Victoria pointed a sharp, manicured finger directly toward the bronze revolving doors.
"Then you're fired," Victoria declared coldly, her words ringing across the quiet hall like a final sentence. "Leave with him! Pack your things, hand in your staff credentials, and get out of my hotel immediately!"
Julian took a slow, deep breath. The crushing reality of his situation crashed down upon him in an instant: losing this job meant struggling to pay rent, risking his sister's education, and facing immediate, overwhelming financial hardship. He looked back over his shoulder at Arthur Vance.
The old man was watching him intently. In Arthur’s pale blue eyes, there was no trace of pity or distress—only a profound, quiet warmth and an unshakeable sense of fatherly approval.
Julian turned back to face Victoria. He did not cry, he did not beg for his job, and he did not retract a single word he had spoken. With calm, deliberate poise, he reached up to his lapel, unpinned his brass staff name badge reading Lee Ross, and set it down gently on the nearest marble pedestal.
"I won't apologize for doing what's right," Julian said, his voice crisp, clear, and ringing with pure, untarnished integrity. "If working for the Grand Sovereign requires stripping people of their basic humanity based on the clothes they wear, then this is not an institution I am proud to serve."
Victoria was momentarily stunned by the young clerk's unyielding courage, but her rage quickly swept away any lingering hesitation. She turned to the two security guards who had halted a few feet away, looking uncomfortably at Julian, whom they knew to be a kind, hardworking colleague.
"What are you standing there for?" Victoria screamed at the guards. "Escort both of these troublemakers off the property right now, or you will be terminated alongside him!"
Before the guards could take another step forward, Arthur Vance moved.
His stooped, weary posture suddenly vanished. He raised his head, his spine aligning into a posture of absolute, military authority that seemed to alter the very atmospheric pressure in the room. The aura of a helpless, impoverished traveler dissolved completely, replaced by the crushing, undeniable presence of a sovereign ruler inspecting his kingdom.
Arthur reached deep into the inner pocket of his worn coat. He pulled out a heavy, solid platinum signet ring, deeply engraved with the historic crest of the Vance Corporation—a lion holding a flaming torch above an open book.
He held the ring up casually, its diamond-encrusted face catching the sharp, brilliant light of the crystal chandeliers above.
"Young man," Arthur said to Julian, his voice surprisingly deep, resonant, and commanding. "You have shown true nobility today."
Arthur then turned his razor-sharp, icy gaze directly onto Victoria Sterling.
"And as for you, Director Sterling... send the hotel owner down now."
Chapter 4: The Summoning
Victoria Sterling stumbled back half a step, momentarily caught off guard by the dramatic, terrifying shift in the old man’s demeanor. The quiet, helpless posture was gone; standing before her was a man whose pale eyes held the cold, unyielding weight of absolute authority.
However, her deeply ingrained arrogance quickly fought to reassert control over her judgment. She glance dismissively at the signet ring, convincing herself it was merely a cheap piece of costume jewelry used by a delusional vagrant to deceive people.
"Who are you?" Victoria sneered, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to hide her mounting panic behind a wall of theatrical hostility. "Who do you think you are to issue commands to me? The owner of the Vance Hospitality Group does not make unannounced visits, nor does he wander around dressed like a street beggar! Security, drag them both out into the rain this instant!"
Arthur did not move an inch. "I strongly suggest you check your internal executive communications terminal before you make an operational error that terminates your career permanently," he said quietly.
At that exact second, the private executive elevator situated at the far end of the lobby chimed with a sharp, resonant ring.
The heavy gold-leaf doors slid open, and a man in a tailor-made charcoal three-piece suit sprinted out. He was breathless, his silk tie slightly askew, his face deathly pale, and thick beads of cold sweat glistening on his forehead.