The heavy doors of the black SUVs swung open in unison. Six men in tailored suits stepped into the freezing rain, umbrellas snapping open to shield the old man.
The manager stormed out of the brightly lit convenience store, his face purple with rage. “Hey! You can’t park those here! I just fired this kid, and I’ll have you all towed!”
The old man didn’t flinch. He stood taller, the helpless slump in his shoulders vanishing instantly. He reached into his muddy denim jacket, intentionally flashing the thick brick of hundred-dollar bills, and turned to the lead suit.
“Do we own this lot, Marcus?”
“Yes, Mr. Giant,” the suit replied smoothly, handing him a sleek leather tablet. “Purchased three years ago. Along with the other four hundred stations in this territory.”
The manager froze. The color drained from his face as his eyes dropped to Jake’s maroon work shirt, landing directly on the embroidered logo: *Jank and Giant.*
“Undercover inspections are usually a waste of my evening,” Giant said, his voice now a razor-sharp baritone, entirely stripping away the pathetic old man persona. “But this one was illuminating. You told this boy no IOUs. No kindness. Just pure, ruthless policy.”
“S-sir, I was just protecting the company’s bottom line,” the manager stammered, shrinking backward.
“You protected three dollars and eighty-two cents,” Giant snapped. “And cost yourself a career. You’re fired. Leave the keys on the counter.”
Giant turned to Jake, whose jaw was practically touching the wet asphalt. The billionaire pulled out the single folded dollar bill Jake had handed him earlier.
“You bet your last dollar on a stranger, Jake,” Giant smiled, tossing him a set of keys. “Let’s see what you can do managing this district. Your new salary kicks in tomorrow.”