Wealthy Heir Taunts Beggar Outside Luxury Hotel, Finds His Bank Account Drained Next Morning – Story of the Day

A wealthy businessman's spoiled son arrives at his father's hotel. He demands that his father transfer ownership of the hotel to him. His father sets a challenge: run the hotel for a day. However, a random homeless man upends all the son's plans.

The jeep's engine roared as it approached a grand hotel. The tall building glistened under the sun, showing off its opulence and luxury. This was no ordinary hotel; it was owned by Alex, a wealthy businessman known across town.

Inside the jeep sat Peter, Alex's son. Peter had always been the center of attention, given that he was the heir to Alex's vast empire. Growing up, luxury was all he knew. While most kids his age worried about school and chores, Peter's life was different. His days were filled with frivolities, and his nights were about attending high-profile events.

School was never Peter's strength. He often found himself daydreaming in class, thinking about the next big party or the new toy he wanted. His report cards were a testament to his disinterest, often filled with grades that made Alex frown.

This indifference to his studies was a constant source of concern for Alex. He often wondered if Peter would ever realize the importance of hard work and commitment.

But, one had to admit, what Peter lacked in discipline, he made up for with his wit. He had an uncanny ability to talk himself out of any tight spot, making him quite popular among his peers.

As the jeep pulled up to the hotel's entrance, Peter reclined in his seat, showing no urgency to disembark. Instead, he waited. He waited as guests passed by, throwing curious glances his way. He waited, knowing someone would come to open the door for him. That's just how things worked in Peter's world.

Impatience started to show on Peter's face. "How long will I be waiting?" Peter's voice was filled with annoyance.

Arnold, the driver, was taken aback. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Peter," he stammered. Arnold was an old employee of Alex and had seen Peter grow up. He was familiar with Peter's ways, but it didn't make these situations any easier.

"Will you hurry up and open the door for me?" Peter added, emphasizing each word. He wanted to make it clear that he wasn't pleased.

Arnold's face turned a shade redder. Without wasting another second, he jumped out of his seat. He rushed to the jeep's passenger side, pulling open the door with a swift motion. Peter took his time, slowly emerging from the jeep, adjusting his clothes, and finally stepping onto the hotel's lavish red carpet.

After stepping out of the jeep, Peter straightened his jacket and made his way to the hotel's grand entrance. The glass doors slid open, revealing the hotel's opulent lobby. Plush chairs, shimmering chandeliers, and a marble floor welcomed guests, showcasing the hotel's luxury.

In the midst of the opulence stood Jenny, a young hotel staff member. She had just started working at the hotel a week ago. Holding a tray with welcome drinks, she approached Peter with a warm smile. "Good morning, Mr. Peter. Would you like a welcome drink?" she asked, holding out a glass filled with a bright, refreshing liquid.

Peter glanced at the tray and then at Jenny. He took a deep breath and said, "Do you not know who I am? I only drink the special blend made for me. I thought everyone here knew that."

Jenny's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, "I'm new here. I'll get it right away."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Make sure you do," he said as he walked past her, not even giving the young staff member another look.

Other staff members in the lobby exchanged glances. They had seen Peter act like this before, but it never got easier to witness. Jenny took a deep breath, trying to shake off the encounter. She was determined not to let Peter's behavior ruin her day. She went to the kitchen, learned about Peter's special drink, and made a mental note to always have it ready for him in the future.

The lavish hotel lobby buzzed with activity as guests came and went, conversing, checking in, or seeking guidance from the concierge.

Amidst the well-coordinated chaos, Marcus, a tall man with a sharp suit and perfectly combed hair, stood out. As the hotel manager, his role was crucial – balancing professionalism with the intricacies of day-to-day management.

Peter, walking with an air of entitlement that came naturally to him, zeroed in on Marcus. "Is father in his office?" he asked with a tone that bordered on impatience. Despite growing up in the lap of luxury, Peter never quite understood the subtleties of humility or patience.

