Chapter 2

Once inside, Vance slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

He sat back in his leather chair, lit a cigarette, and looked up at me.

"Julian, you're a smart guy," Vance said slowly, blowing a cloud of smoke.

"Brad might be a bit blunt, but he’s just looking out for the hotel."

"Your sunglasses, your watch—those aren't things someone in your tax bracket can afford."

"It's only natural people are suspicious."

I frowned. "So what? You think I'm a thief too, Mr. Vance?"

Vance flicked his ash and smiled coldly.

"Does it really matter if you are?"

"What matters is that everyone believes you are."

"The narrative is set. It looks terrible for the hotel's reputation."

"For the greater good, you should just resign."

He spoke so casually, like he was doing me a massive favor by letting me walk.

"If you quit quietly and own up to your mistake, I won't involve the police."

"Otherwise, once the cops get involved, your future is finished."

I couldn't believe how thoroughly corrupt this guy was.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Mr. Vance, I haven't stolen anything. Why would I resign?"

"Everything I own is mine, bought fair and square."

Vance’s face darkened. He violently stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.

Just as he opened his mouth, the door flew open.

Brad burst in, practically vibrating with excitement, waving his phone around.

"Mr. Vance! I’ve got the smoking gun!"

Brad scrambled to the desk and shoved his screen in Vance's face.

"Look, Boss! I snapped this yesterday!"

"Julian was across the street at Hermès, and he dropped a card!"

"Look closely at what card that is!"

Vance squinted, then suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.

"Is that... an American Express Centurion Black Card?"

"Bingo!"

Brad looked ready to jump for joy. He pointed a greasy finger at my nose.

"Julian! What's your excuse now?"

"The Black Card! Only the ultra-rich have those—it's invite-only!"

"You're a bottom-feeder intern! Where did you get that kind of plastic?"

"If you didn't steal it, what, did you print it in your basement?"

I looked at the blurry photo, finding the whole thing ridiculously absurd.

It was my card.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. I stopped by Hermès across the street to pick up a gift and swiped my card.

I intentionally went during off-peak hours, but Brad still managed to snap a picture.

And these two absolute clowns really thought someone could just "steal" and casually use a Black Card?

Cards at that tier require instant fraud verification, identity checks, and signatures. You don't just tap-and-go with a stolen Black Card at Hermès.

Are these people completely illiterate when it comes to the real world?

"Mr. Davis, your imagination is truly wild," I said, crossing my arms.

"If I had stolen that card, do you honestly think the transaction would have cleared?"

"Do you think the bank’s security is a joke, or that luxury sales associates are brainless?"

Brad froze for a second, then doubled down, his neck flushing red.

"Who knows what dirty tricks you used!"

"Con artists are sophisticated these days!"

"Maybe you lifted a guest's card and hacked their PIN!"

"Either way, there is zero chance that card belongs to you!"

Vance caught on, his expression turning pitch-black.

He slammed his hand on the desk and barked at me.

"Julian Sterling! You still dare to argue?"

"A Centurion card isn't something someone like you should ever touch!"

"I don't care how you swiped it, that card is shady as hell!"

"Your behavior violates hotel policy, and frankly, it's criminal!"