The Only Usable Card

The harsh glare of the smartphone screen illuminated Kaelen’s sharp features, casting long, menacing shadows across the dim walls of his room. His dark eyes locked onto the high-definition footage playing on the display, a video forwarded just moments ago by his loyal subordinate, Dorian. On the screen, the Stanton family’s head butler stood upon the grand, sweeping marble steps of their estate, his weathered face twisted in a cruel, mocking sneer. He barked harsh commands, watching with sadistic pleasure as a group of burly security guards forcefully tossed Elena and her parents out onto the unforgiving pavement. Their modest belongings were scattered like discarded garbage.

Kaelen’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. The thick muscles in his neck pulled taut. A terrifying, cold fury ignited deep within his chest, burning like liquid fire through his veins. He watched Elena’s slender, fragile shoulders shake as she scrambled to gather their items, helping her humiliated parents off the dirt. She was the kind, big-eyed girl from his tragic, blood-soaked past—the sole sliver of light in his darkest hour. When he first confirmed her identity, he had sworn on his very life and honor to shield her from all harm. He deployed Dorian to shadow her every move, yet this sweeping degradation still managed to reach her doorstep.

He raised the phone to his ear. The secure line clicked open on the first ring.

"Dorian," Kaelen commanded. His voice cut through the silence like a jagged blade, laced with chilling authority. "Purchase Stanton Corporation within two days. Spare no expense."

"Understood, sir," Dorian’s steady, unwavering voice replied through the speaker.

"I want to give her the company as a birthday gift," Kaelen continued, his knuckles turning stark white as his grip threatened to shatter the phone's casing. "After that transaction is secured, go and teach that old fart, Arthur Blakely, a proper, unforgettable lesson."

He ended the call, his dark eyes flashing with lethal intent. No one forced the beloved woman of the almighty God of War to swallow such foul injustice. No one made her bow her head to apologize and walked away breathing.

Kaelen left the secret location and immediately hailed a cab, speeding toward the formidable iron gates of the Blakely residence. He arrived just as Elena and her parents stood outside the imposing metal barrier, their faces painted with deep exhaustion, fresh tears, and raw defeat. They looked utterly shattered under the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamps. Kaelen’s chest tightened with a sharp ache at the sight of Elena’s pale, drained expression.

Before he could even take a full step onto the concrete curb, Miriam’s blazing fury zeroed in on him. She stormed forward, her eyes wide and bloodshot with unhinged rage.

"You sure have the sheer guts to show your face here!" Miriam screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing down the quiet street. She thrust a shaking finger inches from his nose, practically spitting in his face. "It is all your fault, you useless piece of trash! We are being chased out onto the cold streets, and Lena's precious life is ruined by you. Are you happy now?"

Kaelen stood his ground, taking the verbal assault without flinching. He swallowed the heavy guilt lodged tight in his throat. He had underestimated the Stanton patriarch's immense cruelty and swift retaliation. He thought the old man would hesitate before disowning his own flesh and blood over a minor slight.

"I am sorry," Kaelen replied, his tone steady and resolute. "Give me two days. I promise you a satisfactory outcome."

Miriam let out a piercing, mocking sneer. Her disdain hung thick and palpable in the night air, suffocating everyone around her. "Your empty apology means nothing to us! You could not even afford a basic betrothal gift of 300 thousand yesterday. What kind of outcome can you realistically promise us? You have no standing, no money, and no power!"

Elena rushed forward, her eyes rimmed with red. She stepped protectively in front of Kaelen, using her smaller frame to block her mother’s advancing, hostile figure.

"Mom, stop blaming Kaelen!" Elena insisted, her voice breaking but laced with stubborn determination. "I am the stubborn one. I am the one to blame for this crisis. It has nothing to do with him!"

Seeing her pregnant daughter openly shield the very man who brought their family to utter ruin pushed Miriam past the breaking point. She raised her hand high, ready to unleash her boiling rage across Elena's cheek.

Gareth quickly intervened. He grabbed his wife’s raised arm, using his body weight to physically pull them apart before a brawl could break out on the open street.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Gareth shouted, panting heavily from the exertion. He shot Miriam an urgent, warning look. "The Blakelys are not home anyway. We need to focus on what matters. Lena is pregnant! She desperately needs proper nutrition and rest, not a screaming match in the cold night air."

The sudden reminder of the fake pregnancy hit Miriam like a splash of ice water. She forced herself to inhale a ragged breath, suppressing the furious tempest threatening to consume her for the sake of her grandchild. She glared at Kaelen one last time, her eyes promising future retribution, before ripping her arm from Gareth’s tight grip.

"Fine," Miriam spat. She flagged down a passing taxi with a sharp, aggressive wave of her hand. "I am going to the market to buy a chicken. I need to brew some nourishing soup for my daughter."

She slid into the backseat, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows. Kaelen watched the red taillights fade down the road. He wrapped a gentle, supportive arm around Elena’s trembling shoulders, pulling her close to comfort her while keeping his own expression firmly stoic for Gareth's sake.

Across town, the taxi pulled up to the bustling, noisy night market. The bright neon signs flickered overhead, casting colorful reflections on the wet asphalt. The smell of street food and exhaust fumes filled the air. Miriam rummaged through her worn leather purse, pulling out her smartphone to scan the digital payment code mounted on the driver’s dashboard.

