Ethan followed the bank manager down a grand hallway, his heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the silence. 'Have I been found out?' The thought leaped unbidden into his mind, only to be followed by another; Found out for what?

It was a ridiculous notion, but the nervousness that gripped him refused to be reasoned away. This wasn't something he had ever done before.

Wealth was new to him, and for all his brilliance, it hadn't occurred to him to look up how to handle a situation like this. He could recite entire books from memory, but what about the practicalities of withdrawing large sums of cash? That had seemed… unimportant.

Now, he saw his mistake. Intelligence alone, it turned out, wasn't enough. 'With all these points in Intelligence,' he thought bitterly, 'I still don't know what I'm doing.'

The realization stung.

To steady himself, Ethan glanced around as they walked. The walls were painted in warm, muted tones and adorned with tasteful artwork.

Yet, despite their beauty, they seemed to press in on him, growing closer with each step. His unease made the hallway feel like a tunnel, leading inexorably toward some unknown fate.

At last, the manager stopped in front of an imposing door. He opened it with a practiced motion and gestured for Ethan to step inside. "Come in, Mr. Vale," he said, his tone polite but laced with formality.

The room beyond was vast and elegantly furnished, though something about it felt cold and distant. The polished wood desk gleamed under the dim glow of a single light above, which seemed to cast more shadows than it dispelled.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Vale," the manager said, closing the door with a faint but definitive click.

The sound carried a weight that made Ethan's heart quicken. He sat down, trying not to fidget, though the chair's unyielding hardness did nothing to set him at ease.

Lightly tapping his knee with his fingers, he forced himself to appear calm.

The manager—a man whose thinning hair and faint smirk gave him an air of practiced superiority—settled into his own chair. Folding his hands neatly on the desk, he leaned forward slightly, his expression one of deliberate seriousness.

"We're in a rather unusual situation, Mr. Vale," he began, his tone slow and measured as though addressing a child. "Having a billion dollars in your account and then requesting to withdraw $500,000 in cash… well, you must understand, it's highly irregular."

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before adding, almost as an afterthought, "And, of course, with no significant transaction history to support it."

Ethan's chest tightened, and his carefully constructed calm began to crack. He had imagined being treated with respect—or at least awe—when he revealed the size of his wealth. But this… this condescension stung in a way he hadn't anticipated.

"I'm not sure what you're implying," Ethan said, his voice carefully steady, though a hint of tension crept in at the edges. "It's my money. I need it."

The manager leaned back, his smirk deepening. "Ah, but it doesn't quite work that way, Mr. Vale," he said with a touch of amusement. "When such a large sum of money suddenly appears in an account—especially without any prior indication of wealth—it raises red flags. Surely, you can see why that would be concerning."

"Red flags?" Ethan echoed, his fingers curling into fists under the desk. He struggled to keep his voice neutral, though the effort felt monumental. "This is my account. My money. I haven't done anything wrong."

The manager sighed as though speaking to someone painfully naïve. "It's not about wrongdoing—at least, not yet. But situations like this often involve money laundering, fraud, or other… shall we say, questionable activities. It's my duty to ensure we're not facilitating anything illegal."

There it was.

The accusation was veiled but unmistakable. Ethan's stomach twisted as the words sank in. This was exactly what he had feared—a scenario where his newfound wealth would bring more scrutiny than freedom.

For a moment, anger surged within him. He had thought that with unlimited money, doors would open effortlessly, and obstacles would vanish.

Yet here he was, sitting under a flickering light, being treated like a criminal.

"Listen," Ethan began, his voice firmer now, though he could feel the tremor just beneath the surface. "Don't accuse me of something I haven't done. I might not look the part, but I know my rights. If this continues, I'll have no choice but to take legal action for defamation."

The words felt foreign on his tongue, more like lines from a movie than something he would naturally say. But what else could he do? He was grasping for control, hoping that confidence—real or feigned—might tip the scales in his favor.

'Do something, system,' he thought desperately. 'Anything.'

The manager didn't look intimidated. If anything, his expression turned even more patronizing. "Mr. Vale," he said slowly, "we're simply following protocol. If your wealth is legitimate, you have nothing to worry about. But until we complete our checks, I'm afraid we can't proceed."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Ethan clenched his fists tighter, his mind racing. He needed a way out—now.

The manager, who had been wearing an infuriating smirk, paused for a moment. His expression shifted, softening into something that was neither reassuring nor entirely threatening but still carried an unsettling edge. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady on Ethan.

"Mr. Vale," he said, his tone sharp enough to make Ethan's unease deepen, "there's no need to be defensive. These are just routine procedures."

Ethan swallowed hard as the manager continued, his words precise and deliberate. "We've already contacted the corporation that supposedly sent you these funds to verify their validity. Everything will be fine, but we must follow protocol. I trust you understand?"

The words were spoken with a calculated politeness, but the implication behind them made Ethan's stomach churn. His hands felt clammy, and the weight of the moment pressed on him like a stone. He could feel his carefully composed demeanor slipping.

'What happens if they find something?' he wondered, his thoughts spiraling. 'Has the system hidden its tracks well enough? Will it help me again, or have I already made a mistake I can't undo?'

