Chapter 4: It Worked!

By the time the Angkas driver dropped him off at Greenbelt, Timothy was sweating bullets, not from heat, but nerves. He tugged at his newly reconstructed shirt and slung the backpack over one shoulder as he stepped onto the polished pavement outside the mall.He glanced up at the glass facade of Greenbelt 5, the kind of place he’d only seen from tricycle windows or on Facebook posts of classmates showing off their weekend mall trips. Security guards stood by the doors, their crisp uniforms and radios making him feel even more out of place.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his cracked phone and checked the time.

8:15 AM.

His heart dropped.

"What the hell...?!" Timothy muttered under his breath. He quickly searched on Google: Greenbelt mall hours.

Opening time: 11:00 AM.

He dragged a hand down his face. "Damn it... I was too excited I didn’t even check."

Three whole hours. He stared at the glass doors that wouldn’t budge until late morning. His stomach churned with both nerves and hunger. He hadn’t eaten breakfast either.

"Great. Just great. Now what?"

He wandered toward the park in the middle of Greenbelt, where there were benches under shade trees. A few joggers passed by, maids walked expensive dogs, and early-morning professionals sipped coffee from Starbucks. Timothy sank into a bench, clutching his backpack protectively.

Three hours to kill. He couldn’t just sit here staring.

Then it hit him. He pulled out his phone again, opened YouTube, and typed: How to sell a diamond ring.

The results flooded in. One thumbnail caught his eye immediately—Pawn Stars Best Diamond Negotiations Compilation.

Timothy smirked faintly. "Why not? At least I’ll learn how to talk without sounding like an idiot."

He plugged in his cheap earphones and hit play.

On the screen, Rick Harrison examined a diamond with his magnifying loupe.

"This is a nice stone. But without certification, I can only offer you half."

Timothy leaned forward. Certification. Right. That’s my advantage. The System gave me documents.

The next clip showed a customer stubbornly demanding $10,000 for his ring. Rick countered with $4,000. The haggling went back and forth until they settled at $6,500.

Timothy muttered under his breath, rehearsing:

"Sir, this is a GIA-certified flawless 1-carat diamond. The valuation is ₱280,000 to ₱320,000. I can’t go lower than market range."

His voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and tried again, lowering his tone.

"No, sir. This isn’t a pawnshop item. It’s certified. If you can’t match the value, I’ll find a different buyer."


He paused, wincing. "Shit... I sound too arrogant."

He rewound the clip, listening to how professionals negotiated.

He practiced again. This time, he imagined the jewelry shop staff across from him.

"I understand you have to profit too. But with certification this strong, I know the value. ₱280,000 is fair. ₱250,000 is my lowest."

He exhaled slowly. That sounded better. More realistic.

An elderly couple walked by, giving him odd looks as he muttered to himself. Timothy ignored them and kept practicing.

Minutes ticked into hours. By the time his phone battery hit 40%, he had watched enough clips to pick up the basics—don’t look desperate, don’t accept the first offer, and always highlight the certification.

At one point, his stomach growled so loud he almost laughed. He bought a ₱50 siopao and a bottled water from a nearby kiosk.

Finally, he checked the time. 10:58 AM.

People had started to gather by the glass doors of Greenbelt. Timothy stood up, slinging his backpack tighter, his palms sweating. The velvet box inside felt heavier than gold bricks.

"This is it," he whispered to himself, heart hammering. "Don’t screw this up."

The guards finally unlocked the doors, and the cool rush of air-conditioned air spilled out. Timothy stepped inside with the rest of the crowd.

The marble floors gleamed under the lights. The scent of expensive perfume, brewed coffee, and polished leather filled the air. Every shop window displayed things he couldn’t even dream of affording—Rolex watches, Gucci handbags, Cartier jewelry.

He adjusted his reconstructed shirt collar and squared his shoulders. For once, he didn’t look like a kid who came from the slums.

And with every step toward the jewelry wing of Greenbelt, Timothy’s nerves tightened.

He was on Greenbelt 5 jewelry wing.

Names like Lucerne, Goldenhills, Miladay, and MyDiamond glimmered in elegant fonts above storefronts, each one lit with warm lights that made the jewelry inside sparkle like stars. Security guards with earpieces stood discreetly by the entrances, and sales attendants in tailored uniforms waited behind glass counters.

Timothy’s mouth went dry. This was it. One step too shaky, and they’d know he didn’t belong here.

He paused in front of a shop with a polished wooden facade and gold-letter signage: Goldenhills Jewelry. Inside, rows of rings and necklaces gleamed under spotlights, and a chandelier glittered from the ceiling.

Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the glass door open.

A faint chime rang. Immediately, a beautiful saleslady in a sleek black dress approached him with a professional smile.

"Good morning, sir. Welcome to Goldenhills. Are you looking for something specific today?"

Timothy’s throat tightened. His rehearsed lines fluttered in his brain like nervous birds. He forced himself to straighten his shoulders, his hand brushing against the velvet box inside his bag.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat. "I’d like to have a diamond ring appraised."

The saleslady’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sharpened slightly. She gestured toward a counter.

"Of course, sir. Please follow me."

Timothy’s heart pounded as he walked to the glass counter. Another staff member appeared, this one an older man in a suit with a jeweler’s loupe tucked into his breast pocket. Clearly, the appraiser.

"Good morning," the man said warmly, though his tone carried the weight of experience. "I’m Mr. Santos, senior appraiser. May I see the piece?"