An error message flashed across her screen. Insufficient funds.

A sudden, sinking dread washed over her. She opened her main banking app, her heart hammering against her ribs. Zero balances. The Stanton patriarch’s sweeping, merciless orders had ruthlessly frozen all her primary bank accounts. Every cent she had saved over the years was securely locked away.

"Madam, we are here," the taxi driver grunted, tapping his thick fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. "That is 68. Please pay up. I have other fares waiting."

"I... I do not have any money in my digital wallet," Miriam stammered, intense heat rushing to her cheeks. She dug deeper through her purse, her fingers trembling as she searched for loose change. "And I have no cash on me. There is a bank branch right there. Let me go to the ATM and withdraw some."

The driver glared at her via the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing with deep, dark suspicion. "What a bummer. Go quickly! I am losing money sitting here."

Embarrassed and heavily pressured by his menacing scowl, Miriam scrambled out of the car. The driver killed the engine and stepped out, following her closely to ensure she did not bolt into the crowded market stalls. Seeing the long, winding line of people at the ATM machines outside, Miriam bypassed them and rushed straight through the glass doors into the quiet, pristine lobby, heading straight for the VIP counter.

The young bank teller looked up, pasting on a polite, professional smile.

"Hello," Miriam gasped, severely out of breath. She slapped a thick stack of six different bank cards onto the polished marble counter. "Please help me check if I can make a withdrawal with these."

The teller nodded and picked up the first card. She swiped it through the modern terminal. The system blinked bright red. Frozen.

She picked up the second. Frozen.

The third, fourth, and fifth met the exact same miserable fate. Miriam’s face grew paler with each negative beep, her anxiety rapidly spiking as she felt the taxi driver’s impatient, piercing glare boring into her back from the waiting area.

Then, the teller reached for the sixth card.

Her fingers paused. The card was unusually heavy, cold to the touch, and gleamed with a brilliant, unmistakable rose gold hue. The teller’s breath hitched in her throat. She had worked at this busy branch for years, yet she had only ever seen pictures of this legendary artifact during elite corporate training sessions. It was an exclusive, limited-edition card issued by the world's most powerful international financial conglomerate. Only ninety-nine existed on the whole planet, reserved solely for foreign royalty and elite global billionaires.

Trembling, the teller inserted the heavy metal into the specialized chip reader. The screen loaded, and the balance materialized.

One hundred million in Maridian currency.

The teller gasped audibly, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. Translated to local funds, the sum was staggering—an incomprehensible wealth sitting right in front of her face.

Oblivious to the card's true, terrifying nature or the earth-shattering fortune it held, Miriam leaned over the counter, tapping her foot on the tile. It was the card Kaelen had handed her earlier. She assumed it was just a standard debit account, probably holding a meager few hundred thousand at best. Fearing Winston might freeze this one next, she made a swift, calculated decision.

"Only that last one works, Madam," the teller whispered, still staring transfixed at the screen. "May I ask... how much you would like to withdraw?"

"I will withdraw the full amount," Miriam demanded aggressively, wanting to secure whatever funds Kaelen had scraped together before they vanished too.

"M-Madam, are you sure?" the young teller stuttered in pure disbelief. She looked from the glowing screen to Miriam’s ordinary, frazzled appearance. "We do not even have that much cash at our whole branch. I-It will take quite some time to arrange a transfer of this magnitude from the central vault."

Miriam scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. She assumed the bank was simply pathetic and poorly managed for lacking a mere 300 thousand in liquid cash.

"Your branch keeps way too little liquid cash," Miriam complained, her voice dripping with extreme irritation. "Fine. If you do not have that much on hand, then I will just withdraw a thousand for now! Hurry up, the driver is waiting."

The teller exhaled a massive sigh of relief, endlessly thankful she did not have to empty the region's secure reserves. She turned the small, black keypad toward the window. "A-All right, Madam. Please input your PIN."

Miriam confidently punched in her universal, six-digit password. She used the same basic combination for everything.

*BEEP.*

An angry red error message flashed on the keypad. Incorrect PIN.

Miriam frowned. She must have typed it too fast in her rush. She cracked her knuckles and tried again, pressing each button with deliberate, concentrated force.

*BEEP.*

Incorrect PIN.

Blind panic began to claw at her throat. She glanced nervously over her shoulder. The burly taxi driver crossed his thick arms, his scowl deepening. He looked ready to drag her out by her collar. If she failed one more time, the system would permanently lock the card. It was her last lifeline.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she hovered over the keypad. She squeezed her eyes shut, prayed silently, and entered the numbers a third time.

A loud, sustained tone echoed from the terminal. The screen turned stark black with a glowing lock icon in the center. Card locked.

The teller watched the frantic exchange in total silence. A poorly dressed, frantic woman repeatedly failing the basic security PIN for a globally recognized billionaire's card. Dark suspicion rapidly crystallized in the teller's mind.

Expressionless, the teller pulled the keypad back across the marble. "Madam, please show me your ID."

Assuming the teller merely needed it to manually override the stubborn lock, Miriam reached into her purse and handed over her identification card without a single second thought.

The teller placed the ID next to the screen. The name on the account did not match Miriam’s information. Not even close.

Keeping her face perfectly neutral, the teller lowered her hand beneath the heavy mahogany desk. Her finger found the hidden red button and pressed down hard, silently triggering the bank's emergency security alarm.