From inside the supercar, a pair of Tom Ford crocodile leather shoes stepped onto the stone steps. This was followed by a perfectly fitted bespoke suit, and on the cuff of the sleeve gleamed a half-million-dollar Richard Mille watch.
The man slowly straightened up, removing his gold-rimmed sunglasses.
It was me. Leo Vance. “The bleach-smelling janitor.”
The air in the garden seemed to be sucked out. A deathly silence fell. The sound of a champagne glass shattering on the stone floor from my mother’s hand was jarring. Bradley’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide as if he’d seen a ghost.
And my father, Richard Vance? His eyes glazed over. The brain of a man who had worshipped money his whole life couldn’t process the shock unfolding before him. Seeing his supreme boss forced to act as a chauffeur, opening the door for his abandoned son, dealt a devastating blow to his nerves.
Richard’s face turned deathly pale. He clutched his chest, staggered back two steps, and then… Thump! He collapsed onto the lush green lawn in front of hundreds of guests.
“Father!” Bradley cried out in panic, rushing to support Richard’s limp body. Several guests frantically splashed water on his face.
I stood calmly, my hands clasped behind my back, watching the chaotic scene. My face showed no emotion. A minute later, Richard coughed violently, slowly opening his eyes. Seeing me still standing there, radiating an overwhelming aura he had never seen before, Richard trembled and stammered:
“Leo…? What… what the hell is this? Mr. Sterling… why are you driving my son, the street sweeper?”
Jonathan Sterling, the powerful billionaire, coldly put his hands in his pockets, looking down contemptuously at my father.
