As Geetha and her father walked away, the two security guards approached, expressions stern.
One tapped his earpiece. "Sir, we've got someone here claiming he has a gold card."
A pause. Then a low, annoyed voice replied, crackling through the radio.
"Another one? Is it the same kid from earlier?"
"No, sir. But he is also younger, just as stubborn as him."
The line went silent for a second. Then—
"Bring him to me."
They escorted me to the VIP manager's lounge—a lavish space of marble counters and hushed conversations. A man in a tailored grey suit appeared, flanked by two more staff. His eyes scanned me, unimpressed.
"Alright, what's your game, kid?" he asked, folding his arms.
"No game," I replied firmly. "I'm here for my gold card."
A soft chuckle escaped one of the staff behind him.
The manager sighed. "Son, you don't just walk in and ask for a gold card. You earn it—with a net worth and identity to match."
"I have both."
He raised a brow, smirked. "Do you even know the procedures?"
"Yes." I held my ground. "My biometric data was linked when the account was created—thumbprint and retina. Use them. You'll know I'm not lying."
That caught him off guard. His smirk faltered.
"You're saying... your credentials are already registered?"
"Exactly."
He waved to the staff. "Fine. Let's humor him."
I was taken to a private terminal. The retinal scanner glowed softly. I entered the account number and placed my thumb on the scanner, heart pounding like a drum.
A few tense seconds passed.
Then—the screen flashed red.
> "Account not found. Unrecognized identity."
My stomach dropped.
The air grew colder.
Someone in the back snorted. "Hah! What'd I tell you? Faker."
"Knew it. Gold card? More like tin dreams."
"Throw him out. Wasting everyone's time."
.
.
.
.
I stood frozen, blood draining from my face. The manager stepped back, visibly irritated.
"You tried, kid. Now don't embarrass yourself further. Security—"
But just before the guards moved, a soft chime echoed from the terminal.
A new line appeared beneath the error:
>"—Secondary verification pending... Access request under review by Central Authorization."
Everyone froze.
The manager leaned closer to the screen, his smug expression fading into unease. His voice trailed off. He looked at me, truly looking this time.
"Secondary verification…? That can't be right."
One of the staff whispered slowly, "That only happens for accounts with classified security clearance…". His tension was clear.
Another spoke in fear, "No, you are half right! Look carefully! His thumb print and retina scan, even though there is an error, the system actually recognised the account. That means there is only one explanation. It is an encrypted legacy account… Class-A tier."
The person behind him asked in confusion. "What do you mean? I can't understand what is going on. The process of account blocking for twenty four hours should be done by now. But it hasn't started yet!"
The person before replied with slight irritation. "Are you serious? Are you new here? I don't know what is the reason for the error, but already the system recognised the account through the thumbprint and the retina scan. Only those who are specialized have those additional features. It gives unlimited chances to the holder to retry instead of shutting down."
"Exactly," the manager murmured. Then, turned to me— "Who the hell are you?"
Before I could answer, the terminal blinked again.
>"Authorization request routed to: Director of Operations."
Gasps echoed around me. A few guards stepped back, unsure now. The whispers began.
"The Director? That level hasn't been touched in years."
The manager stiffened, then quickly composed himself. "There must be a mistake. The system's buggy."
But deep down, he knew better. Something about it wasn't ordinary. He turned to the guards with a hesitant look.
"It's not good! This account…"
He paused. Then, immediately urged the security.
"Take this kid away and leave him outside the bank. Right now! I can't take any risks. He can't be…"
The staff stared at each other in confusion. Wasting no time, security immediately took their actions.
Just as the security was about to escort me out, a composed voice interrupted. A voice called out from across the room—a calm, commanding tone.
"Stop right there. Let him be."
Everyone turned.
A man in his late 50s walked in, flanked by two senior officials. He had a presence—like silence followed him wherever he went.
The manager straightened immediately. Staff caught their breaths in middle of their throats.
"Sir!" one of the guards stammered. "We didn't know he…"
The man raised a hand, silencing him.
"Is there a problem here?" His voice was straight, demanding.
