The Hidden Trillionaire Heir of Royal Elite Academy

Inherited Debt

Arthur arrived at the loading dock of Moore & Son Logistics before sunset. A notification blinked on his small phone. It was from the bank:

Account Holder: Arthur Moore

Total Outstanding Debt: $35,482,991.00

Amount Repaid: $312,450.00

Remaining Balance: $35,170,541.00

Daily Interest Accrued: +$18,740.00

Monthly Medical Charges: $2,100.00

Arthur stared at it for a long time, his heart aching from seeing those numbers.

Years ago, Arthur's father had taken a loan of $35 million dollars from the bank. He had used the family company, Moore & Son Logistics, as collateral.

When his father died, the debt did not disappear. Under the law, it was passed down to his son, Arthur.

Arthur had been twelve years old when he inherited his father's debt of $35 million for life. Most people never saw that kind of money in their entire lifetime.

The rest of the Moore family wanted nothing to do with the outrageous debt. They washed their hands clean, cutting off Arthur and his mother, leaving them to drown alone.

But the bank wanted its money back. Every month, the debt grew with interest. Arthur worked hard to pay it down, but it was like shoveling snow during a blizzard.

The more he worked, the more he owed.

To add to his troubles, his mother's medical bills were tied to this debt through a medical credit loop. The hospital she visited was owned by the bank. Every treatment and every medication was added to Arthur's debt ledger.

All these while, he was paying for her health care with his labor, not with cash.

In his lifetime, he had only managed to pay off $312,450.00. Still, it was nowhere near enough to clear the $35 million debt.

Inside the warehouse he found Manager Cross waiting for him, a big cigar hanging on his mouth.

Cross was the man the bank had installed to run operations and ensure Arthur worked off the debt. He was the meanest man Arthur had ever met. He literally treated Arthur like a work horse and made his life miserable.

Cross was a heavy man with a sharp face and sharper tongue. His hair was gray and combed sideways to hide a balding spot. He looked like a man who had climbed the corporate ladder by stepping on the fingers of those below him.

Beside him stood his assistant, a smug woman named Priscilla. Arthur approached them, keeping his head down and his voice submissive.

"Manager Cross," he said respectfully. "I'm here. Sorry for being late."

The slap came without warning.

SMACK!

Cross's open palm cracked against Arthur's left cheek, snapping his head to the side. The sound echoed through the warehouse like a gunshot.

A few workers glanced over, then quickly looked away. This was not the first time.

Arthur did not move. He did not raise his hand to his stinging cheek. Instead, he stood there, frozen, staring at the floor.

"You're late," Cross said angrily. "Do you know what happens when you are late to work, Arthur?"

Arthur swallowed. "I get Penalties, sir."

"Penalties." Cross nodded slowly, pretending to think. "You were twelve when the interest rates started working against you, boy."

"Yes, sir."

Cross barked. "Then you understand that every minute you waste, your debt grows."

Arthur's hands trembled at his sides, but he kept them locked in place.

"Perhaps we should increase his interest rate," Priscilla continued, tapping her fake nails on her clipboard. "The bank would approve. His mother is costing more than she is worth."

Cross smiled at that. "An interesting suggestion, Priscilla."

"Please." The word escaped Arthur's lips before he could stop it. He fell to his knees on the concrete floor and looked up at Cross with desperate eyes. "Please, Manager Cross. My mother needs her medication. If the debt increases, the bank might cut off her medication. She will die. Please. I am begging you."

Cross looked down at him. There was no pity in his eyes. "Look at you. Begging on your knees like a dog."

"Please, sir," Arthur whispered. "I will work double shifts as punishment. I will not be late again. I promise. Please."

Priscilla laughed. "Manager Cross, look at him. He is actually crying. How pathetic."

Arthur did not realize tears were streaming down his face until he tasted salt on his lips.

Cross crouched down until he was eye level with Arthur. He reached out and patted Arthur's cheek.

"Pathetic," Cross agreed. "That is exactly what you are. A pathetic little boy drowning in his father's mistakes. But lucky for you, I am a generous man. I will not increase your interest."

Arthur let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

"Get up," Cross said, standing. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting."

Arthur scrambled to his feet. He used his sleeve to dry his eyes and cheeks. His face felt hot and swollen.

Cross walked over to a wooden crate near the loading dock. He pried open the lid with a crowbar and reached inside. When he turned around, he was holding an expensive looking handbag.

"Do you know how much this costs?" Cross asked, holding the bag up like a priest holding a holy relic.

Arthur shook his head. "No, sir."

"This single handbag costs more than your debt payments for an entire year," Cross said. "And it is being delivered to the Royal Elite Academy to a young lady named Veronica Stephen."

He placed the bag back in the crate and closed the lid. "When you are done, you will return here and begin your night shift. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Cross tapped the cigar against the edge of the crate, ash falling like dead paper. "Let me warn you that if the client at Royal Elite Academy returns the delivery, then the value of that item becomes a liability."

Arthur slowly turned his head. "I don't understand, Sir."

Cross leaned in slightly. "In simple terms, if that handbag returns to this warehouse, you will be paying for it."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat.