The Pauper Who Ruled the Campus

Chapter 11

Marcus slipped the phone back into his pocket as Emmanuel’s call ended. The taxi driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“Campus, right? Which gate?”

“Main entrance,” Marcus said. “And hurry.”

The driver nodded and pressed the accelerator. The city blurred past the windows, but Marcus’s mind raced faster. Professor Frost was looking for him. That never ended well. Yet after everything—the fundraiser, the Galaxy Corporation, the black card—fear felt distant, almost foreign.

The taxi pulled up at the campus entrance. Marcus handed over more than enough cash. “Keep the change.”

The driver’s eyes widened. “Thanks, boss!”

Marcus was already moving, legs carrying him across the quad. Students stared as he passed. Whispers followed. Some pointed. He ignored them and headed straight for the lecture hall.

The room was empty when he arrived. Chairs pushed back. Chalk dust still floating in the air. Professor Frost had already left.

Marcus exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly. Maybe the day would end quietly after all.

Then two security guards appeared at the door.

“Marcus?” one asked.

He nodded.

“Come with us. Professor Frost wants you in his office. Now.”

They flanked him as they walked. The corridor felt longer than usual. Students watched from doorways, phones already recording. Marcus kept his head high.

When they reached the office, the guards knocked once. Professor Frost’s voice barked from inside.

“Enter.”

The door opened. The guards stepped aside.

“Leave us,” Frost ordered.

They bowed slightly and closed the door behind them.

The office was dim, blinds half-drawn. Frost stood behind his massive desk, face thunderous.

Marcus stood still.

Frost wasted no time. He lunged forward, grabbed Marcus by the collar, and yanked him close.

“Why?” Frost growled. “Why did you lay hands on my daughter?”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Sir, I didn’t. I swear. She came to my hostel this morning. She slapped me. Twice. I never touched her.”

Frost’s grip tightened. “Liar.”

He released Marcus suddenly and pointed at the phone on the desk.

“Check it. See for yourself.”

Marcus picked up his own phone, hands steady despite the pounding in his chest. A new video had been sent to him—anonymous sender.

He pressed play.

The footage was crystal clear. It showed him outside his hostel, slapping Julian hard across the face. Then punching her again. Daniel tried to intervene, and Marcus shoved him to the ground, kicking him repeatedly. Julian cried, tears streaming. The video was edited perfectly—real lighting, real sounds of impact, real pain on her face.

Marcus’s stomach dropped. He could not speak.

Frost watched him, eyes cold.

“Explain that,” the professor said.

“I… I never—”

Frost’s hand cracked across Marcus’s face. The slap rang out. Marcus’s phone nearly slipped from his fingers.

“You think you can touch my daughter and walk away?” Frost roared. “You will be an example. Every student will know what happens when they cross my family.”

He shoved Marcus toward the door, hard.

Marcus stumbled. Frost raised his hand again, ready for another blow.

The door burst open.

Mr. Jack stepped inside.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a simple black suit that somehow looked more intimidating than any uniform. Mr. Jack was no ordinary man. He led the Griffin Empire’s enforcement arm—the mafia group whispered about in every corner of campus. Lecturers feared him. Students avoided his name. Even professors lowered their voices when he passed.

Frost’s anger vanished instantly. A smile replaced it.

“Jack! Perfect timing. This boy—”

Mr. Jack ignored him at first. He walked straight to Marcus, lifted him gently by the arm, and guided him back into the room. Frost followed, still talking.

“He assaulted my daughter. Look at the video. It’s everywhere.”

Mr. Jack closed the door.

He turned to Marcus. “Did you do what the video shows?”

Marcus met his eyes. “No. I never touched her. She slapped me. Multiple times. Her boyfriend Daniel almost fought my roommate. I stopped it. That’s all.”

Mr. Jack nodded once. Then he looked at Frost.

“Where is your daughter now?”

Frost straightened. “Receiving treatment. The injuries are severe.”

Mr. Jack’s expression did not change.

“I will handle this personally,” he said.

Frost smiled wider. “Thank you.”

