As Irish entered Mr. Thompson's office,
the ambiance of rich mahogany and vintage tomes enveloped her.
The chairman Thompson gestured towards a plush armchair, and Irish sat down, noticing the subtle scent of sandalwood.
Mr. Thompson presented her a steaming cup of artisanal coffee, its aroma filling the air.
"A special blend, Miss Thompson – roasted locally. I trust you're enjoying your time here so far?"
Irish smiled graciously.
"Yes, Mr. Thompson. The building is stunning. Now, regarding my inheritance... how do I access the funds from the safe?"
Mr. Thompson's eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "An astute question, Miss Thompson. We've integrated cutting-edge biometric security. Please, place your finger on this scanner – all Thompson descendants unlock our family vault this way."
Irish nodded, pressing her finger onto the sleek device.
A soft beep resonated through the silence, followed by a satisfying click – the safe unlocked with a whisper.
As the heavy door swung open, Irish's eyes widened.
Gold bars glinted, diamonds sparkled like fire, stacks of cash towered, and black and gold cards lay neatly arranged like soldiers.
Mr. Thompson leaned forward, his voice low and gentle. "Your great-grandfather was a shrewd investor, Miss Thompson. Your net worth is substantial. How much would you like to withdraw today?"
Irish pondered, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Withdrawing $500,000 should suffice for now, chairman Thompson."
Mr. Thompson nodded his agreement, his expression solemn.
He carefully handed her a leather-bound folder containing the cash. "Also, feel free to utilize any of these credit cards – they'll be convenient for your lifestyle, and everything belongs to you now, my dear.
Irish nodded, as it would be more safer and convenient to carry credits cards around than large suitcase which would bring trouble.
Irish slipped the credit card into her purse, its soft leather creaking softly.
She rose from the armchair, her movements graceful.
Although she wanted to stay a bit longer, she had to go to the campus to avoid trouble. So she bid her farewell, and planned to leave.
But she was stopped by Mr. Thompson words.
Mr. Thompson stood as well, his eyes locked on hers. "One of our drivers will escort you back to your residence – a precautionary measure, Miss Thompson. Your safety is paramount."
Irish hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Thompson. However, I'd prefer a discreet vehicle – something understated."
She knew she wouldn't be able to get a cab at this hour, so she didn't hesitant to agree—only on the condition that the car provided it's flashy.
Mr. Thompson smiled knowingly. "An wise request, Miss Thompson. I'll summon our silver BMW 7-Series – armored plating, bulletproof glass, and a skilled driver. Your safety will be ensured without drawing attention."
Irish nodded her approval.
She didn't know much of cars.
And by the description in which the chairman explained it-she didn't think far.
Mr. Thompson unaware of her obliviousness towards car brands; gestured towards the door, and she exited his office with him.
As they walked through the building corridors, he added, "If you need anything – advice, assistance, or simply a listening ear – please don't hesitate to contact me. You're not alone, Miss Thompson."
Irish smiled warmly. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Your kindness means a great deal to me."
Upon reaching the entrance hall, Mr. Thompson opened the door, revealing the sleek silver BMW waiting outside.
Irish descended the steps, and the driver – a tall, imposing man with a kind smile – opened the rear door for her.
Irish was dumbstruck by the luxurious car before her.
Flash, and exquisite couldn't quite describe the sight of the car.
She turned to Mr. Thompson, but as if sensing she was going to reject the car was already gone.
Sighing, she got in.
Who was she kidding? The Thompson family was no ordinary feat.
Maybe to them, a car like this was low rated, but to her, having lived eighteen years in poverty, this car was heaven.
"Miss. Thompson, where should I drop you."
The driver asked politely.
"Take me to Scotts Turf Incorporation."
Irish replied, her lips pursed, a small smile drew on her face.
The driver nodded, and started the car.