The Super-rich Gerald Arnold

Chapter 3

Gerald walked through the school gates that morning with a different air around him. His mind was a raging storm. The conversation with Uncle Sam replayed in his head on loop like a broken record.

Each time, it hit harder. It wasn’t just some tale to make him feel better, Uncle Sam didn’t look like someone to joke. The man was serious, calm, and matter-of-fact when he revealed the truth. Gerald Arnold, the poor orphan everyone pitied and mocked, was now the heir to a fortune so vast it could buy the entire city if he wished. Two hundred billion dollars. At least. That number alone could paralyze a man.

But with the truth came anger. Boiling, pulsing anger. Why did they let him suffer? Why did no one come to help when he lost everything—when his parents died, and he was tossed around like baggage with no one to care? His so-called family watched him starve while they basked in luxury. They turned their backs on his father and pretended Gerald didn’t exist. And now that he had become the key to unlocking their salvation, they remembered him?

No. He wouldn’t forgive them— not now, maybe not ever.

By afternoon, he found himself in an expensive cafe near campus. Terry and Juliet had invited him out to cheer him up. They thought he was still grieving Susan. He didn’t bother to correct them.

They sat by the window, plates of grilled sandwiches in front of them. Juliet, always stylish and poised, waved her fork as she spoke. “Gerald, honestly, forget Susan. You’re better off. Anyone who could leave you like that for Alex doesn’t deserve your time.”

Terry nodded, his voice full of brotherly concern. “You’ll bounce back, man. You always do.”

Gerald tried to listen, but his mind was elsewhere— on account numbers, private banks, and the glint in Uncle Sam’s eye when he handed him that card. He'd done his research, and the Arnolds owned that bank.

He was now someone else entirely. A billionaire. The word still didn’t sit right in his mind. It felt like someone else's story, like a dream.

He toyed with the idea of telling Terry and Juliet. Just blurting it out: Hey guys, guess what? I’m worth $200 billion now. But he knew exactly how that would go. They’d laugh. Heck, he would laugh too if he were in their shoes.

Still, he gave it a shot.

“What if I told you I’m rich now?” he asked casually.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “How rich?”

“Like… really rich. Billionaire rich.”

Juliet chuckled, sipping her drink. “Poor Gerald. Susan broke him so bad he thinks his fantasies have come true now.”

“No, I’m serious.”

Terry leaned forward. “Man, if this is you coping, we understand. But that kind of money doesn’t just fall in people’s laps.”

Juliet added, “But who knows? One day, with all of your back breaking hard work, it'll be a reality.” 

“It's what we all want, isn't it?” Terry chuckled.

They continued laughing lightheartedly, but Gerald went silent. He knew they weren't mocking him, but they weren’t ready to believe. He didn't push. Soon enough, they’d see.

Juliet excused herself and Gerald continued with his wandering thoughts. Just then, the café door swung open, and a voice Gerald hated with every fiber of his being filled the air.

“Look who’s here! The tragic love hero himself!”

Freddy Blanks. The worst kind of rich kid— privileged, arrogant, and cruel for sport. He walked in with two of his goons, all dressed in designer wear like they were walking runways instead of school grounds. Freddy’s eyes locked on Gerald, and with a wide grin, he sauntered over.

“Gerald, buddy, still licking your wounds? Heard Susan’s enjoying her new man.”

Gerald said nothing.

Freddy had been trying to get Gerald to join his group of minions because of his smarts, so they'd have someone taking care of their grades. But Gerald had constantly refused, making him the constant object of Freddy's bullying.

Terry, always the brave one, leaned in. “Back off, Freddy. Nobody invited you here.”

Freddy smirked. “Relax. Just saying hi to an old friend.” He turned back to Gerald. “You know, it was my idea, actually. Alex didn’t even notice Susan until I pointed her out. When I found out you guys had some sort of thing going on, I convinced him he had to have her. And guess what? Having the proposal on the library lawn? Yeah, also my idea. Knew you’d be there, Mr. Bookworm.”

He laughed like it was the best joke he ever told.

Gerald clenched his fists under the table. That bastard. It wasn’t just a betrayal; it was a deliberate set up. And Freddy was proud of it.

“You’re sick,” Gerald muttered.

“What was that?” Freddy leaned closer. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I. said. You’re sick!”

Freddy’s eyes flashed. “Watch it, Arnold. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” Gerald said, voice low and sharp.

Terry stood, fists curled. “You’ve done enough. Walk away, Freddy.”

“Or what?” Freddy chuckled. “You gonna fight me? My guys would flatten you.”

Just then, Juliet returned from the restroom and paused at the scene. One look, and she knew exactly what was going on.

“Freddy,” she said, calm but cold. “Leave. Now.”

He turned to her, putting on his fake charm. “Come on, Jules, just a little fun.”

“I said leave. Or I’ll have a word with my father about how you’re harassing people again.”

That was enough.

Freddy backed off with a mocking bow. “As you wish, Princess Juliet.”

As he walked away, he turned one last time. “Oh, and Jules, please don't tell me those two are coming to your dad's birthday party tonight. Wouldn’t want to ruin the view.”

With a final laugh, he left.

Juliet sighed and sat down. Contrary to how she related to people, Juliet was actually royalty in her own right. Her father was the vice chancellor of the school, and with the way she carried herself, everyone respected her. No one would want to be in her bad books.

“I’m sorry about that. He’s been like that since high school. Arrogant jerk.”

“It’s fine,” Gerald said, but the fire in his chest said otherwise.

Juliet reached into her bag and pulled out two gold-trimmed cards. “Here. VIP invitations to the party tonight. You and Terry. And Gerald, I want to introduce you to someone—she’s a friend of mine from another school. You’ll like her.”

Gerald smiled slightly. He didn't care for all of that right now, but he nodded, “Thanks, Juliet.”

Later that evening, back in his small apartment, Gerald sat at his desk. He toyed with the card Uncle Sam gave him, staring at it like it was a ticket to a new world. He picked it up, stared at the number, then finally dialed.

The line rang once.

“Good evening, this is Aventos. How may I assist you?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’d like to speak with President Marcus DeLorean, please.”

There was a pause. “May I ask who’s calling and how you got this number?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I am Gerald Arnold.”