Millionaire Pretends to Sleep to Test His Employee’s Son – What the Boy Did Next…

Mr. Arturo Mendoza wasn’t asleep. His eyes were closed. His breathing was deep and slow, and his frail body was sunk into the burgundy velvet of his favorite armchair. To anyone observing him, he looked like a tired, harmless old man, drifting off into an afternoon nap. But behind his closed eyelids, Arturo was wide awake.

His mind was alert, calculating, and waiting. This was a game Arturo practiced frequently. He was 75 years old and one of the wealthiest men in the city. He owned hotel chains, shipping companies, and technology firms. He possessed everything a man could dream of, except one thing: trust.

Over the years, Arturo had grown bitter. His children rarely visited him, and when they did, they only talked about his will. His business associates smiled at him, but sharpened their knives when he wasn’t looking. Some of his former employees had even stolen silver spoons, cash from his wallet, and fine wines.

Arturo had come to believe that every human being on Earth was ambitious. He believed that if you gave someone the chance to take something without being caught, they would take it without hesitation. Today he was going to put that theory to the test once again. If you enjoy these kinds of stories, don’t forget to like and subscribe to the channel so you don’t miss more content like this.

Outside the heavy oak doors of his library, the rain poured down, battering the glass windows like projectiles. Inside, the fire crackled warmly. Arturo had set the scene perfectly. On the small mahogany table, right next to his hand, he had placed a thick envelope.

It was open. Inside the envelope was a wad of $100 bills totaling $1,000. It was enough money to change a poor person’s life for a month. It was visibly overflowing, as if it had been carelessly left behind by a senile old man. Arturo waited. He heard the doorknob turn.

A young woman named Elena entered. Elena was their newest housekeeper. She had only been working at the Mendoza mansion for three weeks. She was young, perhaps around 28, but her face looked tired. Dark circles under her eyes told a story of sleepless nights and constant worry. Elena was a widow.

Arturo knew this from the background check. Her husband had died in an industrial accident two years earlier, leaving her with nothing but debt and a seven-year-old son named Mateo. Today was Saturday, and Elena usually worked alone, but that day the schools were closed for emergency repairs due to the storm.

Elena didn’t have the money for a nanny. She had begged the housekeeper, Mrs. Ortiz, to let her bring her son to work, promising he would be as quiet as a mouse. Mrs. Ortiz had reluctantly agreed, warning Elena that if Mr. Mendoza saw the child, they would both be fired. Arturo heard the maid’s soft footsteps, followed by the even softer, lighter steps of a child.

“Stay here, Mateo,” Elena whispered. Her voice trembled with anxiety. “Sit in that corner on the rug. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t make any noise. Mr. Mendoza is sleeping in the armchair. If you wake him, Mommy will lose her job, and we won’t have anywhere to sleep tonight. Do you understand?” “Yes, Mommy,” a small, gentle voice answered.

Arturo, pretending to be asleep, felt a pang of curiosity. The boy’s voice didn’t sound mischievous; it sounded frightened. “I have to go polish the silverware in the dining room,” Elena whispered hurriedly. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes. Please, Mateo, be good. I promise,” the boy said. Arturo heard the door click shut. Elena was gone.

Now it was just the millionaire and the boy. For a long while there was silence. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the pendulum clock ticking in the corner. Tick tock, tick tock. Arturo kept his breathing steady, but he listened intently. He waited for the boy to start playing. He waited to hear the sound of a vase breaking or the shuffling of feet as the boy explored the room.

Children were naturally curious, and poor children, Arturo assumed, were naturally eager for things they didn’t have. But Mateo didn’t move. Five minutes passed. Arturo’s neck was beginning to cramp from keeping his head in the same position, but he didn’t break character. He waited. Then he heard the soft rustle of fabric. The boy was standing up.

