Robber Tries to Rob a Wealthy Businessman and Ends Up Saving His Life – Story of the Day

When the old man he had just stolen from started coughing, Ollie made a split decision to return and give him an inhaler. He never expected to be repaid with money and a job offer—however, another opportunity appeared at the old man's mansion when his butler told Ollie a secret.

Go, go, go!

Ollie worked up the courage to do something crazy. He had never done it before, but if others could, he would, too. It just…wasn't what he had envisioned doing with his future. But he couldn't dwell on that.

His entire focus had to be on the older man in the expensive suit and the briefcase on the floor by his side at a fancy restaurant in town. He was barely paying attention to his belongings, but Ollie still couldn't afford to make any mistakes. This was his shot.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" he said immediately after knocking a glass of water on the older man's jacket.

"Ah, yikes!" the rich man said. He wasn't angry, and Ollie kept apologizing, grabbing the cloth napkin and wiping away. "It's fine, young man. I can do it myself."

"No, sir. Your suit. I can't believe I'm so clumsy," Ollie kept up the facade, and with a surreptitious glance around, he noticed that other patrons had returned to their meals. His body reached around, grabbing the suitcase.

The man waved off his help again, and Ollie left his table quickly. He held the briefcase close to his body, and even the waiter who rushed past him didn't notice. But he still had to be quick. He planned to take whatever valuable items were inside and put the briefcase back in its place.

The older man wouldn't notice, and Ollie would leave with something to pawn off. So, he stood close to the bathrooms, glad no one was around, and opened the briefcase. To his shock and delight, there were several stacks of dollar bills inside. It was perfect.

"Where's my briefcase?" Ollie froze. It was the older man, but his voice was odd. He walked back toward the dining area and saw the wealthy man looking around for his stolen briefcase.

Ollie didn't know what to do. Should he just split the money and leave the suitcase lying there? Or should he take everything? Was there another path? He could go without robbing anyone and try again some other time.

But before he could make a decision, he heard a loud coughing. It kept going, reminding Ollie of his current situation, but he couldn't think about that. With horrified eyes, he saw the wealthy man fall, his body still rocking with his coughs.

No! Ollie thought. Did I give him a heart attack? I didn't mean to. No!

Ollie almost turned to run, but he looked one last time at the briefcase and noticed an inhaler. He needs it! His actions were practically automatic after that realization. He grabbed the inhaler, closed the suitcase, and returned to the table.

Several servers and a few guests were hovering over the older man, but Ollie made his way through. "Please, I know what to do," he said, not caring about the strange looks others gave him.

He lifted the older man's head, put the inhaler in his mouth, and pressed the button for him. "Breathe, sir. Breathe!" Ollie implored, then stared around. "Give him some room, please. We're too crowded."

The servers nodded and gently pushed people away. The wealthy man took several hits of the inhaler, and his coughing fit stopped. He moved it off his lips afterward and croaked, "Thank you."

"No, it's nothing," Ollie said, trying to push the man up.

"It's not nothing!" a waiter chimed in. "You're a hero!"

"Yeah!" another person said, and the restaurant clapped. Ollie blushed, ashamed, but he continued helping the man. Fortunately, it seemed he had recovered his strength and got up only to plop down on his chair. The applause died down, and everyone returned to their tables.

The waiters left to continue their workday, and the rich man spoke.

"No, thank you. Really. You're a quick thinker. You had no way of knowing my inhaler was in that briefcase," the man said, swallowing some of his water. "Where was it, by the way?"

"Ugh…someone had taken it by mistake," Ollie said, wringing his hands together. "I noticed it when I dropped water on you, sir. I came to return it and saw you on the floor."

"Well, thank you again, son," the rich man nodded. "Please, sit."

"No, sir. I have to go," Ollie shook his head, not wanting to receive more praise. It was too embarrassing already.

"Okay, well, but wait," the older man continued. "Take my card, and please call me."

"Why?" Ollie frowned.

"I would like to discuss something with you," he replied, reaching out with the card. Ollie took it hesitantly and stared. It was hard to realize that the man in the expensive suit owned the biggest importing business in their town.

"Mr. Livingstone," the young man said, breathless. "I don't know. I have things to do—" Like stealing from someone else.

"What's your name?" Mr. Livingstone interrupted.

"Ollie-Oliver, sir," he croaked.