Mr. Jack took Marcus by the arm again. “Come.”

They walked out together. Frost watched them go, satisfaction clear on his face.

Outside the building, Mr. Jack stopped.

He pulled out his phone and made a single call.

“Release Professor Frost’s files. All of them. Now.”

He ended the call and looked at Marcus.

“You will see how real power works.”

He guided Marcus to a waiting black SUV. They climbed in. The car pulled away smoothly.

Inside the office, Frost picked up his phone and dialed Julian.

“It worked,” he said when she answered. “The video is perfect. No one will save him. Not even the chancellor. He’s finished.”

He chuckled.

Then heavy knocking echoed through the door.

Frost frowned. “Who is it?”

The knocking grew louder.

He opened the door.

A crowd of students stood there—dozens, phones raised, faces furious.

Before he could speak, hands grabbed him. They pulled him out.

Fists flew. Punches landed on his arms, his chest, his face. Someone kicked him in the ribs. Others recorded every second.

Frost tried to shout. “What is this? Stop!”

No one listened.

The documents had already leaked. Bank statements. Emails. Proof that Frost and Julian had been siphoning student fees, hostel payments, even scholarship donations for years. Millions gone. The evidence was undeniable.

Across campus, Julian and Daniel tried to run. They slipped out of the medical center, bags packed, heading for the back gate.

Police cars blocked every exit.

Officers stepped forward.

“Julian Frost? Daniel Reed? You’re under arrest for fraud, embezzlement, and conspiracy.”

Julian screamed. Daniel tried to push past. They were cuffed and dragged away.

Cameras flashed. News vans arrived. The story spread instantly—global headlines, live streams, viral clips. The AI-edited video of Marcus attacking Julian crumbled under scrutiny. The real story emerged. The professor’s corruption. The daughter’s role. The fake assault.

Media outlets carried the footage: students dragging Frost from his office, police arresting Julian and Daniel in handcuffs.

The Griffin Empire’s reach was absolute.

In the black SUV, Mr. Jack drove in silence for a while. Marcus stared out the window, watching the city pass.

His phone rang.

He looked at the screen.

Grandfather.

He answered.

“Marcus, my boy.”

“Grandfather.”

“It is time. Come to the Empire. We have much to discuss.”

Marcus nodded, even though no one could see.

“I’m on my way.”

He ended the call.

Mr. Jack glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“Your grandfather awaits.”

Marcus leaned back.

The car sped toward the horizon.

Chapter 10: The Heir Returns!

Marcus lowered the phone slowly after his grandfather’s words faded from the line. The black SUV hummed beneath him, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows. Mr. Jack glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“What did he say, Young Master?”

“He wants me at the Empire. Now.”

Mr. Jack nodded once. “Understood.”

Within minutes, the road ahead filled with headlights. A convoy of sleek black Mercedes-Benz vehicles appeared, pulling up in perfect formation. Engines purred like distant thunder. The lead car slowed, doors opening in unison. Men in dark suits stepped out, saluting sharply.

Mr. Jack brought the SUV to a stop. He turned to Marcus.

“I am sorry for everything you endured today, Young Master. It will not happen again.”

He saluted deeply, then drove off into the night.

Marcus stepped out. The white Mercedes in the center of the convoy waited, door held open by a silent driver. He slid inside. The door closed with a soft, expensive thud. The convoy moved as one, gliding through the city toward the hidden heart of the Griffin Empire.

The journey felt endless and instantaneous at once. Gates opened before them—massive iron structures adorned with the Griffin crest. Marcus thought they had arrived at the first checkpoint. But the cars continued, passing through manicured lawns, private lakes, and towering estates until they reached the innermost grounds: his grandfather’s personal residence.

Security teams lined the entrance—rows of men and women in black, standing at perfect attention. Mr. Leo waited at the front, hands clasped behind his back.

The car stopped. Marcus stepped out.

Mr. Leo bowed. “Welcome home, Young Master.”

He led Marcus up the marble steps. At the top stood an elderly man—tall, silver-haired, eyes sharp despite the years. His grandfather.