Arturo tensed his muscles. Here we go, he thought. The little thief is making his move. He heard small footsteps approaching his armchair. They were slow and hesitant. The boy was getting closer. Arturo knew exactly what the boy was looking at: the envelope. The $1,000 was right there, inches from Arturo’s relaxed hand.

A seven-year-old boy would know what money was. He would know that money could buy toys, candy, or food. Arturo pictured the scene. The boy would reach out, grab the cash, and put it in his pocket. Then Arturo would open his eyes, catch him in the act, and immediately dismiss the mother. It would be another lesson learned.

Never trust anyone. The footsteps stopped. The boy was standing right beside him. Arturo could almost feel the boy’s breath. He waited for the rustle of the paper, waited for the grasp, but the grasp never came. Instead, Arturo felt a strange sensation. He felt a small, cold hand gently touch his arm.

The touch was light, barely the weight of a feather. Arturo fought the urge to flinch. What is he doing? he wondered, checking if I am dead. The boy withdrew his hand. Then Arturo heard a deep sigh from the boy. Mr. Arturo, the boy whispered. It was so low, barely audible over the rain. Arturo did not answer. He snored softly, a fake, rumbling snore. The boy stirred.

Then Arturo heard a sound that confused him. It wasn’t the sound of money being taken; it was the sound of a zipper. The boy was taking off his jacket. What’s this kid doing? Arturo thought, his mind racing. He’s getting comfortable. Is he going to take a nap too? Then Arturo felt something warm settle on his legs.

It was the boy’s jacket. It was a cheap, thin windbreaker, damp from the rain outside. But it was being placed over Arturo’s knees like a blanket. The room was drafty. The large windows let in the cold despite the fire. Arturo hadn’t noticed, but his hands were really cold.

Mateo smoothed the small jacket over the old man’s legs. Then Arturo heard the boy whisper again. “He’s cold,” Mateo murmured to the sleeping man. “Mommy says sick people shouldn’t be cold.” Arturo’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t part of the script. The boy wasn’t looking at the money; he was looking at him.

Then Arturo heard a rustling sound on the table. Ah, he thought, here it is. Now that he’s lulled me into a false sense of security, he takes the cash. But the money didn’t move. Instead, Arturo heard the sound of paper sliding across the wood. The envelope was being moved, but not taken.

Arturo risked opening his left eye, just a tiny slit, a millimeter-wide opening hidden by his eyelashes. What he saw shocked him to his core. The boy Mateo was standing by the table. He was a small, thin child with disheveled hair and clearly secondhand clothes. His shoes were worn at the toes, but his face was filled with intense, serious concentration.

Mateo had noticed that the envelope was hanging precariously over the edge of the table, as if it might fall. He had simply pushed it toward the center of the table near the lamp to keep it from falling. Then Mateo saw something else. On the floor near Arturo’s foot was a small leather notebook. It had fallen from Arturo’s lap when he sat down earlier.

Mateo bent down and picked it up. He wiped the cover with his sleeve. He gently placed the notebook on the table next to the money. “Now it’s safe,” Mateo whispered. The boy then turned and walked back to his corner of the rug. He sat down, drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around himself.

He was trembling slightly; he had given his only jacket to the millionaire, and now he was cold. Arturo stood there, his mind a complete blank. For the first time in 20 years, Arturo Mendoza didn’t know what to think. He had set a trap for a rat, but he had caught a pigeon. The cynicism that had built up in his heart like a stone wall developed a small crack.

Why didn’t she take it? Arturo screamed internally. They’re poor. I know they’re poor. Her mother wears shoes with holes in the soles. Why didn’t she take the money? Before Arturo could process this, the heavy library door creaked open again. Elena rushed in. She was breathless, her face pale with terror.

He had clearly run all the way from the dining room. He glanced toward the corner and saw Mateo sitting there trembling without his jacket. Then he looked toward the armchair and saw his son’s dirty, cheap jacket over the millionaire’s expensive suit trousers. He saw the money on the table.