Marcus looked up, momentarily disrupted from his stream of tasks. His face, although neutral, bore subtle signs of exhaustion - perhaps from a long day or the relentless demands of managing such a premier property. "Yes, Mr. Greenwood, your father is waiting for you," he responded, maintaining his professional demeanor.

Peter, with his usual knack for unnecessary observations, quipped, “Why do you have such a displeased face, Marcus? How can you work as a hotel manager if you can't even flash a simple smile?”

Marcus paused. He was well-versed in handling demanding guests, but dealing with Peter, the heir to the Greenwood empire, required an added layer of tact. “I apologize, Mr. Greenwood. It's been a long day, but that's no excuse. You must have misread my expression,” he said diplomatically.

Peter smirked, his ego evidently stroked. "Oh, Marcus," he sighed, almost mockingly, "I hope I'll soon take over as the owner of this hotel. Then, believe me, I'll set things straight. You'll see how things ought to run."

Without waiting for a reply, Peter turned on his heel and confidently strode towards his father’s office. He was a man on a mission – to claim what he believed was rightfully his. Marcus, meanwhile, took a deep breath, prepping himself for the rest of the day, silently wishing for a world where respect wasn’t determined by one’s bank balance.

Peter pushed open the heavy wooden door to his father's spacious office. Inside, the room was elegantly furnished, with a large window letting in an abundance of natural light. His father, Mr. Greenwood Sr., sat behind a massive oak desk stacked with papers and a few framed family photos. Despite his years, the elder Greenwood had a sharpness in his eyes, a sign of the wise businessman he was.

"Ah, Peter," Mr. Greenwood Sr. said warmly, standing up to greet his son. The two men exchanged a brief, somewhat formal hug. "Good to see you. Take a seat."

Peter settled into one of the plush leather chairs across the table. "Thanks, Dad," he responded, trying to sound casual despite the formal setting.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Greenwood Sr. pressed a button on his intercom, summoning a waiter. "Two coffees, please," he ordered when a young man in a crisp uniform entered the room.

Peter, always one to make his presence felt, looked the waiter up and down, then remarked, "Hope it's better than the last one I had here. That was almost undrinkable."

The waiter's eyes darted nervously between Peter and Mr. Greenwood Sr., uncertainty evident on his face. The elder Greenwood, always the peacemaker, stepped in with a calming smile. "It's okay, Thomas," he said gently. "We all have our off days. Just make it the way you usually do."

Thomas nodded gratefully, giving a relieved smile. "Of course, Mr. Greenwood. Right away," he said, quickly leaving the room.

As the door closed behind the waiter, Mr. Greenwood Sr. shot Peter a look – a mix of disappointment and parental concern. "Peter," he began, "it's essential to treat everyone with respect, regardless of their job. Everyone plays a role in this establishment."

Peter just shrugged, seemingly unfazed, but inside, his father's words stung. The contrast between the father's grace and Peter's arrogance was evident, casting a clear divide between their worlds.

Peter took a sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with a slight clink. He looked directly at his father, confidence in his eyes. "Dad, I've been thinking," he began, "Maybe it's time for you to consider retirement. This hotel, it should be mine now."

His father, Mr. Greenwood Sr., raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

"You've worked hard all your life," Peter continued, "You deserve a break. Let me take over. Let me prove to you that I can run this place."

Mr. Greenwood Sr. leaned back in his chair, taking a moment before responding. "Peter, you already have $5 million in your accounts, set aside for your future. Why do you need this hotel?"

"It's not just about the money, Dad," Peter protested, "I want to be more than just a rich kid who inherited his wealth. I want to earn my legacy. I want to be a businessman, just like you."

The elder Greenwood looked thoughtful. "But how do I know you're ready, Peter? Running a hotel, especially one of this stature, is not child's play."

Peter leaned forward, passion evident in his voice. "Give me a chance. Let me show you what I can do."

