash… it’s time to finally live.”

"But how..."

"If I may, young master," Steve's voice startled him. The butler wore a knowing smile. 

"Your transportation has already been arranged."

Ethan scratched his head, a bit sheepish. “But… I don’t exactly have a license.”

“No problem,” Steve replied, waving for Ethan to follow.

They stepped outside to the gleaming driveway, where Ethan’s eyes widened as Steve unveiled a sleek scooter.

“This is for you, sir,” Steve said with pride.

“A scooter?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Steve’s grin widened.

“Not just any scooter, Master Ethan. This one is custom-made from carbon fiber, designed by one of the top car manufacturers. It’s worth… well, around a hundred thousand dollars.”

Ethan stared at the scooter, speechless.

The thought of a hundred thousand dollars was beyond him. 

“My father spent that much… on a scooter?” He shook his head, trying to comprehend.

Only yesterday, he’d agonized over spending ten dollars on a meal.

“Your father wanted you to have something special. It’s yours now,” Steve said, handing him an engraved helmet with Ethan’s name carefully carved on the side.

Ethan accepted it, still half in shock, and managed a grateful smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

He strapped on the helmet, climbed onto the scooter, and started the engine, feeling its smooth hum beneath him. 

As he rode toward the bank, the cool wind against his face, he felt a new sense of freedom.

This is my life now.

As he pulled into the bank’s parking lot, he parked the scooter carefully near the entrance and took a moment to look at it. 

The thought of what it represented—the power, the freedom—sent a thrill through him.

He took a deep breath, pocketed the bank card, and strode toward the entrance.

But just as he was about to push open the glass doors, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned to see a security guard, his arms crossed, looking him up and down with a sneer.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the guard demanded, his voice laced with disdain.

Ethan blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… inside? To withdraw money.”

The guard snorted, giving Ethan’s casual attire a contemptuous once-over. “We don’t allow beggars in here.”

The words hit Ethan like a slap. Beggars? It was a term he’d heard too many times, always from people who looked down on him. 

The familiar sting of humiliation threatened to surface, but Ethan kept his composure. “I’m not a beggar,” he replied firmly. “I have an account here.”

The guard scoffed, unimpressed. “Yeah, sure you do. Look, kid, we get people like you all the time. This is a private bank, alright? Take this.”

 He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled one-dollar bill, and shoved it toward Ethan. “Here. Take it and move along.”