Her hands flew to her mouth. She thought the worst. She thought Mateo had been bothering the boss. She thought Mateo had tried to steal and then tried to cover it up. Mateo hissed. His voice high with panic, he ran to the boy and grabbed his arm, pulling him up. “What did you do? Why is your coat over him? Did you touch him? Did you touch that money?” Mateo looked at his mother, his eyes wide. “No, Mommy.”

He was shivering. I just wanted to keep him warm, and the paper was falling off, so I fixed it. “Oh, God!” Elena cried, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s going to wake up, he’s going to fire us. We’re ruined, Mateo. I told you not to move.” Elena frantically began pulling the jacket off Arturo’s legs, her hands shaking so much she almost knocked over the lamp.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. She was whispering to the sleeping man, though she thought he couldn’t hear her. Please don’t wake up. Please. Arturo felt his jacket being ripped off. He felt the mother’s terror. It radiated from her like heat. She wasn’t afraid of a monster. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of the man who had more money than anyone else, but who terrorized his staff so much that a simple act of kindness from a child was seen as a crime.

Arturo realized then that he had become a monster. He decided it was time to wake up. Arturo let out a groan, a loud, theatrical groan, and shifted in his chair. Elena froze, clutching Mateo to her chest, backing away toward the door. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. Arturo opened his eyes, blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, stared at the ceiling, then slowly lowered his gaze to the terrified woman and small child standing by the door.

He put on his best grumpy face, frowned, his thick gray eyebrows drawing together. “What?” Arturo growled, his voice harsh and rough. “What’s all this noise? Can’t a man rest in his own home?” “I—I’m so sorry, Mr. Mendoza,” Elena stammered, bowing her head. “I was just cleaning. This is my son.”

I had no choice. The schools were closed. We’re leaving right now. Please, sir, don’t fire me. I’ll take you outside. I won’t bother you again. Please, sir, I need this job. Arturo stared at them. He looked at the envelope of money on the table. It was exactly where Mateo had pushed it.

He looked at the boy who was trembling, no longer from the cold, but from fear of the angry old man. Arturo sat up straighter, reached out, and took the envelope of money. He tapped it against his palm. Elena closed her eyes tightly, waiting for him to accuse them of trying to steal it. “Boy,” Arturo boomed. Mateo poked his head out from behind his mother’s leg. “Yes, sir.”

“Come here,” Arturo ordered. Elena squeezed Mateo’s shoulder tighter. “Sir, he didn’t want to. I said, ‘Come here.’” Arturo raised his voice. Mateo moved away from his mother. He walked slowly toward the armchair, his little hands trembling. He stopped right in front of Arturo’s knees. Arturo leaned forward, his face inches from the boy’s, looking deep into Mateo’s eyes, searching for a lie, searching for the greed he was so sure existed in everyone.

“Did you put your jacket over me?” Arturo asked. Mateo swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. Why?” Arturo asked. “I’m a stranger, and I’m rich. I have a closet full of fur coats upstairs. Why would you give me your jacket?” Mateo glanced down at his shoes. Then back at Arturo, because he looked cold, sir.

And Mommy says that when someone is cold, you give them a blanket, even if they’re rich. Cold is cold. Arturo stared at the boy. Cold is cold. It was such a simple truth. Arturo looked at Elena. She was holding her breath. “What’s your name, son?” Arturo asked, his voice softening only a fraction.

Mateo, sir. Arturo nodded slowly, looked at the money in his hand, then at the open library door. A plan began to form in his mind. The test wasn’t over. In fact, it had barely begun. This boy had passed the first level, the level of honesty. But Arturo wanted to know more.

I wanted to know if this was just a coincidence or if this boy truly had a heart of gold. Arturo stuffed the money into his inside pocket. “You woke me up,” Arturo grumbled, reverting to his grumpy persona. “I hate being woken up.” Elena let out a small sigh. “We’re leaving, sir.” “No,” Arturo said sharply. “You’re not leaving.” “We’re leaving, sir,” Elena repeated.