Mr. Greenwood Sr. contemplated for a moment, then a glimmer of an idea appeared in his eyes. "You know, Peter," he began, "five businessmen from around the globe are checking into our hotel this afternoon. They'll be here for meetings, relaxation, and more."

Peter's eyes widened, sensing an opportunity. "And?"

His father smiled slightly. "I'll be leaving the hotel in ten minutes. The entire day, till they check out, you'll be in charge. Make sure they receive impeccable service. They should leave here thoroughly impressed. Today, you're the boss."

Peter's heart raced. This was his shot. "I won't let you down, Dad," he assured, determination clear in his voice.

His father nodded, "Marcus will assist you. He's been with us for years and knows the ins and outs of this place."

"Alright, I can do this," Peter stated, trying to instill confidence in himself as well as his father.

Mr. Greenwood Sr. stood up, signaling the end of their discussion. "Remember, Peter, this is a test. If you can handle today, then maybe, just maybe, you're ready to take on bigger responsibilities. But never forget our values. It's not just about luxury and profits. It's about respect, dignity, and treating everyone equally. You treat our guests the way you'd want to be treated. That's always been our mantra."

Peter nodded, taking his father's words to heart. "I understand, Dad."

The older man gave Peter one last assessing look, his eyes softening with paternal affection. "I'll be back tomorrow. Best of luck, son."

As his father left the office, Peter took a deep breath. Today was going to be a long day, and he was determined to prove himself.

Peter lounged in the leather chair behind the grand desk, feeling its weight and significance. Picking up the phone, he dialed his best friend, Mike.

"Guess what?" Peter began with a smirk in his voice, "I'm running the hotel today. Dad's left me in charge, and some heavy-hitting businessmen from around the world are coming in for a meeting."

Mike, always eager to indulge Peter in his antics, chuckled, "Wow, big shot! The millionaire's playground, huh? Do they know they're being hosted by the prodigal son?"

Peter leaned back, stretching his legs out, "Let them come. I'll show them the best this hotel has to offer. They're in for a treat."

Just as he was basking in his newfound authority, a soulful melody floated in from the open window. Peter strained his ears, trying to discern the origin of the voice. It was raw but touching. Intrigued, he glanced out, spotting a raggedly-dressed man with a scruffy beard. The man had a makeshift sign that said, "Anything helps" and was singing with deep emotion. The realization hit Peter — a homeless man, right outside the opulent entrance of their esteemed hotel.

"This can't be happening," Peter muttered, panic seeping in. He whispered to Mike, "I've gotta handle something. Call you back."

Hurriedly, he hung up the phone and made his way downstairs, anxiety pumping through his veins. If the businessmen saw this, it would surely be a disaster. They were expecting luxury, not a reality check.

Peter’s stride was forceful and purposeful as he made his way to the homeless man. The luxurious facade of the hotel sharply contrasted with the man's weary appearance.

"Hey! What do you think you’re doing, singing in front of my hotel? Do you think this is a charity house or a public park?” Peter’s tone was biting, and his stance was assertive.

The homeless man, a little startled by the direct confrontation, met Peter's gaze and calmly said, “I’m just singing a song, son. This is a public place, and last I checked, there's no harm in singing."

Peter’s expression grew darker. "You think I care about your singing? This is my hotel. And soon enough, influential businessmen will be walking through those doors. They don't need to be greeted by the likes of you."

A hint of a smile played on the lips of the older man. “Your hotel? The world is bigger than your hotel, young man. And the sidewalk belongs to everyone, including me."

Peter's face flushed in anger, "Look at you! Dirty, ragged... just pathetic. You think people want to see someone like you when they're paying good money to stay here?"

The man's patience was evident, but a hint of sternness crept into his voice, “Every soul has a journey, and every face tells a story. Before you judge me based on my appearance, maybe you should try understanding my life."

Peter sneered, "Your life? Why should I bother? It's clear where your 'life choices' have gotten you."

