The 900 Billion Dollar Heir

Chapter Four - The Heir

Duane's vision went red. His entire body trembled with rage as he watched them move toward his mother's room.

They were going to throw her out and discard her like she was nothing.

"Stop."

His voice cut through the chaos, shaking with fury. Everyone turned to look at him.

His hands clenched into fists. His jaw was so tight it hurt. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to explode.

The supervisor's lip curled in disgust as his eyes swept over Duane's bloodstained clothes. 

"You. You're the one who brought this mess here in the first place. Your mother's time is up. We've been more than generous keeping her alive this long without payment."

"I have the money." Duane's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he walked forward. "I can pay for everything. Just don't touch her."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the supervisor threw his head back and laughed. The security guards joined in, their laughter echoing through the corridor like a cruel chorus.

"You have the money?" The supervisor wiped tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "You? Look at yourself. You're covered in blood, wearing clothes that probably came from a thrift store, and you expect me to believe you suddenly have a hundred thousand dollars?"

"I do." Duane's voice was steady despite the rage building in his chest. "Let me pay, and this all ends."

The supervisor's laughter died, replaced by a cold sneer. "Fine. Let's play your little game. If you can actually pay, right here, right now, then I'll resign from my position. I'll get down on my knees and apologize to your mother myself." His smile turned vicious. "But when you can't pay, when this turns out to be another pathetic bluff, I'm calling the police and having you arrested for trespassing and wasting hospital resources."

Duane reached into his pocket and pulled out the Black Gold Card.

The matte black surface caught the fluorescent lights, the gold trim gleaming. The Pinnacle Reserve logo was embossed in the corner, completely unmistakable.

For just a moment, everyone froze.

The supervisor's eyes widened. One of the security guards took a step back. Even the doctor, still holding his reddened cheek, stared at the card in shock.

Then the supervisor's face twisted with contempt. 

"Oh, please. Do you really think I'm that stupid?" He stepped closer, his voice dripping with mockery. "You couldn't pay five minutes ago. You showed up here looking like a homeless person. And now you're trying to tell me you have a Black Gold Card? The rarest credit card in the world?"

"It's fake." The supervisor's voice rose. "It's obviously fake. You probably bought it online, some cheap knockoff made in someone's basement. Did you really think you could fool me with a piece of plastic?"

“You wouldn't be able to differentiate what's real and what's fake?” Duane said coldly. 

Without another word, he moved toward the payment terminal near the nurse's station. "Then let me use it. Let me pay, and you'll see."

"I don't think so." The supervisor moved to block his path. "I'm not letting you waste any more of our time with your scams."

"Get out of my way." 

"Or what? You'll bleed on me?" The supervisor's smile was sharp and cruel. "Face it. You're a nobody. A desperate, pathetic nobody who's trying to pull a con because you can't accept that your mother is –"

Duane raised the card toward the payment terminal.

The supervisor's hand shot out and knocked it from Duane's grip.

The Black Gold Card clattered across the floor, spinning before coming to rest near the wall.

"Oops," the supervisor said, his voice mocking. "Looks like your fake card fell. What a shame."

Something inside Duane snapped.

All the humiliation from the party, the desperation and fear and rage he'd been holding back, Gloria's laughter, the locked car doors came together and anger overtook him in that moment. 

He lunged forward and grabbed the supervisor by his expensive suit jacket.

"You son of a –"

His fist connected with the supervisor's jaw. Once, twice, three times. The man stumbled backward, crashing against the wall.

The supervisor's face was a mess. 

His lip was split wide open, blood pouring down his chin and dripping onto his expensive white shirt. His left eye was already swelling shut, the skin around it turning purple. 

His nose was bleeding, red streaks running over his mouth. He clutched his face with both hands, his fingers coming away covered in blood.

"You're insane!" he shouted, but his voice was weak and trembling now. He spat blood onto the floor. "You just assaulted me! You're finished!"

"Don't just stand there!" he screamed at the security guards. "Grab him! Teach this psycho a lesson!"

The two guards moved toward Duane, reaching for his arms.

"Stop! Everyone stop right now!"

The voice rang out from the end of the corridor and everyone went still. 

Duane turned, his chest heaving, his fists still clenched.

A young man stood at the entrance to the ICU wing. He was tall and well-dressed, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. 

His dark hair was perfectly styled, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who was used to affluence. 

But it wasn't just his appearance that made everyone stare.

It was the five men in black suits flanking him and the hospital administrator hurrying alongside him, looking nervous and deferential.

Suddenly, someone in the crowd gasped. 

"Wait, Morrison? As in Morrison Pharmaceuticals?"

Another voice, trembling with

disbelief: "That's Daniel Morrison. The heir to the city's biggest pharmaceutical conglomerate."