Grabbing Mateo’s hand and turning toward the door. Stop. Arturo’s voice cracked like a whip in the silent room. Elena froze, not daring to take another step, turning slowly, her face drained of all color. “I didn’t say you could leave,” Arturo growled. He pointed with a trembling finger at the velvet armchair where he had been sitting. “Look at this, Elena.” He looked.

There was a small, dark, damp stain on the burgundy fabric where Mateo’s wet jacket had rested. “My armchair,” Arturo said, his voice dripping with mock anger. “This is imported Italian velvet. It costs $200 a meter, and now it’s wet. It’s ruined. I’ll dry it, sir,” Elena stammered.

I’ll get a towel right now. The water stains the velvet, Arturo lied. He stood up, leaning heavily on his cane, towering over the terrified mother. You can’t just dry it. It needs to be professionally restored. That will cost $500. Arturo watched them closely. This was the second part of the test.

She wanted to see if the mother would get angry with the boy. She wanted to see if she would yell at Mateo for costing her money she didn’t have. She wanted to see if the pressure would break their bond. Elena looked at the stain. Then she looked at Arturo. Tears streamed down her face. “Mr. Mendoza, please,” she pleaded. “I don’t have $500. I haven’t even been paid this month yet.”

Please deduct it from my salary. I’ll work for free. Just don’t hurt my child. Arturo’s eyes narrowed. She was offering to work for free. That was odd, but he still wasn’t satisfied. He looked down at Mateo. “And you,” Arturo said to the boy. “You caused this damage. What do you have to say about it?” Mateo took a step forward. He wasn’t crying.

His little face was very serious. He put his hand in his pocket. “I don’t have $500,” Mateo said softly. “But I have this.” Mateo took his hand out of his pocket, opened his small fingers. In the center of his palm was a small, battered toy car. It was missing a wheel. The paint was chipped. It was clearly old and worthless to anyone else, but the way Mateo held it made it seem like he was holding a diamond.

“This is Lightning Bolt,” Mateo explained. “It’s the fastest car in the world. It belonged to my dad before he went to heaven. Mommy gave it away.” Elena gasped. “Mateo, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay, Mommy,” Mateo said bravely. He looked at the millionaire. He could keep Lightning Bolt to turn off the couch.

He’s my best friend, but you’re angry, and I don’t want you to be angry with Mommy. Mateo reached out and placed the broken toy car on the mahogany tabletop right next to the leather notebook. Arturo stared at the toy. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The room suddenly felt very small. Arturo looked at the wad of cash in his pocket, thousands of dollars.

Then he looked at the three-wheeled toy car on the table. This boy was offering his most prized possession to right a wrong he’d done out of kindness. He was giving up the only thing he had left of his father to save his mother’s job. Arturo’s heart, which had been frozen for so many years, suddenly cracked completely.

The pain was sharp and immediate. He realized that this child, who had nothing, was richer than Arturo would ever be. Arturo had millions, but he would never sacrifice his favorite possession for anyone. Silence fell. The rain continued to pound against the window. Arturo picked up the toy car.

His hand was trembling. You. Arturo’s voice was no longer a growl, it was a whisper. You’d give me this for a wet couch? Yes, sir, Mateo said. That’s enough. Arturo closed his eyes. He thought of his own children. They only called him when they wanted a new sports car or a vacation home.

They never gave him anything, they just took. Yes, Arturo whispered, opening his eyes. They were moist. Yes, Mateo, that’s enough. It’s more than enough. Arturo slumped back into his chair. The performance was over. He could no longer play the villain. He felt tired, not from age, but from the weight of his own guilt.

“Elena,” Arturo said, his voice changing completely, becoming that of a tired, lonely old man. “Sit down, sir.” Elena looked confused by the change in his tone. “I said, ‘Sit down.’” Arturo barked, then softened. “Please, just sit down. Stop looking at me like I’m going to eat you.” Elena sat hesitantly on the edge of the sofa, pulling Mateo onto her lap.

