The Last Minute of Poverty

chapter 5

The economics class was teeming with students, some of whom Jason didn't recognize. The 800 seater lecture hall was filled with students patiently waiting for the economics professor.

It was the final class of lectures for this semester, and the lecturer had threatened not to grade anybody who didn't come to class. And it was well known that Mrs Chen always kept her words, regardless of your status or upbringing.

Suddenly, everyone began to check their phones, as there was a new mail sent to every student attending that class. It was an apology from Mrs Chen. She was taking an impromptu leave due to unforeseen circumstances.

Matthew Bening didn't waste a single second. Stepping to the front of the room, he clapped his hands loudly to draw the class's attention.

"Since we've got the afternoon off, why wait for the weekend?" Matthew announced, flashing a highly rehearsed, arrogant smile. "Let's hold the graduation dinner today. My treat."

A chorus of excited murmurs rippled through the room.

"I'm talking about The Meridian Room," Matthew continued, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry to the back rows. "The new high-end steakhouse on the top floor of the Grand Valmont Hotel. I have a few solid connections there. I can get us a premium private dining room."

Hearing the name of the most expensive restaurant in Silver Bridge City, the class gasped.

Colman Domingo, however, immediately frowned. He leaned over to Jason, whispering, "Man, we can't go there. Even if he's paying for the room, the drinks and extras will cost a fortune. I'm not letting him humiliate you with a bill you can't pay."

Standing up, Colman cleared his throat. "The Meridian Room is a bit stiff, don't you think? Why don't we hit that pub downtown? It's cheaper, and we can actually relax."

Matthew’s eyes immediately zoomed in on Colman, his smile widening. He had been waiting for exactly this kind of opening.

"Relax, Colman. Just because your roommate is living on a broken waiter's budget doesn't mean the rest of us have to eat garbage to make him feel better," Matthew sneered.

A few of the wealthier students in the class chuckled quietly, casting sidelong glances at Jason.

Colman’s fists clenched, ready to curse Matthew out, but Jason simply placed a calm hand on his friend's shoulder to stop him.

"The Meridian Room sounds perfect," Jason said, showing absolutely no sign of the humiliation Matthew had hoped for. "In fact, I'll even treat everyone to red wine tonight."

Matthew scoffed, assuming Jason was planning to order the cheapest house wine on the menu. He didn't care. He had a much bigger agenda.

Thanks to the hefty sum John Starr had transferred to his account that morning, Matthew had plenty of cash.

While he had promised John he would use it to destroy Jason, his primary goal was actually much more selfish: he wanted to show off in front of Charlotte Woodart.

Charlotte was the undisputed campus belle. Beautiful, intelligent, and notoriously cold. she sat quietly near the window, packing up her expensive leather tote bag without so much as glancing at Matthew.

As the class moved out of the lecture hall and headed toward the hotel, Matthew glued himself to Charlotte’s side. He spoke loudly, boasting about his family's expanding portfolio, the exclusive clubs he frequented, and the luxury cars he was planning to buy after graduation.

Charlotte, however, remained entirely indifferent. Her expression was a mask of cold politeness, offering nothing more than a brief nod or absolute silence.

Twenty minutes later, the group arrived at the marble-floored lobby of the Grand Valmont Hotel.

They took the glass elevator to the top floor, stepping out into the lavishly decorated reception area of The Meridian Room.

Matthew strutted up to the reception counter, pulling out a platinum credit card. "Matthew Bening. I need a standard private room for twenty."

The elegantly dressed host typed softly on his tablet before giving Matthew an apologetic smile. "I am so sorry, Mr. Bening. All of our standard and executive private rooms are completely booked for the evening."

Matthew frowned. "What? Check again. I have connections here."

"I assure you, sir, they are occupied," the host replied politely. "However... Our VIP Premier Room is currently available. Though, I must inform you, the minimum spending requirement for that suite is thirty thousand dollars."

Matthew’s hand froze mid-air, and blood drained entirely from his face.

Thirty thousand dollars? He had only planned to spend four or five thousand to look like a big shot. John’s money was generous, but it wasn't *that* generous. If he booked the Premier Room, it would empty his entire savings account.

"Ah... well," Matthew stammered, his arrogant posture crumbling instantly. He turned back to the class, sweating nervously. "You know, maybe the vibe here is a little too pretentious. We could always go somewhere a bit more lively..."

"What's wrong, Matthew?"

Jason’s calm, clear voice cut through the awkward silence. He stepped forward, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. "I thought you said you had connections here? Since the Premier Room is open, why not just take it? Or is it suddenly out of your budget?"

A stifled sound broke the tension.

Charlotte had covered her mouth, unable to hold back a soft laugh at Matthew’s glaring embarrassment.

Hearing her laugh was the final nail in the coffin.

Driven completely mad by the fear of losing face in front of his crush and being out-played by the class's poorest student, Matthew slammed his credit card onto the podium.

"Book the Premier Room!" Matthew growled, his face burning a bright, humiliating red. "Money is not an issue for me!"

The class immediately erupted into cheers, praising Matthew’s incredible generosity as the host led them toward the lavishly double-doored VIP suite.

Walking near the back of the group, Jason couldn't help but find the entire situation incredibly amusing. Only he could see the sheer, agonizing panic hidden behind Matthew’s forced smile.

However, as the group filtered into the extravagant private room, Jason noticed a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

Charlotte Woodart had stopped near the entrance.

The cold, composed mask she usually wore had completely vanished. Her face was pale, and her eyes were darting nervously down the hallway.

While everyone else was distracted by the opulent dining table and the city views, Charlotte quietly turned on her heel and slipped away from the group, practically running down the corridor in a sudden, breathless panic.