Keeping his calm, the man responded, "Life is unpredictable. No one chooses misfortune or hardship. And I didn’t choose to lose everything overnight. That doesn’t grant you, or anyone, the right to belittle me."

Peter's voice was thick with arrogance. "Maybe if you'd made better choices, you wouldn't be here, tarnishing the front of my establishment."

The homeless man tilted his head slightly, "I have as much right to be here as you do. This is a public place, and you have no power to move me."

Peter, visibly frustrated, said, "You think this is about rights? This is about image, prestige. You're ruining the image of my hotel."

The man replied with grace, "You're concerned about the image of bricks and mortar, while I’m merely hoping for a bit of human decency. You can't banish me just because my presence makes you uncomfortable."

Peter's face was red with fury. "I can and I will. This is my place!"

The man's voice remained even, “Your hotel may be behind those doors, but out here? This is everyone's space. You don't get to push people around just because you don't like what you see."

Peter was seething, "You dare talk back to me?"

The older man met Peter's gaze unwaveringly, “I’m standing up for what is right. Respect and dignity are earned, not granted by wealth or status."

Peter was momentarily at a loss for words, clearly not used to being challenged in this way. The two locked eyes, the tension palpable.

The homeless man broke the silence, "Remember, young man, buildings crumble, wealth can vanish, but how you treat others? That legacy lasts forever."

Peter took a deep breath, his pride wrestling with the truth in the man's words.

Marcus approached the escalating situation with a calm demeanor, his years of experience in customer service evident in the gentle manner he adopted. "Peter, please, let's not create a scene here," he said, placing a gentle hand on Peter's arm.

Peter, still heated, huffed, "Marcus, this is no place for people like him, especially not today!"

But Marcus, ever the mediator, wasn't having any of it. He reached into his pocket, taking out a roll of bills. Selecting a few, he held out $500 to the homeless man. "Sir," Marcus began, his voice soft, "I hope this helps you. Maybe you can find a nice place to stay for a while, get some good food."

The homeless man looked at the money in Marcus's hand, then up at Marcus's face. He seemed surprised, possibly even a little skeptical. But he took the money, nodding. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse. "Not many people would do something like this."

Marcus gave him a sympathetic smile. "We all have our bad days. Just promise me you'll use it wisely. Everyone deserves a break." The homeless man pocketed the money, nodding. "I will. Thanks again."

Peter watched the exchange, his anger ebbing. The whole scene had humbled him, even if just a little. As the homeless man retreated, disappearing around the corner, Peter couldn't help but think about how quickly life could change, how fortunes could reverse. But he shrugged the thought away, telling himself that would never be his reality. He had no idea just how wrong he was.

Peter's face was a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You seriously handed over that much money to a random guy on the street? Just to make him go away?" Peter's voice rose with each word, his anger palpable.

Marcus, however, remained calm and measured. "Peter, sometimes the right thing isn’t about pinching pennies. I wanted to ensure that he left without any bitterness or inclination to retaliate in some way. It's for the hotel's safety and reputation.”

Peter scoffed, "I could have handled him just fine without shelling out half a grand.”

"Maybe,” Marcus replied evenly, “but the way I see it, I ensured he left with gratitude, not resentment. You never know how these situations can escalate, especially when pride and dignity are at stake. Moreover, Mr. Greenwood, our hotel prides itself on its values. We've always tried to help where we can. Today, it was just a bit more direct than usual."

Peter looked like he was about to argue further, but Marcus's phone beeped. He checked it quickly, "The first guest is about ten minutes out. We should head in and make sure everything is in place. We want to make a good impression."

Peter sighed, pushing his personal feelings aside. The reality of his challenge for the day was becoming more evident. "Alright, let's go," he said, and the two of them walked back towards the hotel, with Marcus subtly leading the way.

