The Poor Student Turns Out To Be A Second Generation Heir!

Chapter 7: Identify Authenticity

Chapter 7: Identify Authenticity

Mary quickly nodded, her expression tense. This was beyond her ability to resolve. If something went wrong, the consequences were too severe to imagine.

She took out her phone swiftly and dialed the manager. The call connected after a few rings. "Manager, there’s an issue at Caesar Mall. We have a customer with a Crown Black Gold Card, and we can’t verify whether it’s authentic. Could you come over?"

The manager agreed, and Mary hung up. Turning to Lawrence, she barked sharply, "Stay right here. Don’t move. The manager will arrive shortly. Then we’ll see if your card is genuine."

Lawrence, still caught off guard, tried to process the chaos. All I wanted was to buy a damn bag, and now this?

Minutes later, a woman in her thirties appeared. She had a commanding presence—tall, with an alluring figure, and dressed in a professional yet revealing outfit: a hip-hugging short skirt suit, the contours of her full breasts straining against her blouse, and her legs encased in sleek black stockings. She wore black heels, striding confidently towards Mary with a smile that radiated both authority and grace.

Mary wasted no time. She launched into an explanation of the situation, outlining the reason for the disturbance.

The manager observed Lawrence carefully. His clothing were literally basic streetwear and didn’t exactly scream luxury, yet her professional training kept her demeanor neutral. Her gaze softened slightly as she spoke, "I’m terribly sorry, sir. May I have a moment to check your card?"

Lawrence didn’t feel any animosity toward her. At least she wasn’t treating him with disdain like the others had. He handed her the Crown Black Gold Card without hesitation.

The manager took the card and examined it carefully, flipping it over, inspecting every edge and corner. Her brow furrowed. This doesn’t seem fake, but it could still be a masterful forgery.

To be sure, she pulled out a small device—smaller than a POS terminal—and inserted the card, her fingers flying over the buttons as she entered a long string of commands.

"Let’s see how this poor bastard handles things now," Karen muttered under her breath, smirking as she pulled out her phone, already preparing to call the police.

The machine hummed for a moment. After a few seconds, the black-and-white crown logo appeared on the screen. The manager’s breath caught in her throat. She had only ever seen this symbol in theory.

But this wasn’t enough to confirm authenticity.

The manager took a deep breath and turned to Lawrence, her voice now more respectful. "Sir, due to the special nature of this card, I’ll need a small blood sample from you to confirm its authenticity. It’s a standard procedure."

Lawrence, who had been waiting patiently, raised an eyebrow at the request. A blood sample? To confirm a card? He was baffled by the whole concept. But he didn’t let it show.

"Fine," Lawrence replied, trying to remain calm despite the bizarre turn of events. "What do I need to do?"

The manager gestured to the machine, where a tiny hole sat at the base of the screen. "Just place your finger here," she instructed.

'I hope this thing is sanitise. And why will a card that only 5 people in the world has make every shop own a machine that scan it' Lawrence hesitated for only a second before placing his finger on the spot. A sharp sting pierced his skin, and a single drop of blood fell into the hole.

The machine beeped. A series of bright beeps echoed in the room while everyone watching the screen.

After a few tense moments, the black-and-white crown on the screen shifted, turning into vibrant color. Below it, Lawrence’s name appeared in bold text.

The manager’s face lit up with shock and excitement. She quickly pulled the card out of the machine, handling it like it was something sacred. "Mr. Lawrence, this card is authentic. Please accept it. As for the misunderstanding in our shop, I’ll ensure it’s properly addressed."

"What?"

A stunned silence fell over the group. The reality of the situation set in. The card was real. And it was Lawrence’s.

Karen was the first to react, her jaw practically on the floor. She had been so certain the card was a fake, but now, seeing the confirmation, the humiliation hit her like a slap to the face.

"It's over." Mary slumped into a chair, her face drained of color. The light in her eyes seemed to vanish.

Dylan stood there, rooted to the spot, his thoughts racing. It’s over. We’re finished.

Lawrence nodded quietly, taking the card from the manager’s hands. He was calm, the shock of the situation not yet fully settling in.

The manager breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Lawrence had remained composed. Had he gotten angry, she would have been the one to bear the brunt of it.

But she wasn’t done. She turned toward Dylan and Karen, the truth now clear in her eyes. From Mary’s earlier explanation, she understood that they had been mocking Lawrence from the start.

She wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

"May I ask why you encouraged our staff to treat our most valued customer with disrespect?" she asked, her voice icy. "What exactly were you hoping to accomplish?"

Karen simply crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, unbothered by the manager’s question. "Induced? Please. I was just looking out for you. If his card is a fake, it would’ve been embarrassing for Dior, wouldn’t it? But now you’re blaming us for your incompetence. Looks like Dior’s employee training isn’t up to scratch, huh?"

The manager’s face darkened at the insolence. Ever since her promotion to manager, no one had dared speak to her in such a way. Certainly no one had ever disrespected the brand she represented.

"You don’t get to insult us or question our competence," she said coldly. "Starting today, your names will be added to our store’s blacklist. And I’ll also be notifying the Luxury Goods Alliance. You’re officially banned from spending in any luxury stores worldwide. Now, I suggest you leave."

The words hit Karen like a freight train, turning her face paled. In the past, she was the one who kicked people out of stores; now, she was being expelled herself—by someone she had considered beneath her. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

"Wait, what?" Karen screamed, her voice rising in indignation. "You’re kicking me out for him? For a poor guy like Lawrence?"

The manager’s voice cut through her protests. "Yes. I’m kicking you out, and you’re never welcome here again."

"What right does a lowly woman like you have to kick me?! I have the right to enter wherever I want!" Karen couldn't help but say in a shrinking voice which pissed the manager. No one has ever called her lowly and this was the height of it.

Pa!

A resounding slap echoed through the store.