Chapter 302 | Money Or Pride…

Chapter 302: 302 | Money Or Pride...

A middle-aged man in an expensive suit stepped out, wearing the relaxed smile of someone accustomed to arriving after other people had created a problem and receiving credit for solving it.

"Is there an issue?"

The banker immediately straightened. "Sir, this customer—"

The manager’s smile did not change, but his eyes did. "Of course. Mr. Ashford." He approached with his hands loosely clasped. "I apologize for the delay. Account reviews can be frustrating."

Dexter halved coldly at the Manager’s face.

"Then perhaps you can explain this one."

"Certainly. Let’s discuss it in my office."

Dexter remained seated for a moment as the manager glanced at the documents on the counter. "We can offer you more privacy there and solutions."

Dexter gathered his papers, and the banker looked relieved.

The office was spacious, with a wide desk standing in front of a window overlooking the street. A framed banking license hung on one wall, and on another was a landscape painting expensive enough to feed an ordinary family for years.

The manager gestured toward a chair.

"Please."

Dexter remained standing. "Explain the restriction."

The manager raised his hand and pressed a remote.

"Click!"

The closed the door, and the lock clicked softly. His smile disappeared. The change was so immediate that Dexter even edmired his act.

The man walked behind his desk and sat down—he did not offer an apology, nor did he open the file. Instead, he looked at Dexter with mild irritation.

"You could have saved everyone a great deal of time."

Dexter’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You know how these things work."

"Apparently not."

The manager leaned back. "As you know, this bank is basically owned by your family. You should understand why your account was blocked."

The room became very quiet, and Dexter looked at him as the manager continued. "If you want the account unblocked, you need to accept the family’s invitation. After that, we can do something about it."

For a few seconds, Dexter said nothing. The house deed in his hand suddenly felt ridiculous—the forms, the waiting, the patient explanations. They had known who he was from the moment the banker entered his name. They had simply decided to make him sit there and perform obedience before telling him the price.

"The invitation," he repeated.

The manager opened a drawer and placed a black envelope on the desk. Gold lettering marked its front—the Ashford crest. Dexter stared at it.

"The family wishes to speak with you," the manager said. "This needn’t become unpleasant."

"You froze fifty million dollars to make me attend a conversation."

"I didn’t freeze anything. A restriction was placed on the account because of the untraceable money sent to it. It could belong to someone else and sent to you by mistake. So we need to be careful."

Dexter’s expressionless face glanced at the man. "Have you ever seen someone send 50 million dollars by mistake?"

The man blinked his eyes and chuckled drily. "There’s a first time for everything."

The manager spread his hands. "Look, there’s no need to make things unnecessarily difficult or complicated."

Dexter’s jaw tightened. The fifty million had already become part of those plans, and now the Ashfords were holding it beyond his reach, waiting to see whether his need would bend his spine.

The manager watched his face. "You should be practical, Mr. Ashford."

Dexter slowly lifted his gaze. "Practical."

"Attend. Listen. If there’s a disagreement, resolve it privately. Surely that’s preferable to creating scenes in public." The man tapped the envelope. "They are still your family."

Dexter felt something cold settle beneath his anger. He had heard that sentence used to excuse too many things—hunger, humiliation, punishment, abandonment. Now theft dressed in banking language.

"You wasted my morning," he said.

The manager’s expression sharpened. "We gave you an opportunity to handle this discreetly."

"Yes," Dexter said. "I can see that."

The manager’s eyes hardened. "You seem to believe that shouting changes your position. It doesn’t."

Dexter looked at the envelope again. He could take it, attend, smile across a table at people who had thrown him away and pretend their interest had arrived because they missed him rather than because he had become useful. Then perhaps the account would open.

His breathing slowed, and the manager mistook the silence for consideration. "A sensible decision now would make your life much easier."

Dexter raised his eyes. "No."

The word was quiet, and the manager blinked.

"You have substantial funds in this institution. Are you willing to leave it inaccessible over your pride?"

Dexter’s mouth curved. It was not a smile the manager liked. "You think this is about pride?"

The man said nothing.

Dexter stepped toward the desk. "Tell the family..." His palm settled lightly against the polished surface. The manager looked down. "...it’s not over yet."

Dexter pressed.

"Thump!"

The center of the desk collapsed beneath his hand as fractures shot through the wood, the supports buckled, and drawers burst from their fittings as the entire structure folded inward with a heavy crash.

The manager jerked backward in fear as his chair slammed backwards against the wall. For the first time since entering the office, his expression became honest and was filled with fear.

The black envelope slid through the wreckage and landed near his shoe. Dexter stood amid the settling dust, and slowly withdrew his hands.

The force had gone through the desk and into nothing else.

The manager’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. Outside, hurried footsteps approached, and Dexter gave a cold snort before turning and opening the door.

Two guards stood beyond it. They looked past him at the shattered desk, then at their manager, pale and rigid against the wall.

"Sir?"

The manager swallowed. His gaze met Dexter’s, and a moment passed. Then he said, "Let him leave."

Dexter walked between the guards. The banker at counter six looked up, and whatever she saw on his face made her immediately lower her eyes.

He did not stop as he crossed the lobby, passed the waiting customers, and stepped out into the sunlight.

Behind him, the bank doors closed with a soft, expensive click.