"Oliver, call me tomorrow," the wealthy man insisted. "I insist. If you don't, I'll find you myself." Mr. Livingstone coughed but composed himself quickly.

"Okay," Ollie muttered. "Thanks."

He left with the weight of the card in his pocket, but the heaviness of his heart was even worse. He had nothing to pawn off, and that meant another day without any money—something he desperately needed.

However, Ollie now had the looming call with Mr. Livingstone and the strange threat that the rich man would find him. Does he know the truth? Did he see me stealing his briefcase? I'm an idiot, he lamented and started to walk home…the place that had been his haven but was now his worst nightmare.

***

"You're offering me a job?" Ollie asked, confused. "But you don't know anything about me."

They were in Mr. Livingstone's office two days after the incident at the restaurant. But Ollie was extremely confused by the older man's words.

"I know that you saved me without a second thought that day," Mr. Livingstone continued, shrugging. "I wouldn't have survived long enough to wait for an ambulance."

"Sir, I was just doing what's right," the younger man shook his head. "I don't know what I could do for you or your business."

"Well, I'm not asking you to do something for the business just yet," he leaned back on his pricey desk chair. "You'll be working here for me."

Cough. Cough. The rich man had been coughing intermittently since Ollie sat down, and it almost felt familiar to the failed thief. He took a hit of his inhaler, too.

"Doing what?" Ollie continued, ignoring his would-be boss's sickness.

"Helping me. I have a lot of paperwork to go through. I need an assistant," Mr. Livingstone answered, placing the inhaler back on the desk. "I need someone smart, quick, determined. Like what you showed at the restaurant."

"Paperwork? I've never done anything like that."

"You don't have to know anything. My lawyers handle all that," the rich man explained. "I'll just need you to sort and file it properly. I have a lot of things. I would ask one of my staff, but they're already busy."

Ollie kept listening. Mr. Livingstone wanted him in some of the meetings, too. But he just had to listen and alert him if something felt off.

"The truth, son, is that my health is not what it used to be," the older man laughed for a second. "You should've seen me in my prime. I was the smartest of them all. I was the biggest shark in the ocean. Could talk my way out of anything, and I ate everyone who got in my way."

Ollie's eyebrows raised, but he let the man continue.

"But things change. Aging is a fact of life, and it's just hard to accept," Mr. Livingstone sighed. "Anyway. This is how I want to thank you for what you did that day. What do you say?"

"I don't know, sir," Ollie pursed his lips. "I'm not qualified to handle such matters."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Mr. Livingstone insisted, and Ollie couldn't understand why.

"Honestly, it would be better if you thanked me with some money directly," Ollie said, chuckling a little but trailing off quickly.

The older man laughed. "Well, what's the saying? Teach a man to fish—"

"Sir, with all due respect," Ollie interrupted, shaking his head. "That saying is all good and well, but it doesn't help me today."

Mr. Livingstone nodded, sobered, and reached into his desk drawer. He slammed an envelope onto his desk. "Is that enough?" the rich man wondered. He didn't look angry or disappointed, but Ollie still hesitated. "There's more where that came from if you work for me."

The young man took the envelope and opened it. It had even more stacks of cash than the briefcase. Once again, he tried to refuse. It didn't feel right after the deceit. "It's really unnecessary."

"Son," Mr. Livingstone's tone changed as he leaned forward with his forearms on his desk and his fingers linked. "In this life, we take every opportunity given to us. We don't look back. We can't question it. We have to grab it to succeed."

Cough. Cough.

"Excuse me," he said and kept going. "My family had money. But I wanted more. I was thirsty for the world, so I took everything offered and more. I don't know where you come from or what life has dealt you. But you're here, and this job can change your life. It's time to seize the day, son."

Ollie couldn't refuse anymore, but it felt like his throat was clogged. He just nodded.

"Excellent!" Mr. Livingstone smiled triumphantly. Ollie imagined that was his usual expression after closing his deals. The older man started rubbing his hands and moving her head back and forth. "Let's see. What should be your first task?"

Knock, Knock, Knock.

"Come in," the rich man said, and one of his waitstaff appeared in the doorway.

"Sir, the partners from the law firm are here," a man in a nice uniform announced.

"Ah, yes. Right," Mr. Livingstone snapped his fingers.

"Should I go with you, sir?" Ollie asked as sweat gathered on his forehead. He wasn't ready for such a meeting.

