“If you even have a balance,” he scoffed, “I’ll pay you double!”
The room froze.
Printers paused. Keyboards stopped clicking. The air smelled of paper, disinfectant, and embarrassment.
The man didn’t flinch.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue. He simply inhaled slowly, as if he were used to swallowing pain without spectacle.
“I expected no less,” he said calmly.
That wasn’t the reaction Sebastián anticipated.
The man didn’t look down. Didn’t apologize. And when someone refuses to lower their eyes, arrogance begins to crack.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something unexpected.
Not cash.
Not a card.
An identification badge—metallic, understated, heavy. The bank’s logo was engraved with quiet authority.
He slid it across the counter.
The cashier picked it up with trembling fingers and scanned it.
The screen paused.
Then updated.
Her face drained of color.
“Sir…” she whispered, barely able to breathe.
Sebastián leaned in, smirking, expecting an error.
Instead, his smile collapsed.
On the screen appeared a title no one in that building outranked:
OWNER & EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR – RIVERSTONE NATIONAL BANK