THE UPSTANDING DAVID MALCOLM

Chapter 4

David had already turned toward the door when a voice called after him.

“Wait.”

It was Benjamin. He stepped forward, closing the distance, his brown blazer neat and pressed. His tone was calm, his steps steady, but there was a weight of mockery in the way he carried himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, snapping it open as he extended it toward David.

“Mrs. Sofia,” Benjamin said smoothly, “Elizabeth’s mother, asked me to return this to you. She wanted you to have your wedding ring back. She couldn’t believe you actually bought such a cheap thing not even worth a dollar for her daughter.”

The words dripped like poison sugar.

Elizabeth’s lips curled in disdain the moment her eyes fell on the ring. She leaned closer, her voice sharp with scorn. “It looks like a stone from a brick.”

Benjamin chuckled softly and nodded twice in agreement. “Exactly. David, you were being paid five thousand dollars a month by the company, yet you couldn’t save enough to buy a proper diamond for Elizabeth. What a disgrace. A man like you only good at clinging to someone else’s fortune. A gold digger, that’s all you are.”

The insults lingered in the air, but David’s face didn’t change. He didn’t rise to their mockery. He simply extended his hand and collected the ring box from Benjamin, his movements calm, unshaken.

Then, without warning, he slammed it down against the ground.

The sound was sharp, like a crack of thunder in the silent room. Elizabeth and Benjamin both jumped back, fear flashing across their faces. They hadn’t expected such force. The box shattered instantly, breaking into splinters of dust.

But the ring itself didn’t crumble. It rolled slightly, resting on the floor with only two fine cracks across its surface. Its durability caught both their eyes, raising their brows in surprise.

Then Benjamin frowned but forced a scoff. “Even cheap stones sometimes refuse to die.”

David bent down, pressed the sole of his right foot against the ring, and ground it into the floor with deliberate force. Metal squealed, then the stone split into fragments, scattering like glass. Only when it was nothing but pieces did David step back.

His voice was calm, but each word cut with weight. “Better for the ring to turn into waste than for me to ever take back what I once gave Elizabeth.”

Then Elizabeth’s expression hardened, her pride bruised. Her smile vanished into a cold scowl. “What good was the ring anyway? I never knew you could be this childish.”

David’s lips curved faintly, the hint of a smile breaking his silence. “You’ll know the worth of that ring a month from now.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps were steady, his presence calm, but inside, his resolve was iron. He thought of the truth, the ring that lay shattered had been no ordinary jewel. It was the Phantom Stone, its true worth closer to a billion dollars. Not just for its rarity, but for the legend behind it, for the way it granted health, beauty, and clarity to the one who wore it.

Elizabeth had thrown away more than a gift. She had thrown away her future.

David shook his head as he reached the door, his hand brushing the cold handle. That ring had been the lowest of the treasures he had prepared for their wedding. His family would have arrived in Hills City in a month to witness it all but that would never happen now. Elizabeth had lost it. And she would lose much more.

**

A luxury Rolls Royce glided to a stop at the grand entrance of Hills National Bank. Its polished frame shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, but what caught the eyes of every onlooker wasn’t the car itself it was the plate number.

Hills Town Special Number: 333.

A mark of power. A mark of untouchable wealth. Only the top fifteen richest people in the entire city were granted the right to bear that number. Its cost alone was staggering over three million dollars. More expensive than the Rolls Royce it adorned.

The car did not stand alone. Flanking it on both sides were three massive SUVs, each jet black, their engines humming low like resting beasts. The doors of the SUVs opened in perfect sync, and from each vehicle, four men stepped out. Twelve in total.

Each man wore a dark suit, crisp and heavy with discipline. Their hands clutched sleek black briefcases, their shoulders squared. With precise steps, they moved forward, forming two straight lines that flanked the Rolls Royce. Their movements spoke of training, of loyalty carved into their very bones.

They stood gallantly at attention, their presence casting a wall of authority at the bank’s entrance.

Minutes passed. Onlookers stared, whispers swirling.

‘Who commanded such grandeur?’

Then, silence fell.

The back door of the Rolls Royce opened slowly, almost ceremonially. From within stepped a young man, brilliant and commanding. His hair was white as fresh snow, catching the light in a way that seemed unnatural. He wore a brown tailored suit, sharp at every edge, his height stretching above six feet. Broad shoulders, strong frame, every step announcing a man carved from power itself.

At once, the twelve men dropped into a deep bow. Ninety degrees. A salute not of routine, but reverence.

The young man didn’t spare them a glance. His stride was smooth, his air calm, his presence suffocating yet elegant. He didn’t need to acknowledge loyalty it was his by right.

As he approached the glass doors, they swung open automatically, as though the bank itself bent in welcome.

One of his bodyguards stepped forward, pulling a sleek microphone from his jacket. With a clear, booming voice that filled the grand hall, he announced the arrival that froze every soul inside.

“The Money Giant,” the guard declared, his words echoing, “Alexander Gabriel has arrived!”

The moment the announcement thundered through the bank, every head inside snapped toward the entrance. Whispers rippled, gasps broke out, and the once-calm hall turned electric.

“The Money Giant… Alexander!” someone muttered, their voice trembling with awe.

In an instant, phones were raised. Flash after flash lit up the lobby as people scrambled to capture the sight. Others, more desperate, dropped to their knees, bowing low against the marble floor as if Alexander’s very shadow could bless them.

Alexander smirked faintly, his sharp features curling with amusement. His gaze slid over the crowd, unbothered, almost entertained. “I don’t have time for this,” he said coolly, his voice smooth yet dismissive. “I am in a hurry today.”

He strode past them without slowing, his polished shoes tapping lightly against the floor. Normally, he might have tossed out a couple of dollars to those who groveled, but not today. To him, they weren’t worshippers, only beggars none of them had dared kiss his shoes, and in his mind, that was the true mark of devotion. Without that, they weren’t worth his notice.

As Alexander approached the teller lines, his bodyguards fanned out like wolves marking territory. Eight of them marched ahead of him, their steps echoing in unison. They stopped before the waiting customers, their voices raised in command.

“Step aside! Sir Alexander Gabriel is in a hurry!”

Immediately fear and respect surged through the room. The lines dissolved instantly, people stepping back without complaint, eyes lowered. None dared resist none, except one.

At the front, an elderly man stood, frail but firm, leaning slightly on his cane.

The lead guard’s expression darkened, shadows carving hard lines across his face. He stepped forward, boots stopping just inches from the old man. His voice came out deep and sharp.

“Move out of the way, old man. The Money Giant is in a hurry.”