"No," the older man shook his head. "Today, I need you to organize my desk. But be careful, please. Somewhere in this mess is the last letter my son ever sent me. I can't lose that. I meant to put it somewhere safe, but I forgot."

"Okay."

"Arrange things as best you can. You can decide what's most important and what should go somewhere else for safekeeping. I'll be in that meeting for a while, so there's no rush. Be thorough and careful, please."

Ollie nodded and watched as Mr. Livingstone followed the man in the uniform out. Upon hearing the click of the closed door, the young man deflated like a balloon on the chair. His long sigh echoed around the room.

His hands wiped the sweat off his forehead, drying it on his pants, and it took a whole five minutes before Ollie could get up to start working. He wasn't sure what his new boss wanted precisely, but he began grabbing papers.

Fortunately, he discovered his son's letter sitting on top of the envelope it had come in. Ollie stored it inside safely and put it to the side. Other paperwork was a bit clearer. Some were related to the importing business, so he placed those together.

"Maybe I can come up with a system," he muttered quietly.

Other documents looked legal, and the desk soon started looking less messy with several piles of papers gathered. Ollie also found a photograph of a young man who had to be Mr. Livingstone's son. Where is he? Why isn't he running the business? I should probably get this framed.

Finally, the desk was done, and he stared around the office, wondering if anything else should be done. Many folders and old books lined the shelves, as well as some decorations. Ollie's hand immediately landed on a golden sphere. It was a miniature version of the Earth.

He almost dropped it, not realizing the weight. "Wow," Ollie mumbled as his hand tightened. His eyebrows pulled up high at the understanding that this ugly item could be made of pure gold.

How much could I get for this? Ollie wondered, testing the weight. He snapped out of that and put it back. But his eyes spotted another treasure, Mr. Livingstone's watch collection. Why are these in his office?

They were beautiful, with the famous brand name on their faces and the sleek look of extreme wealth. Surely, Mr. Livingstone wouldn't miss one. Right? And only one would make such a big difference in Ollie's life.

Without thinking, his hands reached for the shiniest option and put it in his pocket almost against his will. No more. Never again, Ollie promised himself.

"What are you doing?"

The voice had his turning, and it felt like his soul had fallen off. It was the man in the uniform, one of Mr. Livingstone's staff.

"Wh-What?" Ollie stuttered with a hand on his chest.

"Really? I saw everything. You put his watch in your pocket," the man continued, crossing his arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The man pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay, then you won't mind if I call the cops."

Ollie's heart took another nosedive. "Please, no. Wait, it was just…I have a condition."

"What condition?" the staffer asked.

"I have kleptomania," Ollie improvised. "I grab things, and I don't mean to. It's a real disease. I can't stop myself. Please, don't call anyone."

The man stared at him, not breaking eye contact for almost a minute before he burst into laughter. "Man! You should see your face! It's pale as a ghost!" he continued, chuckling.

"Huh?" Ollie mumbled, breathless.

"I'm not gonna call anybody, dude," he continued. "Otherwise, I'd have to tell them what I do with the rich dude's things, too."

The staffer put a hand in his pocket and produced several shiny jewelry pieces and two watches. Ollie's eyes closed as he breathed, but he was angry at this other thief.

"What the hell, man? Why did you scare me like that?" Ollie asked.

"Because it was fun," he shrugged. "I'm Corey. I've been working here as a butler for six months, and this is the best job ever! I get paid a ton of money, and I get to sneak everywhere and find little things."

"And you haven't been caught?"

"Of course not," Corey said. "I'm still here, aren't I? And anyway, most of what I've stolen was Mrs. Livingstone's things. She died last year. No one will miss this stuff."

"That's…messed up," Ollie muttered.

"Oh, ironic," Corey said cynically. "You have a $40,000 watch in your pocket. That's more than I have in mine."

Ollie bristled, but the staffer wasn't wrong.

"But respect, man," he said, holding his hands up. "You have good taste. But you have to be a little smarter. The rich dude keeps these watches in the office because they're his babies. He'll notice it gone."

"Really?" Ollie frowned. He put the watch back in its place.

"Why do you think I haven't touched anything in here?" Corey sighed. "The man can't even remember what he had for breakfast, but he'll notice anything in this office missing."

"Okay, uh…thank you," Ollie said and busied his hands by moving papers around.

"Hey, hey, dude. No need to feel sad," Corey said. He got close to Ollie and lowered his voice. "You can still take what you need from other rooms. I haven't ransacked everything. And there's so much to take!"

