Gerald's hands trembled as he answered the phone, the impossible bank balance still glowing on his screen like some cruel joke. The number was unfamiliar, but something about it stirred a memory he had buried deep.
"Gerald?" The voice on the other end was softer than he remembered, but unmistakably familiar. "It's Jessica."
The phone nearly slipped from his grip. Jessica—his sister, five years older, who had vanished from his life when he was thirteen. She had left for college and never looked back, cutting all contact with their family so completely that Gerald had sometimes wondered if he had imagined having a sister at all.
"Jessica?" His voice cracked like a teenager's. "How did you—where have you been?"
"That's a long story, little brother." There was something different in her voice now, a confidence that hadn't been there when she was eighteen and desperate to escape their cramped apartment in Houston's worst neighborhood. "But first, you're probably wondering about the money."
Gerald looked at his phone screen again, the seven-figure balance still defying reality. "You sent this?"
"I did. And it's time you knew the truth about our family." Jessica's voice carried a weight that made Gerald sit up straighter on his narrow dormitory bed. "Gerald, we're not poor. We never were poor. Our father—our real father—he owns one-third of the world's major industries. We control fifty percent of the gold mines in Africa and Asia. We own seventy-five percent of Mayfair City itself."
The words hit Gerald like physical blows. He tried to process what Jessica was saying, but it felt like trying to catch water with his bare hands. "That's impossible. We lived in that tiny apartment. Mom worked three jobs just to—"
"Mom chose that life," Jessica interrupted, her voice growing harder. "She left Dad when you were a baby. Took us both and decided she'd rather struggle than be part of his world. I found out the truth when I turned eighteen, Gerald. That's why I left. That's why I never came back."
Gerald's mind reeled. Every memory of his childhood—the empty refrigerator, the eviction notices, the nights when the electricity was cut off—all of it reshaping itself in light of this revelation. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were a child. Because Mom made me promise. Because I wasn't sure you'd ever need to know." Jessica's voice softened slightly. "But now you do. You're at Houston University, struggling to pay exam fees, running errands for spoiled rich kids who don't even know your name. It's time for that to end."
Gerald thought of Danny's casual arrogance, of Xavier's cruel dismissal, of Blondie's smug announcement about the examination fees. All this time, he had been playing a role in a story where he was actually the protagonist.
"I need you to go see someone," Jessica continued. "Mr. Zack—he's the mayor of Mayfair City. Officially, anyway. Unofficially, he works for our family. He has something for you—a card that will give you access to accounts our father set up years ago. Use it wisely, Gerald. And remember, knowledge is power, but timing is everything."
"Wait, Jessica—"
But the line was already dead, leaving Gerald alone with the silence of his concrete dormitory room and the weight of revelations that threatened to crush everything he thought he knew about himself.
Sleep proved impossible. Gerald lay awake staring at the ceiling, Jessica's words echoing in his mind. By morning, he felt hollow, as if someone had scooped out his insides and left only questions behind.
The ATM outside the campus bank looked ordinary enough, but Gerald approached it like it might explode. He slid his card in with trembling fingers and requested a withdrawal of one hundred thousand dollars. The machine hummed for what felt like an eternity before dispensing neat stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Gerald stuffed them into his backpack, hyperaware of their weight against his shoulders.
Physics class passed in a blur. Professor Martinez droned on about quantum mechanics while Gerald's mind spun with possibilities and doubts. Could Jessica really be telling the truth? Or was this some elaborate scam, some cruel joke that would end with him arrested for fraud?
The answer came sooner than expected.
"Alright, everyone," Blondie announced after physics ended, her voice carrying that familiar note of entitled authority. "Time to settle those examination fees. I hope everyone came prepared."
Students began forming a line at her desk, each producing their phones to show digital transfer confirmations or handing over certified checks. Gerald watched from his seat as the ritual of wealth played out before him—casual, effortless, expected.
"Gerald Martinez," Blondie called when the line had shortened. Her voice carried just enough volume to ensure the entire class could hear. "I suppose you'll need an extension? The university does have hardship programs, though they require extensive documentation of financial need."
Snickers rippled through the remaining students. Gerald felt their eyes on him, cataloging his secondhand clothes, his worn sneakers, his obvious otherness in their world of privilege.
"Actually," Gerald said, standing slowly, "I have the money."
Blondie's perfectly shaped eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Oh? How wonderful. Electronic transfer, I assume?"