"Sir! I didn't realize you were…" manager murmured with fear.
"Save it," the man said, approaching the terminal. He glanced at the screen, then at me.
A pause.
Then his eyes widened slightly.
"Thumbprint match… authentication confirmed." He looked around.
"Oh, I see. This young man has full privileges under Account Code 07-V. That makes him not only a gold card holder—but something else."
The room fell utterly silent.
Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. The same people who had mocked me moments ago now looked like statues, stunned by the weight of what they just heard.
He turned to me with a calm, unreadable expression. "I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please, come with me."
.....
I followed him through a side corridor into a private executive chamber. Unlike the bustling floor outside, the room was soundproof, serene, and filled with high-security terminals.
"I'm Raghunandan," he said as he sat down. "I'm the regional head of Nexus Silicon Bank."
He gestured to the terminal. "If you'll kindly proceed with the verification."
I entered the correct account code. The initial response was still an error.
But Raghunandan leaned in and calmly corrected me. "You pressed a zero instead of the letter O."
The screen flickered—then lit up in gold.
> "Congratulations, Manoj Vardhan. Your account has been recognized. Select OK to continue."
My thumbprint. The retina scan. All completed with quiet, seamless precision.
The screen confirmed:
> "Account Verified. Welcome, Manoj Vardhan. Gold Tier Access: Level Alpha."
Raghunandan's eyes didn't widen—but there was a sharp glint of recognition. He remained composed, but I saw the shift in his body language—respect and a hint of reverence.
"May I check the account summary, sir?" he asked softly.
I nodded.
He turned the screen, scanned the numbers—then froze.
"I see," he whispered. "Account 07-V… This is the special class, gold tier account. You're the heir of the original investor family. The Vardhans."
"Yes," I said. "But I need this to remain confidential."
He stood up immediately and bowed slightly.
"You have my word, sir. No information will leave this room. Not from me, not from anyone here."
I sat down, the weight of the moment finally settling. The pressure. The identity. The responsibility.
"Prepare my gold card," I said calmly.
"Of course, sir. It's an honor."
Due to the involvement of my family, the procedures are speeden. Within minutes, Raghunandan handed it over to me.
I sat quietly, gold card in hand, the weight of it both literal and symbolic. For a moment, I just stared at it—this tiny piece of plastic that represented everything I had endured, everything I had fought for.
But peace doesn't last long in my life.
...…
Just as I was about to stand, I heard loud footsteps and familiar voices nearing the entrance.
Deepika and her father, having finally done their work, were making their way out. She glanced in my direction, probably ready with another smug comment—until her eyes locked onto the shimmer of gold in my hand.
Her brows knitted. Then her eyes widened.
"Wait… Manoj, is that—?" she gasped, stepping closer, "Is that a gold card?"
Before I could respond, she snatched it out of my hand like a child grabbing forbidden candy.
"Deepika, give it back!" I snapped, standing up.
"Don't play smart with me!" she yelled, holding the card high like she'd just uncovered a crime. "This can't be yours. Manager! Someone call the manager!"
As if on cue, the manager arrived just in time. His face was pale and strained. He glanced between me and Deepika, then locked eyes with her hand clutching the card.
"Miss, please return that card," he said sternly.
"You have no idea who this belongs to," Deepika said, trying to sound authoritative. "There's no way someone like him could have access to this!"
But the manager didn't flinch. He looked at me, then back at her, his voice low but firm.
"Miss, please don't make me repeat." he said sharply. "Return that card immediately."
Deepika scoffed. "Why? He stole it!"
The manager's tone shifted into something colder. "This card doesn't belong to you, and I'd advise you not to tamper with things you don't understand."
She hesitated, clearly stunned by the authority in his voice. Slowly, she handed it back, muttering something under her breath.
The manager turned to me without meeting my eyes. "Someone wants to meet you" he said quietly. "Please follow me."
What did he mean?
I pocketed the card and walked beside him in silence, feeling Deepika's eyes burning into my back.
She didn't know who I really was.
And that's how it had to be.
For now.