"No, I don't want to," Ollie mumbled.

"Yes, you do. We're the same, you and me," Corey insisted, wrapping an arm around Ollie. "Listen, there's a safe in here somewhere. The old man hinted about it. But I haven't found it. I think it's in his room, but I'm a butler. The maid is the one who cleans in there, so I don't have that many excuses to search around."

"I don't understand."

"You will be in there, surely. You'll be helping him with important docs. Right? I bet he shows you the safe himself," Corey said, getting more excited. "But if not, you'll still get more chances. You have to find the safe, and we need the code, too."

"You think Mr. Livingstone is going to tell me the code?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Corey shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The rich man 100% wrote it down somewhere in all these papers. You have to find it."

"Why me?" Ollie asked.

"Why? You find it, we go halfsies, and we get out of here," Corey said, taking his arm off Ollie's shoulder. "We'll be rich. We won't need to steal anymore!"

"I don't think he'll trust me enough to let me into his room," Ollie continued. "I just got hired."

"He will. Trust me. You are handling his docs, which no one does in this house unless it's a lawyer, and they don't stay here alone either," Corey explained. "Frankly, I was outside when he explained your role here. I was shocked. But it works great for you and me."

"No, we'll get caught. One tiny item is one thing, but his safe is another," Ollie shook his head.

"He doesn't need it!" Corey snapped through tight lips. His anger was palpable. "The man is dying. He doesn't need all this money. We do! We're young and not so lucky. Come on, man! Be smart!"

"Corey!" a female voice was heard.

Corey let out an expletive. "It's Sandra, the maid. Crazy busybody," he whispered to Ollie before Sandra opened the door and found them.

"Hey, Sandra. I was just answering a few questions for Ollie here. He was just hired," Ollie grinned widely. How he transformed his expressions and demeanor in two seconds left Ollie reeling. One thing was for sure: he was nothing like Corey.

Still, he needed the money, but he heeded the butler's warning about the watch. He placed it back on its stand with the others and sighed.

***

"Mom, you have to take your pills," Ollie chided his mother, Julianne, gently. Once again, she was coughing wildly like Mr. Livingstone. But he had no idea what disease his new boss had. His mother was riddled with cancer, had lost all her hair, and needed more treatment.

They had run out of options. Her insurance wouldn't help anymore, especially after she had to quit her job. But things had only been worse. Her vital pain meds and the last bottle of her treatment drugs were running out, and Julianne had been trying to ration.

It killed Ollie that he had nothing to offer her after all their years of effort. After his father died from an unexpected heart attack, Julianne worked like crazy to give him everything. She took on two jobs so he could finish his expensive prep school and get into a good college.

Ollie was happy when he took out a student loan and a job. He sustained himself through university so his mother could breathe a little. But things took a turn after graduation when she was diagnosed with a rare form of lung cancer.

Ollie had no time to apply to any jobs in his field or to go through unpaid internships, which would help him get into the area. He began working odd jobs, delivering and running errands on apps. But it was never enough. Julianne also needed frequent doctor's visits and round-the-clock care.

Eventually, he had to quit to watch her. But their last few savings had run out, and he was desperate. One day, Ollie went to town to the pharmacy for the last bottle of meds he could afford, and an elegant woman dropped her wallet.

He tried to tell her, but she didn't even notice. She got in her car and drove off. Ollie opened it to see if there was any identification and a way to reach her but to no avail. Then, he saw several hundred dollar bills.

That money could buy his mother more meds and enough food for two months. They would make a massive difference in his life. So, Ollie shut down his morals and acted. He took the money, threw the wallet away, not even considering touching the credit cards, and went off.

He bought food, meds, and everything they needed, telling Julianne that he had a new, better-paying job. She was happy for a while, but her condition had worsened even with her meds. They had no money to visit the doctor again.

So, Ollie decided to steal from the richest of the rich. That's how he ended up at the restaurant, spilling water on Mr. Livingstone's jacket. Ironically, he had gotten a new job, but his mother didn't need to know the specifics.

"Honey, I'll be alright," Julianne croaked, waving Ollie's scolding off.

"No more rationing, alright. My job is really good. I'm buying some more stuff tonight," Ollie assured her. "We can even splurge and get some pizza from that good place if you feel up to it."

"Oh, no. That place is too overpriced," she scoffed. "I can make better pizza here."