An hour later Peter stepped into the plush carpeted restaurant, the air filled with the comforting scent of warm food and soft chattering of guests. He felt a tad nervous but hid it well behind a facade of confidence. The room was adorned with elegant chandeliers, casting a warm hue on the dark wooden tables. Each table was covered with pristine white cloth, sparkling silverware, and gleaming dishes filled with gourmet delicacies.

As he approached the large round table where the businessmen were seated, he noticed their diverse backgrounds. There was a tall, balding gentleman with a heavy German accent; a wiry, quick-eyed man who he guessed was from Japan; a robust individual with a deep voice that clearly identified him as French; a refined man with soft-spoken English tones; and a well-dressed man with the vibrant charisma of a Brazilian.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Peter greeted with a broad smile, extending his hands. "I hope your afternoon has been comfortable so far. Is everything to your liking?"

The German man, with a forkful of salad paused, then nodded, "Yes, indeed. The food is excellent, and the service is prompt."

The Japanese businessman, sipping on his green tea, added with a polite nod, "The ambience here is very calming, and the food is exquisite."

The Brazilian, with his contagious energy, chipped in, "I've traveled to many places, but the flavors here? Remarkable!"

The Englishman, swirling his wine in his glass, observed, "The wine selection is commendable. And I must say, the steak is perfectly done."

The French businessman, cutting into his meat pie, simply grunted his approval, "Good food."

Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him. "I'm glad to hear that. We strive to ensure our guests have the best experience. If there's anything else you need or any feedback you'd like to give, please let me know. My team and I are here to make your stay exceptional."

The Brazilian smiled, "You've got a good place here. Keep up the good work."

Peter nodded, his pride swelling. "Thank you. Please enjoy your meal, and should you need anything else, Marcus, our hotel manager, and I are at your service."

With a final nod, Peter retreated from the dining area, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. He hoped he could continue to impress these important guests and prove to his father that he was up to the task.

The elegant double doors of the hotel opened with a slow creak, drawing everyone's attention from their food. In walked the familiar figure of the homeless man. The juxtaposition was stark: the grandeur of the hotel against the man's weathered appearance. His ragged clothes and unkempt hair were in sharp contrast to the finely dressed businessmen and the luxurious surroundings.

The soft hum of conversations in the restaurant paused, replaced by the quiet clinks of cutlery on porcelain. One of the businessmen, the Englishman with the soft-spoken tone, raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Who is this gentleman?" he inquired, trying to keep his voice neutral, "Seems like he might have taken a wrong turn."

Peter, feeling a rush of embarrassment and recognizing the potential harm this could do to the hotel's reputation, quickly stood up. "Apologies for the interruption, gentlemen," he said, his voice steady despite the unease he felt. "Please continue with your meal. I'll handle this."

The plush carpets of the hotel muffled the footsteps of guests and staff, but the tension in the reception area was palpable. Peter's voice, usually so confident and assertive, bore an edge of frustration as he addressed the homeless man again.

"Why don't you understand? This place isn't for people like you," Peter sneered, his eyes darting to the businessmen who were trying not to eavesdrop on the exchange.

The man, standing tall despite his ragged appearance, replied calmly, "I have money, as you can see." He waved the $500 Marcus had given him earlier. "And here's my passport. I want to rent a room, the cheapest one you have, just for a night. That's all."

Peter's face twisted in disbelief, "You think that because you have a few hundred dollars you can just walk into any hotel and get a room? This is not a motel, this is a high-class establishment!"

But the homeless man, undeterred by Peter's taunts, countered, "Every establishment, high-class or not, is bound by the law. You cannot refuse service without a valid reason, especially if I'm willing to pay."

Before Peter could retort, Marcus intervened, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Peter's agitation. "Mr. Greenwood," Marcus said in a measured tone, "He's right. The law is clear. As long as he can pay, and we have available rooms, we cannot refuse him service based on his appearance alone. And if we do, it could lead to a police complaint and potentially a hefty fine."

Peter glared at Marcus, feeling trapped. The last thing he wanted was a legal fiasco on the very day he was trying to prove his capability to run the hotel. "Fine," he muttered begrudgingly, "give him a room. But make sure it's the furthest one from our guests."

