Mother's Day Scam: I'm the Real Hotel Owner

I glanced at the name tag on the intern supervisor's chest and memorized his name—Jacob White.

Faced with his unreasonable demand that I pay a 1,500-dollar meal charge, I stopped pretending to be polite and revealed my identity.

"I'm the owner of this hotel."

When Jacob heard what I said, he looked at Mom and me from head to toe as if we were idiots. A harsh, mocking laugh crackled in his throat.

"You're that desperate to get out of paying, huh?"

He rolled his eyes, continuing with unmasked sarcasm, "Look at you, pretending to be the owner while dressed in cheap clothes. I've seen plenty of poor people like you.

"If you're traveling on a budget, stay at a cheap motel instead of coming to a five-star hotel just to enjoy free air-conditioning and pretending you're some rich big shot."

I lowered my head and looked at what Mom and I were wearing. We had just gone to the local flea market near the hotel for a casual walk, wanting to relax and enjoy ourselves.

The clothes we had on were local-style linen and cotton outfits we had just bought there. The cost of our outfits totaled less than 30 dollars.

All Mom carried an eco-friendly reusable bag from the market, the kind they gave away at fruit stands, with an advertisement printed on it.

Standing in the lobby of this five-star hotel, I had to admit we did look slightly out of place.

Jacob slapped the counter and raised his voice. "My godsister owns this place. She built this entire empire in Southsake herself! You two poorly-dressed bums don't even qualify to polish her shoes. How dare you pretend to be her?"

Faced with Jacob's arrogant humiliation, Mom frowned and glanced at me. Before retiring, she had been a senior teacher at one of the city's top high schools. She had spent her entire life teaching students.

She never imagined she would be treated with such disrespect, especially not in her own son's hotel.

Upon seeing me shake my head, Mom turned back to Jacob. "Sir, what you're doing now is a form of aggressive commercial practice.

"Besides, the hotel lobby is a public area. You have no right to use that as an excuse to drive guests away, let alone insult them."

Jacob was left speechless. His face turned pale, then red with embarrassment. He didn't expect an old woman dressed in cheap clothes to be so sharp-tongued.

Humiliated and furious, he grabbed his walkie-talkie and shouted, "Security, we have two disruptive individuals in the lobby. Get over here immediately!"

Less than 30 seconds later, four security guards rushed in from the hallway.

Jacob pointed at us and said viciously, "I make the rules in this hotel. Unless you pay for the meal, you're not taking a single step out of here!"

I looked at the ridiculous scene unfolding before me, feeling a wild sense of disbelief.

Who was this so-called godsister of his that dared to create her own rules on my turf? Which executive in the group was using my name to throw their weight around?

I had to get to the bottom of things immediately. I would have the HR department and the audit team investigate.

I pulled out my phone, only to realize it had died. Earlier at the flea market, I had used up all the battery filming videos for Mom. I looked at the black screen and calmed myself down.

If I got into a physical confrontation with these security guards, Mom could easily get hurt at her age.

So, I reached out and stopped Mom, who was about to continue arguing with them. I turned to Jacob, standing there smugly.

"Fine. I'll pay the 1,500-dollar meal charge," I said. "But since this is supposed to be a luxury meal, I want an official catering invoice and a detailed itemized bill of every charge."