"No, you need to rest," he shook his head. Looking around her room, Ollie considered getting flowers or anything to brighten it. Doctors had told him that being in good spirits was crucial for improving. But he groaned when he saw his diploma on the wall. "Why did you put that up?"

"What?" Julianne asked, her eyes getting sleepy.

"This thing," Ollie clarified by grabbing his Mechanical Engineering degree off the wall. "It's worthless."

"Are you kidding?" she asked, pushing up on the bed. "My son is an engineer, and the whole world needs to know that."

"Please, it's just a title. It means nothing. It doesn't guarantee a job or a good salary, as they say, and right now, with the world, the economy, wars—" Ollie stopped as his throat got thick.

"Honey, you'll return to your career soon," Julianne soothed.

"No, I won't. I would be a grunt that makes next to nothing, and who knows if this career will fade with new technologies," he swallowed. He put the diploma inside a drawer and went back to his mother's side.

"I know you'll get back to your dreams, Ollie," Julianne insisted. "I'll get better, and things will get back to normal. You'll be a great mechanical engineer. Now, tell me about your new job. I'm dying to hear."

Ollie talked, avoiding all the bad parts, about Mr. Livingstone and how he had fallen, and Ollie had retrieved his inhaler. "He offered me a job without knowing anything else," he finished, shrugging.

"He sees how smart you are. Rich men like him need people like you," she nodded sagely.

"Nah," Ollie chuckled and sobered. "He's sick. I don't know what he has, but he coughs like you, Mom. He's also surrounded by staff. His wife died. I don't know where his son is."

"Oh, that's terrible," she commented. "That's why he needs you."

Ollie was about to say more but turned and saw his mother's jaw going slack. Her soft snoring followed. At last, the pills worked. He breathed, got up, and exited her room. Ollie counted the money Mr. Livingstone had given him and deduced that they could go to the doctor.

He just threw this thing at me, so he doesn't care much about money. He must have a lot. Would he miss the contents of his safe?

***

Ollie went to work every day for a week, fulfilling Mr. Livingstone's requests thoroughly. He was starting to get the hang of what the older man needed from him: a home assistant for all the paperwork that kept coming. His lawyers visited constantly, producing more paperwork for Ollie to file.

Every day, Corey found some way to speak with Ollie in secret. "Have you found it?"

He shook his head every time. "I haven't been to his room. He hasn't asked me to go in there."

"But you have to go!" the butler would insist.

"You wanna blow this chance?" Ollie asked angrily. "I can't go in there without an official motive. So, back off and let me be."

"Fine!" Corey would say and leave. Ollie rolled his eyes because he knew the butler would be back the next day to demand the same thing.

But that evening, Mr. Livingstone caught Ollie as he was leaving. "Tomorrow, I'll have you move some things to my safe. My office is getting too complicated for me to handle, son, even with the nice system you created," the older man explained. "I don't want to lose the most important things."

"I can do it now, sir," Ollie offered, but the rich man waved him off.

"No, no need. Tomorrow will do. Go enjoy your night," Mr. Livingstone said and turned to his room.

Tomorrow is my chance…if I decide to take it.

Ollie showed up at the same time as always, and Mr. Livingstone was ready for him. "My lawyers will stay all day, so I'll be busy. I may need you, too. But for now, let's do what I told you yesterday. We can begin by moving my personal paperwork to my room," the older man explained, pointing toward the pile Ollie had arranged. "You can put these on top of my chest drawer."

"Are you sure? Just out in the open like that?" Ollie asked, grabbing the papers. On top, he noticed Mr. Livingstone's son's letter, which the older man seemed to cherish above all else.

"Yes, yes. My safe is right there. I'll file those things later myself," Mr. Livingstone explained, and they both heard the doorbell. "Those are the lawyers. Work never ends."

Ollie watched Mr. Livingstone leave the office to take the lawyers to the dining table, where they were arranging God-knows-what. But he took the opposite direction to the older man's bedroom. The decoration was flashy and loud — his wife's doing, probably.

But Ollie focused on the chest drawer. It wasn't normal like the one almost everyone bought from a home store. This one had two drawers at the very top and a big door. He placed the papers on top, next to pictures of Mr. Livingstone's son, and opened the door.

Right there in the middle with any other kind of security was the safe. He felt his brow furrowed, thinking that Corey was an idiot for being unable to find all these months. However, finding it wasn't enough. There was an electronic pad, so the real conundrum was looking for the code.