"Name’s Timothy," he carefully unzipped his bag and pulled out the velvet ring box. Even the motion felt surreal. He placed it gently on the counter, as though it were a bomb that might go off.

The staff’s eyes flickered—subtle, but intrigued. This wasn’t a cheap pawnshop item.

Mr. Santos opened the box.

The diamond within caught the light instantly, scattering rainbow hues across the glass counter. Even the saleslady’s mask of professionalism cracked slightly, her eyes widening at the brilliance.

Timothy swallowed. "It’s a one-carat, flawless round brilliant cut, set in 18k white gold. It comes with GIA certification."

He slid the folded documents forward. His hand trembled slightly, but he forced it to stop.

Mr. Santos put on his glasses, unfolded the papers, and scanned them carefully. He nodded slowly, then picked up the loupe and lifted the ring delicately with tweezers.

The next minutes were agonizing. Timothy’s pulse roared in his ears as the jeweler turned the ring under the light, peered through the loupe, and muttered softly to himself.

Finally, Mr. Santos set it down with a satisfied nod.

"This is genuine," he said. "Excellent cut. D-color, flawless clarity. The certificate checks out. Quite an impressive piece, young man."

Timothy exhaled, relief flooding his chest. "May I ask where you acquired it?"

Timothy’s rehearsed answer sprang to his lips. "It was a family gift, sir. But we’ve decided it’s better to liquidate it for expenses."

The jeweler’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t press. He’d probably heard dozens of similar explanations before.

"Well," Mr. Santos said, folding the papers neatly. "At auction, this could fetch around ₱300,000. Here, at retail buyback, our offer would be ₱260,000."

Timothy’s heart skipped. ₱260,000. His family’s yearly expenses, covered in one transaction.

But his rehearsals echoed in his head: Don’t accept the first offer.

He inhaled sharply, steadying his nerves. "Sir, I appreciate the offer. But given the flawless grade and GIA certification, I believe ₱280,000 is more than fair. That’s the low end of the market valuation."

Mr. Santos’s lips curled faintly, amused. Most people folded immediately. But this boy had spine.

The jeweler leaned back. "₱280,000... is indeed fair. But we must also consider overhead. Tell you what—₱270,000, cash or direct deposit today. Final offer."

Timothy clenched his fists subtly behind the counter. ₱270,000. Two hundred seventy thousand pesos. More than he had ever dreamed of holding in his life.

He forced himself to stay calm, not leap on it like a starving man. He nodded slowly.

"₱270,000... I can accept that."

The saleslady smiled, and Mr. Santos extended his hand. Timothy shook it, his palm damp with sweat.

"Very well. Please give us a few minutes to prepare the paperwork and process the payment."

He waited.

Timothy rested his arms lightly against the counter, trying to appear calm while his eyes darted to the glass displays. Rows of diamond rings, necklaces, and earrings sparkled like bottled starlight. Each had a tiny tag beside it: ₱120,000, ₱250,000, ₱600,000...

He tapped his foot nervously, fingers brushing against the strap of his bag. Every tick of the clock on the wall felt like a hammer in his chest.

Then, Mr. Santos returned, holding a clipboard of documents. The saleslady followed, smiling politely, and behind them came a woman in a sharp black blazer suit. She had neatly tied hair, pearl earrings, and the kind of confident poise that screamed manager.

"Sir Timothy?" Mr. Santos said, laying the paperwork on the counter. "We’ll just need you to fill this out for our records. Name, address, contact number. Standard procedure for all high-value transactions."

Timothy nodded quickly, gripping the provided pen. His handwriting shook at first, but he steadied it.

Name: Timothy Guerrero

Address: He hesitated, then wrote their Tondo address. He wondered for a moment if it would look suspicious, but Mr. Santos didn’t bat an eye.

Contact: His cracked phone number.

He finished the rest of the fields and slid it back.

"You did well, sir," she said politely. "For a piece of this quality, ₱270,000 is a very fair deal. Please wait while we prepare the payment."

Timothy’s heart hammered faster. It’s real. It’s happening.

The manager motioned to the saleslady, who opened a drawer behind the counter. To Timothy’s shock, she pulled out a money counter machine and several neatly wrapped stacks of ₱1,000 bills.

Timothy’s mouth went dry. He had never seen that much cash in his life—not even close.

The machine whirred to life as the manager slipped in the stacks, the bills flipping rapidly, clack-clack-clack. The digital screen beeped with each count.

₱100,000.

₱200,000.

₱270,000.

Timothy gripped the counter tighter, his palms sweating.

"Here you go, sir," the manager said, setting the bundles neatly into a slim black envelope with the Goldenhills logo. She slid it across the counter as if it were nothing more than a Starbucks receipt.

Timothy reached out slowly, almost reverently. His fingers brushed the envelope, and a shiver ran up his spine.

Two hundred seventy thousand pesos.

"Please double-check the amount," the manager added, professional as ever.

Timothy opened the envelope slightly, catching a glimpse of crisp, stacked bills. His chest tightened. His hands wanted to shake, but he forced them steady. "It’s all here. Thank you."

Mr. Santos gave him another approving nod. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Guerrero. If you have any other pieces you wish to liquidate, don’t hesitate to return."

Other pieces? Timothy nearly laughed. If only you knew.

He bowed his head slightly. "I will. Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma’am."

It fucking worked!