The homeless man's eyes shone with a mixture of triumph and gratitude. "Thank you," he said to Marcus, ignoring Peter's continuing glare.

Marcus nodded, "Of course. We're here to provide service to all our customers."

As the man walked to the elevator, guided by a staff member, Peter pulled Marcus aside, "This isn't over," he whispered fiercely. "I need to figure out how to make him leave without causing a scene."

Marcus sighed, "Mr. Greenwood, maybe it's best to let it be. He's only here for a night. As long as he doesn't disturb anyone, what harm can it do?"

Peter huffed, his pride wounded, "This isn't the image I want for the hotel. I need to think." And with that, he made his way back to his father's office, his mind racing with ideas to solve what he perceived as a growing problem.

The evening sky painted hues of orange and purple, casting a serene glow on the grand hotel. Inside, the elegant bar was alive with the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional tinkle of glasses. Luxurious leather chairs and dim, warm lighting created an ambiance of sophistication and relaxation. Businessmen lounged comfortably, discussing deals and sharing jokes, the weight of their responsibilities momentarily forgotten in the inviting surroundings.

Into this genteel environment, the homeless man walked. Despite his shabby appearance, there was an undeniable dignity in his stride. The soft conversations grew a bit louder, the glances more frequent. It was clear that he stood out.

Peter, seeing him, felt a wave of embarrassment and annoyance surge through him. He quickly made his way over, his voice dripping with condescension. "What are you doing here? This is a private bar!"

The homeless man, taking a moment to study the cocktail menu, responded calmly, "I'm a guest of this hotel, just like them," he said, indicating the businessmen. "And according to your hotel's policy, each guest is entitled to a complimentary cocktail during their stay."

Peter gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his voice even. "You really think you belong here, don't you?"

Before the homeless man could answer, one of the businessmen, a tall man with graying hair and a kind face, spoke up. "Hey, leave him be. He's right. If he's a guest, he gets a cocktail. "

The homeless man nodded in appreciation, "Thank you, sir."

Peter's face turned a shade redder. His authority, it seemed, was being challenged at every turn. However, not wanting to create a scene in front of the international guests, he signaled to the bartender. "Alright, one cocktail for our... special guest."

The bartender, having witnessed the exchange, professionally poured a cocktail, presenting it with a small nod to the homeless man. "Enjoy, sir."In the soft glow of the hotel bar's ambient lighting, the businessmen relaxed into plush chairs, sharing anecdotes and business insights as they sipped on their cocktails. The sounds of clinking glasses and soft laughter filled the room. However, the ambiance was soon disrupted by the unexpected entrance of the homeless man.

Peter, already frustrated from his previous encounters, immediately marched up to the homeless man, his face red with anger. "What do you think you're doing here?" he snapped.

Without missing a beat, the homeless man replied calmly, "I believe guests of this hotel are entitled to a free cocktail. Isn't that right?"

Before Peter could react, one of the businessmen, a tall man with a sharply trimmed beard, waved him over. "Peter, there seems to be a small problem. The hand dryer in the restroom isn't working. Could you look into it?"

Suppressing his anger and irritation, Peter gave a terse nod. "Of course, I'll check it immediately."

Once in the restroom, a glint on the counter caught Peter's eye. It was the same businessman's watch, a luxurious brand easily worth thousands of dollars. Initially, Peter's instinct was to return the valuable item to its rightful owner, but then a more sinister idea crossed his mind.

Given all the disruptions and headaches the homeless man had caused him that day, Peter saw an opportunity. If he could place the watch in the homeless man's room, surely it would be grounds to kick him out and perhaps even get the man arrested. The more Peter thought about it, the more he convinced himself that this could be his solution.

With the watch securely in his pocket, Peter made his way to the floor where the homeless man's room was located. As he approached, he looked around to ensure he wasn't being observed. Finding the coast clear, he quickly used his master key to enter the room.As Peter stepped into the dimly lit room, his heart raced.

