The Magic Black Card

Could it be real?

Chapter Two

“Me?” Ethan asked.

The man nodded, which made Ethan's brows furrowed even more.

“I'm sorry, you've got the wrong person, bro. I don't think we've crossed paths before” he said.

He raised his left eyebrow as the man let out a chuckle. Ethan tilted his head as he struggled to recall any prior encounter with this enigmatic figure. The man, seemingly unperturbed by Ethan's lack of recognition, emitted a dry chuckle that reverberated through the air. 

“You don't know me,” the man responded, his tone both confident and mysterious. “But I know you too well, young Master. I am here to assist you in reclaiming what you have lost.” 

Ethan's skepticism surged within him, causing him to scoff in disbelief. He couldn't help but question whether this stranger truly believed he had the luxury of time to waste on such far-fetched claims. 

“I don't understand,” Ethan replied, confusion evident in his voice. “Reclaim what exactly? How can you approach a random stranger, and claim to want to help them reclaim something?” He tried to make sense of the stranger's unexpected proposition. 

“I'm sorry for not introducing myself properly,” the stranger said, acknowledging his earlier mistake.

“If you'll excuse me, I have something of great importance to attend to.” 

The man noticed Ethan's attempt to dismiss him because Ethan's voice held a touch of impatience as he interjected. He sensed the disbelief etched across Ethan's face and predicted his reluctance to entertain his words. 

Slowly, deliberately, he retrieved a black card from deep within his pocket, causing Ethan's eyes to widen in recognition. The significance of the card was undeniable, and Ethan couldn't help but be intrigued by its mysterious aura.

“I am Mr. Clinton, known as one of your grandfather's most trusted men,” he introduces himself, his voice carrying a hint of authority. 

He extends a black card, which appears to hold immense significance for Ethan's family. 

“This black card belongs to your family, and it holds immeasurable wealth. You can spend as much as you desire with no limitations.” 

As Ethan reaches out with a trembling hand to accept the card, Ethan adds.

“And did you honestly believe that I would be swayed by this counterfeit card? You're nothing more than a deceitful liar and a waste of my time,” Ethan retorts, his voice laced with disappointment and frustration. 

Mr. Clinton chuckles dismissively, seemingly unperturbed by Ethan's accusation.

“Here is my card as well. When you are ready to uncover your true identity, you can contact me.” With a slight bow of his head, Mr. Clinton retreats gracefully towards the waiting car, bidding farewell to Ethan. 

Overwhelmed with curiosity and disbelief, Ethan ponders whether this could be a reality. Filled with intrigue, he determines that the only way to verify the authenticity of the card is by paying a visit to the bank.

Ethan hailed a cab swiftly, his urgency driving him to determine the authenticity of the card. As soon as they arrived at the bank, he wasted no time in stepping out and heading towards the counter. 

Waiting patiently for the cashier's attention, he was suddenly startled by a familiar voice behind him. 

Turning around, he recognized the man who had been involved with his wife before their marriage. With a mixture of surprise and disdain, Ethan listened to the man's derogatory remarks. 

“It appears we meet again,” the man sneered. “Are you here once more to siphon money from your wife's account? I must say, your complete lack of shame never fails to amaze me.”

“You can clearly see that I am not here for you,” Ethan retorted, his patience wearing thin. “Is it too much to ask for you to mind your own business or simply pretend you never saw me? Must you continue to behave like a constant nuisance?” 

“And who are you to talk back at me?” The man sneered, his voice laced with arrogance. 

A cruel smirk played on the stranger's lips as he continued his tirade. “You think you can talk back to anyone just because you came here to get money that isn't yours? How comical, Ethan. You really need to know your place. When I am speaking, you should keep quiet.” 

The stranger's demeaning words were accompanied by a physical intrusion, as his hand landed forcefully on Ethan's chest. All the while, he maintained his gaze on the cashier, as if attempting to assert dominance. 

“Where's the manager?” he demanded, his voice laced with entitlement.

“I'm sorry if my response wasn't to your liking,” Ethan replied in a neutral tone, attempting to maintain his composure in the face of the stranger's aggression. “But I believe everyone deserves to be treated with respect regardless of their circumstances. As for your question about Claire and me, that is between us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my matters to attend to here at the bank.” 

Ethan instinctively stepped back as the stranger placed his hand on his chest. Trying to defuse the tension, he shifted his attention to the cashier. 

“Could you please attend to me?” he requested calmly, determined to address the situation in a more appropriate manner.

“Where is the manager? This is unacceptable! How can you allow some lowlife to insult your VIP in such a manner?” The man's voice boomed, filled with anger and entitlement. “I demand to be attended to by the manager personally.” Responding to the commotion, the bank manager emerged from his office. 

“Good day, Mr. Johnson," the manager said apologetically, his head bowing as he addressed Mr Johnson. Feeling regretful for the delay, he added, "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, sir. I'm very sorry." 

"I can't take this. If I hadn't come to this darn bank today, someone like him wouldn't insult me," Mr. Johnson exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "Is this how your customers behave towards your VIP?" Listening attentively, the manager replied with a sincere tone.

 "I'm very sorry, Mr. Johnson." His gaze then shifted towards Ethan, and he couldn't help but give him a critical once-over, scrunching his face in evident disgust.

“Your apologies are useless if they're not accompanied by action," Mr. Johnson said firmly, his voice carrying a sense of authority. "I'm tired of being kept waiting, and this low life here has the nerve to treat me like a nobody," he exclaimed, pointing directly at Ethan. "It's clear that you and your staff can't handle your important customers properly. I'm a VIP here, and I expect to be treated as such." As the weight of Mr. Johnson's words settled in, the manager's face visibly paled.

 "Sir, please accept my apologies once again. You're our VIP, and you have every right to be upset. I will personally ensure that this is resolved immediately," the manager pleaded, Ethan simply scoffed, seemingly unimpressed by the manager's words.

The manager, feeling the tension rising, firmly asserted.

 "Mr. this person is our VIP, and you can't address him disrespectfully. It is important to maintain a respectful environment here, so apologize to him now!." Ethan responded with a scoff and raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

 "You don't even know what happened between the both of us, and you just come here and ask me to apologize? Is that how you behave in this bank?" he questioned. The manager sighed, sensing that the situation was becoming more intense. 

"As I mentioned before, this person holds an important status here. We must ensure that all our VIP customers are treated with respect and courtesy, regardless of the circumstances," he explained, his voice stern, “and If you don't want me to involve security, you need to offer a genuine apology." The manager said, his voice tinged with frustration, and Ethan scoffed in disbelief.

 "I can't apologize to him. I'll have to go to another bank," Ethan declared firmly. 

"You can't leave until you apologize," the manager insisted. 

"Are you for real? I came here on my own, and I'll surely go back on my own," Ethan retorted. Mr. Johnson, displaying an air of arrogance, chimed in.

 "Let him be. That's how poor people like him behave. Come and attend to me, I am running late." 

"I won't make the mistake of stepping my foot in this bank ever again," Ethan stated firmly. He then pulled out a card from his pocket, causing the manager's face to register shock.

The Manager's eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth fell open. 

The Manager's mind reeled as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. The black card in the stranger’s hand glinted under the fluorescent lights, and the bold, embossed letters shimmered like liquid gold. 

Was this card really real? Could it be a fake? The man’s thoughts raced as he struggled to make sense of what was happening.