The Young Student Trillionaire

Chapter 9

Rickon stood to his feet, a broad smile stretching across his face—the kind worn by someone who just won the lottery. He answered her question with pride, saying he had gone to get his premium card. His father’s net worth had just hit $10 billion, and to celebrate, he had paid for Rickon to receive a premium card.

Cheers erupted around him. The girls looked at him with admiration. Reckon couldn’t measure up to Chance’s smarts; everyone knew this, but he played his role as the money guy perfectly. He might not have been the smartest conversationalist, but money spoke louder than charm here. He was the heir to a $10 billion fortune.

There were others in school whose parents were wealthier than Rickon’s, but he still stood out. They might not be able to hold intelligent conversations with him either, but they certainly enjoyed spending his money.

With exaggerated flair, Rickon pulled out the silver card from his wallet and waved it proudly in the air. The cheers grew louder, mixed with hails and applause.

Premium cards were status symbols for the elite; they offered vast spending power. The lowest tier, the silver card, came with a limit ranging from one million to ten million dollars. Above that was the gold card, which granted $11 million to $100 million. Then came the platinum card, holding $100 million to $1 billion. 

The ultimate flex, however, was the black card—what Chance owned. Only individuals or families with a net worth above $100 billion were allowed access to the black card, and its spending power started at one billion dollars.

So in the eyes of everyone there, Rickon had up to ten million dollars to spend as he pleased. Suddenly, he became the center of attention. Yesterday, it was Roy who had turned heads with his half-a-million-dollar car. But today, it was Rickon and his shiny new silver card. He could buy Roy’s car multiple times over if he wanted. He could shut down the club that night or take any girl in the room to the most exclusive dinner in the city.

Roy was quick to raise his glass and toast to Rickon’s success, declaring that his own premium card was on the way. That gesture shifted the women’s attention firmly onto Rickon. They didn’t care if he couldn’t spell “articulate”—he had money to throw around, and that was enough.

Chloe congratulated Rickon politely. Chance, however, quietly returned to his seat without a word. Rickon, feeling snubbed, called him out.

“Chance, you too big to say congrats now?”

Courtney jumped in without missing a beat. “Why should he? Chance has nothing but his overinflated ego. Maybe he thinks that cheap-looking suit he’s wearing makes him someone important.”

She turned to the group. “You all know the only reason he looks decent tonight is because I bailed out his broke-ass life. The other night, he came up to Vinita’s looking like the beggar he is, and I decided to help out his life by tossing him some bills. The ungrateful pauper took ten grand of my money.”

Laughter rippled across the room.

“No wonder he suddenly has clothes that fit!” someone interjected from somewhere in the room.

“We should have known there was no way he could look that good without charity.”

“Courtney practically owns your ass now, Chance.” Roy taunted, “Don’t you think you should call her mummy?”

A roar of laughter erupted from everyone around and soon another chant began. 

“Call her Mummy! Call her Mummy!”

The chant caught on, spreading like wildfire. “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”

Chance sat still, unbothered. Courtney was lying, and they both knew it. He had never taken that money. She had thrown it on the floor like a show of dominance, but he’d walked past it without touching a dime. His appearance tonight had nothing to do with her so-called charity. But he said nothing.

Courtney stepped closer, blocking his view, smugness etched on her face.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she said. “You could at least thank the person who changed your life.”

Chance gave her a slow, disdainful shake of the head.

Before the tension could escalate, Chloe stood up and cut in sharply.

“Courtney, enough,” she said. “This is my birthday party, not your valedictory party. So take your mummy complex elsewhere.”

Gasps broke out across the room.

It was no secret that Chloe and Courtney didn’t like each other. In fact, Courtney hadn’t even been invited. She’d wormed her way in using Roy’s invite, and Chloe was too nice to order her out. Chloe’s dismissal stung. Courtney, red in the face, returned to her seat in silence.

The noise simmered down, and the party vibe slowly resumed.

Rickon, still irritated that Courtney had hijacked his spotlight, seized the moment to reclaim the crowd. He ignored Chance entirely, knowing that Chloe would always take Chance’s side.

He turned his attention back to the ladies, many of whom were still watching him with eager eyes.

“Listen up, guys, I have the greatest birthday gift for Chloe tonight,” he declared dramatically. “Something no one else here can offer her.”

The room hushed, everyone craning their necks in curiosity.

Rickon raised his silver card high again. “I’m declaring all the bills tonight—food, drinks, entertainment—everything! It’s all on me. Courtesy of my silver card. You can all order whatever you want!”

The crowd went wild. Even the hotel management paused in disbelief before springing into action. Orders were relayed to the kitchen. Waiters began wheeling out trays stacked with exotic dishes and expensive bottles.

With clients like Rickon, the Carlton Hotel would never go out of business.

The ladies cheered him on. Rickon soaked in the attention like a thirsty sponge.

But not everyone was impressed.

The savvy ones—like Chloe and Chance—knew better. The premium card system wasn’t just about the funds in the account. Each card came with a restriction: the money on it had to last a minimum of 21 days. If the user spent it all before then, especially on the silver tier, they could be banned from getting a premium card again for years.

So yes, Rickon had just made a flashy statement. But in doing so, he was firing bullets into his own foot.

Of course, no one would say that to his face.

After all, who were you to tell a fool how to spend his money?

Why ruin the circus when the clown insists on setting himself on fire?

Chance leaned back in his chair, unmoved by the spectacle. He glanced at Rickon, who was now posing for selfies and basking in the roar of temporary fame. The silver card might shine tonight, but tomorrow, it will be dull with regret.

Roy leaned toward Courtney and whispered, “He’s gonna blow that card before the week’s out.”