“I’LL TRANSLATE IT FOR $500” — THE BOY SAID…THE MILLIONAIRE LAUGHED, UNTIL HE FROZE

“I’ll translate your entire document for $500,” the young boy said, standing tall with the kind of quiet confidence that only someone who had nothing left to lose could possess.

Victor Ashford, the millionaire banker, leaned back in his sleek, leather chair, his lips curling into a mock smile.

“$500? You?” he scoffed, glancing at the dirty, poorly-dressed kid standing in front of him.

But what happened next stunned the room into silence.

It was a dark, rainy evening in the Lower East Side, where the sounds of the downpour against the window echoed like a constant reminder of Thomas’s reality.

At just 12 years old, he had learned to find comfort in the discomfort, to accept that life would never be easy.

His home consisted of two small rooms, a kitchen so tiny it could barely fit a table, and dreams that seemed too big for someone who had so little.

Sitting cross-legged on his worn carpet, Thomas balanced his old laptop on his knees, the screen flickering as he browsed through job listings.

He had no formal education in translation, but he had something else: determination.

His only escape from the crushing weight of poverty was the internet.

The library’s free access to learning resources had opened up a world of knowledge to him.

He taught himself languages—Greek, French, and recently Dutch.

He had no formal degree, no certificates to validate his skills, but when he stumbled across an ad for Dutch-to-English translation work, he saw a chance.

The job offered $500 per document.

To most, that might sound like a mere sum, but to Thomas, it was life-changing.

$500 could be the difference between his sister Emma getting those new shoes she desperately needed and walking around in shoes that barely fit.

It could cover the cost of a doctor’s visit for Emma’s persistent cough—something they couldn’t afford otherwise.

It was a glimmer of hope in a world that had constantly told him no.

Three days later, Thomas stood before the glass doors of Ashford Global Translation Services, his reflection mocking him in the polished surface.

His clothes were clean but bore the unmistakable signs of wear.

His sneakers, patched up with newspaper, were a far cry from the polished shoes of the professionals that walked by.

He took a deep breath, pushing down the rising tide of self-doubt.

This was his chance.

Inside, the lobby of the building was a stunning display of wealth.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting their glow onto the marble floors that seemed to stretch on forever.

The people moving through the space wore suits and carried phones that likely cost more than Thomas’s entire wardrobe.

He approached the reception desk, trying to steady his shaking legs.

The receptionist, a woman with perfectly styled hair and a face that seemed permanently etched in disinterest, looked up from her computer.

“I’m here about a translation job,” Thomas said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I responded to your posting about Dutch to English translation.”

The receptionist didn’t look impressed.

Her eyes flicked over him with a dismissive sweep, immediately categorizing him in her mind—poor, young, and definitely out of place.

“We don’t have any positions for interns,” she said flatly, as though she had already decided this was a waste of time.

But Thomas didn’t back down.

“I’m not here as an intern,” he said, forcing his voice to steady.

“I responded to a job posting for translation work.

Dutch to English.”

She gave him a skeptical look before sighing and pointing to one of the pristine chairs nearby.

“Sit over there,” she said.

“I’ll call someone.”

Thomas sat carefully, afraid to touch anything.

Around him, the professionals moved like they were part of another world.

Minutes later, a man appeared, tall and imposing, dressed in a suit that looked like it had been sewn specifically for him.

His watch gleamed with the kind of opulence that made Thomas feel small in comparison.

This was Victor Ashford, the founder and CEO of the company.

“So,” Victor said smoothly, his voice carrying the kind of authority that seemed to settle over the room, “I hear you’re here about a translation job.

Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, standing up, feeling even smaller as he did.

Victor’s eyes scanned him slowly, as though measuring him like a piece of worthless merchandise.

“You’re aware that translation requires professional certification, correct?” Victor asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Degrees in linguistics, years of experience, quality assurance training…”

“I can translate Dutch,” Thomas said simply, his voice now stronger.

Victor’s smile widened, but it wasn’t friendly.

“You can translate Dutch?” he repeated, as though the idea were too absurd to believe.

“You barely speak English fluently, and you’re claiming you can translate Dutch?”

Laughter erupted from the lobby.

The receptionist stifled a chuckle, and even a woman standing by the elevator shot Thomas a look of cruel amusement.

Thomas felt his face burn.

But he didn’t back down.

He thought about Emma, about his mother working herself to the bone, about the sick feeling in his stomach when he couldn’t afford to take care of his family.

“I know I don’t look like what you imagine a translator to be,” Thomas said, his voice steady now.

“But looks don’t determine ability.

I can read, write, and speak Dutch fluently.

I understand the legal terminology, the cultural context, the nuances of professional business Dutch.”

Victor’s expression shifted slightly, though his amusement only grew.

“And what gives you this remarkable confidence?” Victor asked.

“Have you studied linguistics? Do you have a degree in translation? Have you ever translated anything professionally?”

“No, sir,” Thomas admitted, feeling the weight of the questions pressing down on him.

“Then why should I even consider you?” Victor asked, his voice growing sharper.

“Because I’ll translate your documents cheaper and better than your certified competitors,” Thomas blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He’d been taught never to interrupt adults, especially not wealthy ones with the power to crush your dreams.

The room fell silent.

Victor raised his eyebrows slowly, as though Thomas had just thrown a wrench into the gears of his world.

“Is that so?” Victor asked, his tone turning dangerous.

“And what would you charge for this remarkable service?”

“$500 per document,” Thomas said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Plus travel time if you need it in person.”

Victor laughed—genuinely laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the lobby.

“$500,” Victor repeated, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Do you have any idea what our certified translators charge? Our experienced, professionally trained translators?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said quietly, knowing what was coming next.

“1,500 to 3,000 per document, depending on complexity and turnaround time,” Victor said, his tone practically dripping with superiority.

“And they’ve earned that rate through years of education and professional development.

You want me to pay you $500 based on what exactly? Your confidence?”

The laughter from the others in the room grew louder, but Thomas stood tall, his heart pounding.

“Yes, sir,” he said, finally meeting Victor’s gaze.

“I may not have your degrees, your experience, or your pedigree.

But I can offer something your certified translators can’t: the hunger to prove myself.

And I will do it for half the price.”

Victor’s expression faltered.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, his mask of arrogance slipped.

Then, with a deep, almost imperceptible sigh, he spoke.

“Fine,” he said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

And that was the moment Thomas knew.

He had just won.