He—the man who moved millions with a single phone call, the man who owned buildings that touched the clouds—stood there unable to pay for a bag of apples, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. Maybe it was a bank glitch. Maybe a security lock from an unusual purchase. The technical reason didn’t matter.
What mattered was the truth of the moment.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The people behind him, who minutes earlier had eyed his suit with envy, now smelled blood. Whispers spread like wildfire.
“Look at Mr. Rich Guy,” a teenager muttered, pulling out his phone to record. “Bet it’s all fake.”
“Nice suit, can’t even buy food,” someone else laughed.
But the worst part was the cashier.
She showed no mercy. She threw her head back and let out a dry, cruel laugh—like a signal for the rest of them to join.
“Looks like the ‘important man’ is just a costume, huh?” she said, savoring the fall of someone who looked above them. “You paying or you gonna keep wasting the time of people who actually work?”