The heavy door of the black SUV swung open. Ethan stepped inside, leaving the damp morning air behind.
Sitting in the plush leather seat was Arthur Bennett—unrecognizable from the shivering, drenched old man on the sidewalk. Now, he wore a bespoke Tom Ford suit and a predatory smile.
“You own the diner,” Ethan said, processing the lawyer’s revelation.
Arthur tapped the black smartphone resting on his knee—the exact same phone he had stared at in the rain. “I do. And as of this morning, I own absolutely all of it.”
Arthur turned the screen around. The footage of the brutal manager firing Ethan had 80 million views.
“My board of directors was trying to force me out,” Arthur explained, his voice slick with triumph. “I needed a PR nightmare to crash our stock price overnight so I could buy back the controlling shares for pennies. I dressed in rags, waiting to expose that manager’s cruelty. You were the perfect pawn, Ethan. Your bleeding heart saved my empire.”
Arthur slid a sleek metal briefcase across the seat. “One million dollars. For your ‘acting.’ The manager is ruined. You’re rich.”
Ethan looked at the briefcase. The teenager didn’t look shocked. Instead, a slow, razor-sharp smile spread across his face.
He didn’t touch the money. He just pulled out his own phone.
“I know, Arthur,” Ethan whispered, his voice dropping its innocent warmth. “Why do you think those four customers were standing in the window, perfectly positioned to film us?”
Arthur’s smug smile vanished.
“That’s why you looked at your phone in horror last night,” Ethan said softly. “I didn’t just buy you orange juice, Arthur. I hacked your corporate server, leaked your little stunt, and shorted your stock before you even hit the pavement. Thanks for the million, but I already made fifty.”