Although Mr. Livingstone had hinted that Ollie may be needed at the meeting today, the young man knew he still had time. He began to search, thinking his boss would never hide the code in the office because it was too cluttered. It would've been lost ages ago.

But it had to be in this room. Ollie leaned, crouched, and crawled all over the room. He lifted, sneaked, and prodded every nook and cranny, but there was no hint of the mysterious number. It wasn't on the bedside table. It wasn't under the Persian carpet.

Where was it?

And suddenly, he looked at the stack of papers he had brought earlier. Frowning, he started lifting each one. There were numbers because many documents had to deal with Mr. Livingstone's estate, accounts, and other important matters. But none were significant enough.

The last thing Ollie wanted was to put in a code that didn't work and possibly sound an alarm. He was bought to give up for the day when Mr. Livingstone's son's letter stood out. He opened it and scanned the pages, stopping at the bottom where the date appeared.

"An eight-digit number," the young man whispered. Most people used essential dates, like birthdays or anniversaries, as their combinations. But he didn't think the older man would do that. However, Ollie felt like that was it, so his finger input the date.

"...2016," Ollie muttered, and a little bell rang as the door opened quickly. He sighed in surprise as the stacks of cash and gold bars appeared along with other things. But he had no time to think further.

"YES! You did it!" Corey whispered-screamed, making Ollie jump in pure fright.

"Oh my God! Are you insane? You can't just appear out of nowhere like that!" he cursed.

"Whatever, dude. Let's move!" Corey said, passing him a black garbage bag.

"What's that?" Ollie wondered, confused.

"What do you think it is?" Corey asked in a mocking tone. "Start putting stuff in it." The butler passed him one of the garbage bags and started taking stuff from the safe.

"No, wait. Corey, we can't do this," Ollie said, feeling the plastic of the bag in his fingers. "These things belong to Mr. Livingstone's son. He'll come for us."

"What? Dude, I haven't seen that kid in ages. I'm not sure he's even alive," Corey scoffed, still mocking him. "He won't care about this, or well, he won't find out about it for a while if we're quick. Come on!"

"Stop. Really. Please, stop," Ollie said, but Corey kept going, mindlessly adding everything he could to the bags. He left useless stuff like old photographs and passports inside.

"Listen, dude. You found it and opened it, so stop with the self-righteous act. You're no innocent cookie! You help or shut up," Corey warned, ripping the second bag from Ollie's hand.

Ollie felt powerless by the indecision. His instinct to do good was fighting with the idea of having enough for his mother's entire treatment and to quit and finally start a career as a mechanical engineer like he was always supposed to. He could even pay off his student loans and start his own company with the amount of cash and gold Corey added to each bag.

This was wrong and immoral, mainly because they were taking from an older, sick man. But life had been brutal that last year. Giving up everything because of a disease that was about to rip Ollie's mother from this earth was so unfair. It didn't seem like he had much choice.

"Hey! Hey!" Corey snapped his fingers in Ollie's face. "Here. Hide this somewhere if you're not leaving right away. Close this and make it seem like nothing happened. I'm out, dude. Thanks!"

The butler gave him the second bag and took off. Ollie was supposed to move and do everything to hide this horrible moment, but he couldn't. His brain was still fighting, and finally, he felt…defeated. His body backed into the bed and sat out of its own accord.

Ollie didn't notice the passage of time, but the sun had set when Mr. Livingstone touched his shoulder. "Hey, son," the old man said gently.

"Sir!" Ollie breathed as tears gathered in his eyes. "Mr. Livingstone, I'm so sorry. So sorry. Take this." His voice broke, and his body shook as the sobbing began.

The older man grabbed the black bag and threw it to the side. His arms wrapped around Ollie as the young man kept crying. Time went by again.

When Ollie's tears dried up, he lifted his head and stared sadly at his boss. "Why?" was his only question.

"Ah, son," Mr. Livingstone said gently. "I had a feeling you weren't in a good financial place, so I knew this may happen."

"Then, why did you let me come in here?" Ollie questioned, leaning back further and wiping his tears. "Why did you trust me so easily?"

"Because I see your soul," Mr. Livingstone continued. "You're a good man."

"How can you say that? I stole from you," Ollie said, pointing at the open safe and the black bag.