The room had a faint musty smell, likely from the previous occupant. The bed was neatly made, and the room surprisingly tidy. Slipping the luxurious watch under the pillow, Peter felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. His plan was simple but had the potential to resolve all the day's issues in his favor.

Exiting the room, he quickly made his way down the hall, trying not to draw attention. He knew where he needed to go next - the surveillance room. It was located in the basement, a room often overlooked by guests, but it was the heart of the hotel's security operations.

As he descended the stairs, his shoes echoed on the cold tiles. The hotel seemed different from this angle – not the grand and luxurious place that the guests saw, but rather a working, functional place, with its own hidden secrets.

The surveillance room was filled with the hum of computers and the soft glow of screens. A wall of monitors displayed live feeds from the various cameras placed around the hotel. He glanced at them, searching for the feed from the hallway outside the homeless man's room. Finding the video clip, Peter's fingers danced over the keyboard as he located the footage that showed him entering the room.

With a few clicks, the video was deleted. Peter paused for a moment, looking at the blank space where the video once was. A feeling of relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. What he was doing wasn’t right, but it seemed like the best solution to his current problems. At least, that's what he told himself.

Exiting the surveillance room, Peter tried to act nonchalant, but his thoughts were racing. What would happen next? Would the businessman notice his missing watch? Would the homeless man be blamed?

Suddenly, a hotel staff member, Lucy, who worked at the reception desk, approached him. "Hey, Peter. Is everything okay? You seem a bit off."

Peter, trying to mask his anxiety, responded, "Oh, it's just been a long day."

Lucy, not entirely convinced but deciding not to press further, said, "Alright, just remember, we're all here to support each other."

Peter nodded. But inside, he felt even more isolated. Lucy's genuine concern made him question his actions even more. Was this web of deceit worth the potential fallout?

He returned to the main floor, his thoughts consumed by the watch and its potential consequences.The atmosphere in the hotel had changed dramatically in just an hour. The usually peaceful and luxurious ambiance was now overshadowed by hushed whispers and pointed looks. The businessman, Mr. Roberts, was visibly upset, pacing back and forth in the lobby, talking animatedly with his colleagues. The missing watch wasn't just any watch; it was a family heirloom, and its sentimental value was beyond measure.

Peter, feeling a mix of guilt and a hope that his plan would soon come to fruition, approached Mr. Roberts, "Sir, I truly apologize for this inconvenience. We take the security of our guests very seriously. The police will help us resolve this matter."

Mr. Roberts, his face red with anger, responded, "This is unacceptable, Peter. That watch has been in my family for generations. It's not about the money; it's about the memories attached to it."

Before Peter could reply, the police officers walked in, their uniforms standing out in the opulent hotel setting. One of them, a tall officer with short-cropped hair, introduced himself as Officer Johnson.

Peter, trying to sound as genuine as possible, briefed them, "Officer, earlier this evening, I noticed a homeless man, who's staying with us, acting suspiciously. He was hiding something under his jacket as he walked back to his room."Officer Johnson raised an eyebrow but remained professional. "Do you have any surveillance footage that might help our investigation?"

Peter felt a brief pang of anxiety but quickly recovered, "I checked the footage earlier, but there was a glitch. However, I can show you the room where the homeless man is staying. Maybe you can find some evidence there."

Without waiting for a response, Peter led Officer Johnson and his colleague to the room. The hallway was quiet, and the only sound was the muffled conversations coming from other rooms.

As they approached the door, Peter hesitated for a second, wondering if he'd gone too far with his scheme. Shaking off his doubt, he knocked. There was no answer. Using his universal key, Peter opened the door. The room was in neat order, just as he'd left it.

The police, led by a tall, stout officer named Officer Johnson, entered the homeless man's room. The dimly lit space was neat, a stark contrast to what many might expect. As they began to search, the tension in the room was palpable. Peter, standing outside the doorway, peered in, anticipation evident in his eyes.