Arturo looked at the toy car in his hand, twirling the remaining wheels with his thumb. “I have a confession to make,” Arturo said, looking at the floor. “The couch isn’t ruined, it’s just water. It’ll be ready in an hour.” Elena let out a breath she’d been holding. “Oh, thank God.”

“And Arturo continued staring at them with intense eyes. He wasn’t asleep. Elena’s eyes widened. You—you weren’t. No.” Arturo shook his head. “I was pretending. I left that money on the table on purpose. I wanted to see if they would steal it. I wanted to catch them.” Elena pulled Mateo closer to her chest.

She looked hurt. She was testing us like we were rats in a maze. Yes, Arturo admitted. I’m a bitter old man, Elena. I thought everyone was a thief. I thought everyone had a price. He pointed a trembling finger at Mateo. But he—Arturo’s voice broke. He didn’t take the money. He covered for me. He covered for me because he thought I was cold, and then he offered me his father’s car.

Arthur wiped a tear from his cheek. He didn’t care that his maid was watching. “I’ve lost my way,” Arthur whispered. “I have all this money, yet I’m poor. You have nothing. Yet you raised a king.” Arthur stood, walked to the fireplace, and took a deep breath. He turned to face them. “The test is over,” Arthur announced.

And they both went in. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thick envelope of money. He walked over to Elena and held it out to her. “Take this,” Arturo said. Elena shook her head vigorously. “No, sir, I don’t want your money. I just want to work. I want to earn my living.” “Take it,” Arturo insisted. “It’s not charity, it’s a bonus.”

This is payment for the lesson your son just taught me. Elena hesitated. She looked at the money, then at Mateo’s worn shoes. “Please,” Arturo said gently. “Buy the boy a warm coat. Buy him new shoes. Buy yourself a bed that won’t hurt your back. Take it.” Elena reached out, her hand trembling, and took the envelope. “Thank you, Mr. Mendoza. Thank you.”

Don’t thank me yet, Arturo said. A small, genuine smile touched his lips for the first time in years. I have a business proposition for you, Mateo. Mateo looked up, his eyes sparkling. For me. Yes, Arturo said. He held up the small toy car. I’m going to keep Lightning McQueen fast. He’s mine now.

You gave it to me as payment. Mateo’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. Okay. A deal’s a deal. But, Arturo continued, I can’t drive a three-wheeler. I need a mechanic, someone to help me fix things around here, someone to help me fix myself. Arturo knelt down. A painful movement for his old knees to get to the 7-year-old boy’s eye level.

Mateo, would you like to come here every day after school? You can sit in the library, do your homework, and teach this grumpy old man how to be nice again. In return, I’ll pay for your schooling all the way to university. He tried. Mateo looked at his mother. Elena was crying openly now, covering her mouth with her hands. She nodded.

Mateo looked back at Arturo, smiled—a beautiful smile with a missing tooth. “Deal,” Mateo said. He extended his small hand. Arturo Mendoza, the millionaire who trusted no one, took the small hand in his and shook it. Ten years passed. The Mendoza mansion was no longer a dark and silent place.

The heavy curtains were always open, letting in the sunlight. The once neglected and thorny garden was now full of bright flowers. On a warm Sunday afternoon, the library was crowded, but it wasn’t a party; it was a gathering of lawyers, businessmen, and a young man named Mateo. Mateo was 17 years old now.

He was tall, handsome, and wore an impeccable suit. He stood by the window, looking out at the garden where his mother, Elena, was arranging flowers. Elena no longer looked tired; she looked happy. She was now the director of the Mendoza Foundation, managing millions of dollars destined for charitable works each year. The room was quiet because the lawyer was reading Mr. Arturo Mendoza’s last will and testament.

