The Young Student Trillionaire

Chapter 11

Chance’s hands clenched the steering wheel as he left the party. His jaw was tight, his temple pulsing. He’d tried to ignore it. For years, he’d turned the other cheek, let the whispers slide, and kept to himself. But this? This public humiliation, orchestrated by Rickon, was the final straw. He’d tried to be the bigger person—but what had that gotten him? Mockery.

Never again.

Not when he was now Chance O'Connor, the richest man alive. Worth over a trillion dollars. The name behind conglomerates that ruled every sector from energy to fashion to tech. No one—no one—insulted him or his loved one and walked away untouched.

Rickon’s mother had already taken a swing at him earlier that day. And now, Rickon had just followed in her steps for the second time in one day.

It was time to put the Sanders in their place.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number he’d memorized just that morning.

“Mr. O'Connor?” came the voice of Michael Goodman, the director of Eagleswood Central Bank, almost immediately, his tone polished and respectful. “How can I help you?”

Chance didn’t waste words. “Remember the young man who slapped me in your bank lobby today?”

A pause. “Of course, sir. Rickon Sanders.”

“I’m cashing in on the promise you made to me that he will pay for that act.”

Michael’s breath caught faintly. “Of course, sir. What would you like done?”

“Bankrupt them. Freeze every account. Lock down all assets. I want their empire in ashes before the sun rises.”

There was no hesitation. “Understood. I’ll see to it immediately, sir.”

Chance ended the call and exhaled, still seething, but comforted by the knowledge that Rickon and his family’s reckoning was on its way. But he wasn’t going to let the night end with anger. He took a detour, pulled up to a private hotel, and told the valet to park his car. Tonight, he’d club. He’d have fun. He’d be seen.

Let the world talk. Let them watch.

*******

Meanwhile, back at the Crystal Room in the Carlton Hotel, the atmosphere was strained. The sparkle and laughter that had filled Chloe’s birthday party was dying. Guests whispered in corners. The memory of Chance’s departure after being ridiculed over a “fake bag” lingered like smoke.

Even Rickon could feel it.

To him the attention was still on Chance, not him. Even though they were speaking badly about Chance, the fact was that they were speaking about him at all and not Rickon. His party had practically become a footnote in Chance's story. Rickon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe, just maybe, he’d overdone it.

Chloe sat beside him, silent, her expression unreadable. Her eyes occasionally flicked toward the bag—Chance’s gift. The same bag that had brought so much humiliation tonight.

She felt a knot of guilt twist in her chest. Not just because of the bag, but because of the way Rickon had treated Chance. It was cruel. Unprovoked. She knew Chance had his flaws, but he’d never deserved that.

“I need to fix this vibe,” Rickon muttered, then stood and clapped his hands for attention.

“Everyone!” he shouted. “Come on, witness something legendary tonight!”

He snapped his fingers, and a line of waitresses began carrying over the bill—printed and folded like a scroll. One of them unfurled it dramatically.

“For this night of celebration—drinks, desserts, and entertainment—our bill comes to $8.5 million!”

A moment of stunned silence—and then the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Zaddy Rickon!” the girls screamed, raising their glasses.

At a school like ESU, where it was a constant battle of who could outdo the other in wealth, this was about to become the header of the decade. It would be talked about for months. Rickon’s status had elevated greatly.

Rickon smirked and handed over his platinum-silver card without blinking.

The waitress swiped it. Everyone leaned in.

Beep.

The screen flashed.

“Transaction declined: Card privileges revoked by issuing bank.”

Confused, Rickon laughed. “Try it again.”

She did. Beep. Same message.

“Try it again, now,” he ordered, his voice sharp.

The crowd was no longer cheering. They were watching.

The waitress glanced at her colleague nervously, and just as she was about to try again, Mr. Abu Warren, the hotel’s head of management, stepped into the picture.

“I’ll handle it,” Mr. Warren said politely. “Apologies, Mr. Sanders.”

The crowd jeered and booed at the waitress. It was obviously her fault in their opinion. How could the premium card of a whole Rickon Sanders be declined?

He inserted the card.

Beep.

This time, the message was more aggressive:

“Transaction declined. Use of this card is now considered criminal activity per directive from Eagleswood Central Bank.”

Mr. Warren froze. He couldn't afford to put his establishment at risk by trying the card again. He cleared his throat.