His mind spun through scenarios, each one more worrying than the last, until the sound of the manager's phone vibrating shattered the heavy silence. The sudden noise was jarring, slicing through the tension in the room like a knife.

The manager glanced at the phone on his desk, his smirk fading into curiosity. "This is… interesting," he murmured, picking it up and unlocking the screen. His brow furrowed as he typed quickly, his attention fixed entirely on whatever he was reading.

Ethan watched in breathless anticipation as the manager turned the phone toward him. "Take a look at this," the man said, his voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Ethan leaned forward, his heart pounding. The screen displayed an email thread, the most recent message standing out like a beacon. The words made his breath catch.

"The funds are legitimate. No further verification is needed."

Ethan stared at the message, his mind struggling to keep up. He recognized the sender's email—it matched the official contact for the corporation in question. But he hadn't sent that email. He hadn't even thought of reaching out to them himself.

The only possible explanation was the system. It must have foreseen this exact situation and intervened to protect him. The realization hit him like a cold wave.

He was covered in sweat, not from fear but from the uncanny certainty that the system could manipulate events far beyond his understanding.

'How on earth did it manage this?' The thought was both reassuring and deeply unsettling.

It was comforting to know the system was watching over him, guiding him through even the most impossible situations. But the sheer power of its reach—the almost magical precision with which it acted—sent a chill down his spine.

The manager sat back, baffled. "That was… unexpected, Mr. Vale," he admitted his tone a mixture of confusion and grudging respect.

The manager's eyes darted between Ethan and the phone screen, his suspicion clearly not erased. "Who are you, really?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

Ethan hesitated. He didn't know how to answer that question—not truthfully, at least. His instincts whispered to feign confidence, to act as though the manager had no right to ask, as though the very question was beneath him.

It was a fragile ploy, but it was all he could summon in the moment.

After an awkward pause, the manager seemed to draw his own conclusions. "Well," he said slowly, "it appears everything is in order. I'm not sure how, but… the funds are confirmed."

Ethan exhaled, relief flooding through him like a wave. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding his breath until the moment it left him. Still, he knew this wasn't the time to celebrate.

The game wasn't over yet. Ethan needed to maintain his composure and act as if this outcome had been expected all along.

"So," Ethan said, steadying his voice, "can I get the money now?"

The manager's expression remained skeptical, his eyes scanning Ethan as if searching for cracks in the facade. But after a moment, he gave a short nod.

"Yes, we'll proceed with the withdrawal. You're fortunate we have the amount available today. However," Charles added, his tone sharpening slightly, "I strongly advise you to consider using a wire transfer or opening up a current account so that you can use a cheque in the future. Carrying this much cash is both unusual and risky."

Ethan forced a polite smile, though inwardly, he winced at the mention of cheques. 'Why didn't I think of that sooner?'

"I'll remember that," he said, his tone polite but clipped.

He stood, feeling the tension begin to dissolve as he prepared to leave. Just as he reached the door, the manager called after him. "Mr. Vale, one more thing."

Ethan paused, his hand resting on the door handle, and turned back to face the man. The manager had risen from his chair and was now extending a hand, his demeanor noticeably warmer.

"I owe you an apology for earlier," the manager said. His voice carried a note of genuine contrition, though his sharpness had not entirely vanished.

"My name is Charles Weston. And, if you're interested, I'd like to offer you the opportunity to become one of our Premier clients here at Novan Bank."

"Premier?" Ethan echoed his tone, a careful mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Charles's smile widened, his eyes alight with the prospect of a new connection. "Yes. It's an exclusive service for individuals with accounts exceeding $100 million. Given your standing, Mr. Vale, you more than qualify."

"What would that entail?" Ethan asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Our Premier clients enjoy personalized banking, access to unique investment opportunities, and a host of other benefits tailored to your financial goals," Charles explained. "I'll have the full details sent to your email."

Ethan considered the offer for a moment. It was tempting—and aligned perfectly with his ambitions. Networking and cultivating the right image were vital steps toward expanding his influence, and a Premier status seemed like the perfect tool for achieving that.

"That sounds interesting," Ethan replied with a slight nod. "Please, send me the details."

Charles's smile grew wider, and he added, "And if you ever need assistance—financial or otherwise—you can always come to me. I can help you connect with the right people."

He reached into his jacket pocket and handed Ethan a pristine business card. Ethan took it, offering a faint smile. "Thank you for your help today, Mr. Weston," he said, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'm sure I'll be in touch."

Charles gave a brief, knowing nod. "I look forward to it."

As Ethan left the office, a faint vibration drew his attention to his phone. Glancing down, he saw a notification from the system.

=====

[Number of connections (1/2)]

=====

A quiet smile curved Ethan's lips. It seemed Charles Weston was precisely the sort of connection the system had been urging him to establish.

'So, the system considers him a significant asset,' Ethan thought. 'It's already two steps ahead of me.'

While he waited for the bank staff to finalize the withdrawal, Ethan let his mind drift. Despite the close calls, the system seemed adept at keeping him just out of harm's reach, shielding him from scrutiny even as others tried to pry deeper.

Soon, he'd have $500,000 in cash—a tangible start for his plans. With that in hand, Ethan felt as though the pieces of his strategy were finally beginning to fall into place. The real work was only just beginning.