The moment their eyes met, the old man’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. He opened his arms.

Marcus walked straight into the embrace. His grandfather pulled him close, holding him tightly, as though afraid he might vanish again.

“My boy,” the old man whispered. “My only grandson.”

They held the hug for a long moment. Then the grandfather stepped back, eyes shining.

“Bring the wine,” he ordered a nearby waitress.

She returned quickly with a single bottle—deep red, label aged and priceless. The grandfather took it himself.

“This vintage is worth $3 million,” he said, pouring two glasses with steady hands. “Only twelve bottles exist in the world.”

They clinked glasses.

“To new beginnings,” the grandfather said.

Marcus sipped. The taste was rich, smooth, unforgettable.

The grandfather set his glass down. “Your father was my only son. When he died, your mother took you and ran. She wanted to protect you from this world. We searched for years. We tried to bring you both back, even before she passed. She refused. She said she could not lose you the way she lost him.”

He paused, voice softening.

“Before she died, she called us. She asked us to take you in when the time was right. We waited. We let you face hardship so you would grow strong. Now, you are ready.”

Mr. Leo approached, carrying a leather folder.

The grandfather took it. “These are the Empire documents. Sign them, Marcus. Become the heir.”

Marcus opened the folder. Page after page of legal text, seals, signatures. He signed every one—steady, deliberate.

When the last page was done, his grandfather hugged him again, tighter this time.

“Welcome home, truly.”

He turned to Mr. Leo. “Take him to the garage. Let him choose a car. Then to the fashion room. He has a car show to attend.”

Mr. Leo bowed. “This way, Young Master.”

They walked through corridors lined with art and history. The garage doors opened automatically.

Rows of cars gleamed under soft lights. Limited editions. Only three of each ever made. The lowest price tag started at $10 million. Lamborghinis, Bugattis, custom hypercars—each one a masterpiece.

Marcus walked slowly. His eyes stopped on a sleek white hypercar—curves like liquid silver, engine humming even at rest. The plaque read $50 million.

“This one,” he said.

Mr. Leo smiled. “Excellent choice.”

They moved to the Griffin fashion room. Rows of tailored suits, shirts, shoes—all custom, all perfect. Mr. Leo selected quickly—black suit, crisp white shirt, polished shoes. Marcus changed in minutes.

As they prepared to leave, Mr. Leo’s expression turned serious.

“Young Master, we have news. The people who killed your father… and poisoned your mother with that deadly disease… we have found them.”

Marcus froze.

“They were once the Royal Empire. After their crimes, they changed their name to Black Dove to hide. They are Baron Thorn’s family.”

The name hit like a thunderclap. Baron—the one who took Thalia, the one who mocked him, the one who thought he owned everything.

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “They made me an orphan. They took everything.”

Mr. Leo nodded. “They will pay.”

Marcus stepped toward the car. “I will crush them myself.”

He slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life—deep, powerful, alive. He pulled out of the garage, tires gripping the road like claws.

The convoy followed at a respectful distance.

His phone rang as he hit the highway. Mr. Leo.

Marcus answered on the speaker.

“Young Master.”

“What is it?”

“The management of Galaxy Corporation just contacted us. Elite-Star University is hosting their car show tonight at our newest event center. They are inviting the new CEO personally.”

Marcus’s grip tightened on the wheel.

Before he could respond, a notification popped up.

He opened it.

A video from Jackson.

Jackson stood in front of flashing lights, smiling wide.

“Big news, everyone! The new CEO of Galaxy Corporation is coming to the car show tonight! My father has connections with the manager, so I’ll make sure we all get some face time. And don’t worry—Marcus will be sent out the moment he shows up. That little $2 million the chancellor handed him? It’s already gone. See you all there!”

The video ended.

Marcus stared at the frozen image of Jackson’s smug face.

He smiled—slow, dangerous.

“Let’s see who sends who out of the event tonight.”

He pressed the accelerator. The $50 million hypercar surged forward, eating the road, racing toward the lights of the city and the reckoning that waited.