“I suggest you provide an alternative card, Mr. Sanders,” he said with professional calm.

Rickon’s heart pounded. He didn't understand what was going on. “S–sure, I have another one.”

He fumbled in his wallet, pulled out his black card, and handed it over.

Beep.

Insufficient Funds.

Rickon stared at the POS screen in horror. “No… No, that’s not possible.”

The entire hall was filled with shocked and confused murmuring.

He yanked out his phone and called his father.

His father picked up—crying.

“Dad? What’s going on?!” Rickon had horror written all over him.

“Son… it’s all gone. Everything. Ten billion dollars. Every account. Every asset. Frozen. We’ve just filed for bankruptcy…”

“What?!”

“We’re ruined, Ricky! The company… the name… everything’s been taken!”

Rickon dropped the phone.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Around him, whispers turned to gasps as Beauty read aloud a breaking news alert from her X feed.

“Matthew Sander and the Sander Corporation have officially filed for bankruptcy. All assets frozen by order of Eagleswood Central Bank. Rumor has it that the new owner of the bank gave the order.”

Rickon crumbled to the floor, sobbing.

**********

The celebration turned sour. Mr. Warren raised his hand.

“No one is leaving until the full bill is paid,” he declared.

Panic broke out.

“I didn’t even drink anything!”

“I can’t afford a million-dollar bottle!”

“Why should I pay for Rickon’s show-off?”

Chloe stood frozen. She hadn’t ordered much and could easily offset her own bill, but her friends were stuck. They were her guests, and she couldn't just leave them stranded.

Roy swaggered over with Vinita and Courtney.

“$500K—paid mine. We’re out,” he said smugly. “Good luck, Chloe.”

They laughed and walked out, high-fiving.

Chloe sighed and, not really knowing what else to do, dialed Chance.

He picked up instantly. “Chloe?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, voice low.

“But you won't believe what just happened. Rickon’s card declined. Everyone’s stuck. I'm not sure what to d—”

“You can hand over the bag in your hand, and I'll consider the bills settled.”

Chloe turned around to see Mr. Warren staring at her bag with what looked like desperation.

“What?” She was shocked, sure she'd misheard.

Mr. Warren had witnessed the entire spectacle that Rickon had set up because of that bag. From where he was, he'd been able to tell that it was the real deal, and he knew what it would mean if he got it for his wife. He didn't care much for what anyone thought; he knew it was legit, and he would have it.

Chloe, however, clutched the bag tighter; it might be a fake, but it was a gift from her friend, and she would cherish it.

“Did I just hear right?” A girl spoke up from behind Mr. Warren.

“Did he just ask for that cheap bag in exchange for $8 million?”

“You heard me. If I can have that bag, your debt here is forgiven.”

Everyone around was confused. That cheap knockoff? Was Mr. Warren sick in the head? But when it came right down to it, they didn't care; they just wanted to be able to leave.

“Chloe, the bag isn't worth anything anyway; please just give it to him.” They began pleading.

Chloe was confused. She didn't understand why he wanted it so badly, and she couldn't fathom handing over her gift. But they didn't stop; soon she was surrounded by guests begging her to hand over the bag.

Chance heard everything from over the phone.

“Give him the bag.”

Chloe, who'd forgotten she was on a call with him, jolted. She hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

“I promise,” Chance said. “I'll find a way to get it back to you.”

She exhaled and looked up at Mr. Warren.

“You agree that if I give you this bag, that will settle the bill?”

He took it reverently, eyes gleaming. “Yes.”

As he held it in his hands, he gasped.

He knew what this was.

“The Louis Vuitton Black Widow,” he whispered. He dialed his wife. “Baby, I got it. The one-of-a-kind bag. The real deal.”

His wife shrieked in delight on the other end.

Some of the girls frowned. “Wait… it’s real?”

The other girls stared. It couldn't be. Chance couldn't afford it. The man probably wanted to deceive his wife as well.

But the same question lingered on all their minds.

“Why the hell would he trade $8 million for a fake bag?”

Mr. Warren ignored them, his eyes gleaming as he tucked the bag under his arm like a prized gem. “You're free to go.”

The crowd didn’t need to be told twice. 

Everyone scrambled for the exit.

Chloe lingered near the doorway, phone pressed to her ear again.

“What are you really up to?” she asked Chance.