Arturo had died peacefully in his sleep three days earlier. He had died in the Burgundy armchair, the same one where the test had taken place 10 years before. Arturo’s biological children were there, two sons and a daughter. They were sitting on the other side of the room, looking impatient. They were checking their watches.

They whispered among themselves about selling the house and dividing the fortune. They didn’t look sad; they looked greedy. The lawyer, Mr. Ramirez, cleared his throat. “To my children,” Mr. Ramirez read from the document, “I leave the trust funds that were established for you at birth. You have never visited me without asking for money, so I assume that money is all you want.”

They have their millions, enjoy them. The children grumbled. But they seemed content. They stood up to leave, not caring to hear the rest. “Wait,” Mr. Ramirez said. “There’s more. The rest of my estate, my companies, this mansion, my investments, and my personal savings. I leave it all to the only person who gave me something when I had nothing.”

The children stopped, turned around, confused. “Who?” one of them demanded. “We are his family. I’m leaving everything,” the lawyer read. The room erupted in shouts. The children were furious. They pointed at Mateo. They yelled, “The maid’s son! This is a joke! He deceived our father!” Mateo didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just held something in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb.

The lawyer raised his hand, asking for silence. Mr. Mendoza had left a letter explaining his decision. He wanted it read to him. The lawyer unfolded a handwritten note. To my children and to the world. You measure wealth in gold and property. You think I’m giving Mateo my fortune because I’ve gone mad, but you’re wrong. I’m paying off a debt.

Ten years ago, on a rainy Saturday, I was a spiritual beggar. I was cold, lonely, and empty. A seven-year-old boy saw me shivering. He didn’t see a millionaire; he saw a human being. He covered me with his own jacket, protected my money when he could have stolen it, but the real debt was repaid when he gave me his most prized possession, a broken toy car, to save his mother from my wrath.

He gave me everything he had without expecting anything in return. That day he taught me that the poorest pocket can hold the richest heart. He saved me from dying a bitter, hateful man. He gave me a family. He gave me ten years of laughter, noise, and love. So I’m leaving him my money. It’s a small exchange because he gave me back my soul.

The lawyer finished reading and looked at Mateo. “Mateo,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Mendoza wanted you to have this.” The lawyer handed Mateo a small velvet box. Mateo opened it. Inside, sitting on a white silk cushion, was the old toy car, Lightning Speed. Arturo had kept it for ten years and polished it.

He’d even had a jeweler repair the missing wheel with a small piece of solid gold. Mateo took the toy. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t care about the mansion. He didn’t care about the billions of dollars or the angry people yelling in the room. He missed his friend. He missed the grumpy old man who used to help him with his math homework.

Mateo walked over to his mother, Elena, who had come in from the garden. She hugged him tightly. “He was a good man,” Mateo whispered. “He was,” Mateo replied. “He just needed a jacket.” The angry children stormed out of the house, vowing to sue, but they knew they would lose. The will was unbreakable.

Mateo looked around the enormous bookcase, glanced at the empty armchair, walked over to it, and placed the toy car with the golden wheel on the side table, right next to the lamp. “Now it’s safe,” Mateo whispered, repeating the words he had said 10 years earlier. Mateo grew up to become a different kind of millionaire.

He didn’t build walls, he built schools; he didn’t accumulate money. He used it to fix things that were broken, just like he had tried to fix the damaged armchair. And whenever someone asked him how he became so successful, Mateo would smile, take a battered toy car out of his pocket, and say, “I didn’t buy my success, I paid for it with kindness.”

Now, the moral of this story: Kindness is an investment that never fails. In a world where everyone is trying to take something, those who give are the ones who truly change the world. Arturo Mendoza had all the money in the world, but he was poor until a child taught him how to love. Never underestimate the power of a small act of kindness.

A jacket, a kind word, or a simple sacrifice can melt the coldest heart. When you give, do it without expecting anything in return, and life will reward you in ways money never could. If you enjoyed this story, be sure to like and subscribe to the channel. Turn on notifications to receive alerts for new stories.

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