Gerald approached her desk, the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him. Without a word, he unzipped his backpack and began placing stacks of cash on Blondie's pristine desk. One stack. Two. Ten. Twenty.
The classroom fell silent except for the soft whisper of bills against polished wood. Blondie's confident smile flickered as the stacks multiplied. Students craned their necks to get a better view, their casual chatter dying away completely.
"One hundred thousand dollars," Gerald said when the last stack was in place. "Cash."
Blondie stared at the money, her composure cracking for the first time since Gerald had known her. The bills sat there between them like an accusation, proof that her assumptions about him had been completely wrong.
"I... I'll need to count this," she stammered, her usual authority nowhere to be found.
"Take your time," Gerald said, shouldering his empty backpack. "I'll wait for my receipt."
He walked out of the classroom, leaving Blondie to count his payment under the stunned gazes of their classmates. The hallway felt different somehow, as if the very air had changed composition.
Saturday morning found Gerald standing outside Mayfair City Hall, a building he had walked past countless times without ever imagining he might have business inside. The mayor's office occupied the top floor, accessible only by a private elevator that required a special key card—a card that the security guard handed to Gerald without question after he gave his name.
Mayor Zack was nothing like Gerald had expected. Where he had imagined a typical politician—polished, artificial, carefully calculated—he found instead a man in his fifties with genuine warmth in his eyes and calloused hands that spoke of a working-class background.
"Gerald Martinez," Zack said, rising from behind his mahogany desk. "You look just like your father did at your age. Please, sit."
The office was tastefully appointed but not ostentatious—expensive without being showy. Gerald settled into a leather chair that probably cost more than his monthly food budget.
"Your sister said you might be confused about recent developments," Zack continued, settling back into his own chair. "I imagine this has all been quite a shock."
"That's putting it mildly," Gerald admitted. "Is it true? About my family?"
Zack nodded gravely. "Every word. Your father is one of the most powerful men in the world, Gerald. He built an empire from nothing, and that empire has been waiting for you to claim your place in it."
He opened a desk drawer and withdrew a small black box. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a credit card unlike anything Gerald had ever seen. It was made of what looked like solid gold with black accents, heavier than it should have been, with Gerald's name embossed in elegant script.
"This card has no limit," Zack explained. "It's connected to accounts that your father established for you years ago. Use it wisely, but use it. Your sister was right—it's time for you to stop playing the role of the poor scholarship student."
Gerald took the card, feeling its weight in his palm. It was warm to the touch, as if it held some kind of power beyond its monetary value.
Two weeks later, everything changed again.
Naomi Chen's invitation arrived via her personal assistant—an elegant card on expensive paper announcing her twentieth birthday celebration at Soso, Mayfair City's most exclusive restaurant. Gerald had heard whispers about the place, where dinner for two could cost more than most people's monthly salary and the waiting list for reservations stretched months into the future.
The invitation included not just Gerald but his entire dormitory wing, along with Danny and his friends from the east wing. It was a gesture that spoke to Naomi's unique position in their social ecosystem—wealthy enough to belong to the elite circle, but kind enough to remember those who didn't.
Gerald spent the afternoon considering what gift would be appropriate for someone who already had everything. In the end, he decided to visit Luxuria, the most expensive boutique in Mayfair City. If he was going to step into this new version of himself, he might as well do it properly.
The store occupied an entire city block, its glass facade reflecting the afternoon sun like a beacon of wealth and privilege. Gerald had walked past it countless times, never imagining he would ever step inside.
The interior was a temple to luxury—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and merchandise displayed like art pieces in glass cases. Staff members moved with the practiced discretion of people accustomed to serving the ultra-wealthy.
Gerald was examining a display of designer watches when he heard familiar laughter. He turned, and his heart sank.
Xavier stood near the jewelry counter, her arm linked through Yuri's as she admired a diamond necklace that sparkled under the boutique's perfect lighting. She wore a dress Gerald had never seen before—something that probably cost more than his old monthly food budget—and carried a new handbag that screamed designer luxury.
They hadn't noticed him yet, absorbed as they were in their browsing and each other. Gerald watched them for a moment, remembering a time when Xavier had claimed to love him for who he was, not what he could provide.
Now, standing in this temple of wealth with a limitless credit card in his pocket, Gerald realized that everything was about to change. The question was: would he let it change him?