"Did you?" the older man asked with pursed lips. "You're still here. The money is right there."

"Well, I helped Corey steal from you, then," Ollie insisted, closing his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Son, the money in that safe doesn't matter," Mr. Livingstone sighed. "I knew that idiot was stealing from me, but I didn't care. When you lose everything that matters, you know that watches and jewelry don't matter. Some cash and gold bars don't matter either."

"You knew Corey was taking those things?" Ollie asked.

"Yes, I did," Mr. Livingstone confirmed. "I'm losing my touch. But I'm not an idiot. He tried to be discreet, but taking my wife's favorite pearl necklace was a dead giveaway."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"At first, I wanted to, but then…it just didn't seem worth it," Mr. Livingstone continued. "I hoped he was doing it to build himself a better life. But I may not. I don't know—my business dealings, although all legal, were sometimes brutal. I took things from others using my money, power, and advantages. At the end of the day, it's not so different."

Ollie frowned. "I don't see it that way."

"This is a tough world. It just seems different because it's allowed," Mr. Livingstone added. "But…you are not Corey. I know you need money for a good reason."

"How do you know?"

"Because you returned my briefcase and helped me with the inhaler."

"You knew?" Ollie's eyes bulged.

"Of course I did. I realized immediately, but my coughing didn't let me act. And then, you came back, helped, and left," the older man smiled slightly. "I gave you my card, hoping to help out. It was only later that I noticed everything inside the briefcase was still there. I would still offered you a job if you had taken anything."

"I don't understand," Ollie shook his head, which was pounding with a massive aching after sobbing.

"Again, it doesn't matter," Mr. Livingstone replied, sighing. "I lost my wife. Now, I'm losing my health. And my son has been gone for years. I have nothing left. When that happens, you realize how worthless all this is."

Ollie didn't realize that Mr. Livingstone's son wasn't alive, although Corey thought so.

"I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled, upset.

"When my son died, I tried to keep working to get my mind off things," the older man said, his gaze far away. "But I just didn't have the drive anymore. My wife got sick soon after and passed away last year. The doctors said it was an aneurysm, but I know it was because she died when Aston died. I'm leaving this world soon, too. And I can't take all this with me."

"So, that's why the lawyers have been here," Ollie nodded.

"Exactly, and I was calling you down to meet with them, but you never answered," Mr. Livingstone said.

"You won't call the cops?"

"Have you been listening? No," the older man laughed.

"I'll fix that and leave. You won't have to see me again," Ollie nodded, rising to put his half of the safe back inside.

"You're coming back tomorrow," Mr. Livingstone insisted. "I need you to sign some papers. And don't worry about that. This will all be yours soon."

The bag plopped to the floor. "Excuse me?"

"That's what I wanted you to do," the older man continued, smiling. "I'm giving you everything. I'm giving a little to my staff, except Corey. He already got his share. But the bulk of my estate is yours. My company goes to the rest of the board. But you'll have enough to enjoy a good life, including this house."

Ollie's eyes had fogged again. "But I'm a thief."

"Not really, anymore. You will own this, and technically, you haven't taken anything from me. Not a single penny," Mr. Livingstone shrugged. "Let's not dwell on it. It's late, and I bet you need to go home. Take a car."

The older man started escorting him out of the bedroom, and Ollie walked mindlessly. His boss offered him to drive a beautiful luxury vehicle.

"And Ollie, bring your mother tomorrow, too. If she's feeling better," Mr. Livingstone quipped and returned to the house.

He knows about her, too?

Ollie drove home like a zombie, and the next few days were a whirlwind, too. But his boss was not lying. He had to sign documents and formalize some stuff to inherit everything upon Mr. Livingstone's passing.

Julianne didn't know what was happening, but she enjoyed meeting Mr. Livingstone and having dinner with them. The older man told Ollie to get her treatments settled and not worry about anything else. Payments appeared in his bank account often, without any effort. And suddenly, all their regular worries disappeared.

Mr. Livingstone died two months later, and Ollie moved his mother into the house after telling her everything. She was confused but proud of her son. "You must have earned his trust in a big way." For a while, their life was a fairy tale, but not worrying about money was new to them.

But you know what they say...more money, more problems. Ollie never expected that to be true, but a disgruntled butler and a former executive were not so happy that a "nobody" got the entire Livingstone estate.

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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about grandkids who wanted to take their wealthy grandmother's money but didn't realize how smart she was.

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