Johnson moved towards the bed and lifted the pillow, revealing the gleaming watch underneath. "Looks like we've found something," he commented, holding up the watch for everyone to see. Just at that moment, the homeless man returned to his room.

Officer Thompson, a younger cop with a notepad in hand, jotted down some notes. He said, “Given the circumstances, sir, we'll need you to come down to the station for further questioning.”

The homeless man, looking a tad weary but undeterred, shrugged slightly. "Well, if I'm really guilty, I'll be behind bars." His voice held a hint of resignation, but there was also a subtle undercurrent of confidence, as if he trusted that truth would eventually shine through.

Peter, from his vantage point, tried to mask his satisfaction but couldn't suppress the smug smile entirely. He had hoped for this moment, a chance to rid the hotel of what he saw as an embarrassment on such an important day.

The businessman, who had previously been anxiously pacing in the hallway, now seemed relieved. “That's my watch! I knew I hadn’t misplaced it,” he said, glancing pointedly at the homeless man.

Officer Johnson, always one to ensure due process, asked the homeless man, "Do you have any explanation for this watch being here?"

“I've never seen that watch before it was found under my pillow," the homeless man replied calmly. "I understand this looks bad, but I didn’t take it.”

Peter chimed in, not missing an opportunity to further implicate the man, “He must have taken it. Who else would? The evidence is right there in his room.”

The atmosphere was thick with tension as everyone awaited what would happen next. The hotel's quiet corridor echoed with whispers of guests who had gathered, curious about the unfolding drama.

Officer Johnson, trying to keep the situation calm, interjected, “We'll get to the bottom of this at the station. Let's not make a scene here.” He gestured for the homeless man to follow him.

As they started to walk away, the homeless man paused and looked straight into Peter's eyes. There was no anger or malice, just a silent promise that the truth would eventually come out.

Peter rubbed his eyes, the morning light filtering into his room. He could still feel the weight of the previous day's events. Just as he was beginning to process his thoughts, the door to his room opened. It was his father, a stern look on his face, contrasting with his usual jovial demeanor.

Stretching his arms, Peter looked up, confidence evident in his voice, "Good morning. Everything went as planned. The businessmen were happy, and I think I've proven that I'm ready to take over the hotel."

His father looked at him, the intensity of his gaze making Peter shift uncomfortably. "You may have impressed those businessmen, but you forgot the core value of our family and this hotel: integrity."

Peter frowned, puzzled. "But the businessmen were satisfied, and that was the goal, right?"

The father sighed, his disappointment palpable. "It wasn't just about keeping the businessmen happy, Peter. It was about upholding the principles that have made this hotel stand tall for generations."

"By the way," his father continued, a hint of mischief in his voice, "Check your bank account, Peter."

Confused, Peter quickly grabbed his phone from the bedside table and opened his banking app. His heart sank as he saw the balance. Where there once was a sum of 5 million dollars, now only a single dollar remained.

"What's going on? Why's there only a dollar left?" Peter stammered.

His father smirked, "Remember the homeless man and the watch incident?"

Peter's face turned pale, recalling the day's events. "Yes, what about it?"

With a theatrical flair, his father replied, "That was me. I was the homeless man. I wanted to see how you'd handle a real-world situation. And you failed."

"But...how? Why?" Peter stammered.

His father chuckled, "A little makeup, some ragged clothes, and voila! I became someone you barely recognized. It was a test, and unfortunately, you chose the wrong path."

Peter, still reeling from the revelation, tried to find the right words. "I...I didn't realize..."

The father sighed, "I wanted to believe you were ready, Peter. But you let greed and pride cloud your judgment."

With a heavy heart, Peter's father gestured towards the door. "You need some time away from the hotel. Reflect on your actions and think about what truly matters."

As Peter walked towards the exit, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him, he realized the most important lesson wasn't about business. It was about character.

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