All Chapters of The Heir Behind Bars: Chapter 341
- Chapter 350
412 chapters
Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-One
The drive back from the parole office felt longer than the one there, though the distance hadn’t changed. Nathan kept the windows cracked, letting the late-morning air rush in—cool, carrying the faint metallic scent of the river and the distant hum of traffic. He didn’t turn on the radio. Silence suited him better today.He pulled into the underground garage beneath the headquarters just after noon. The space was quieter than usual; most of the staff took lunch off-site now that the old rigid schedules had loosened. He parked in his usual spot—the one still marked with the faint outline of the old “Reserved: H. Hayes” stencil that no one had bothered to repaint over.Up in the executive suite, Cassandra was already waiting.She stood at the conference table, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a tablet in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. Papers and open laptops formed a loose semicircle around her like sentinels. When she saw him step through the door, she set everything dow
Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-Two
The morning of October fifteenth arrived colder than the forecast promised. Nathan stood outside the release gate at eight sharp, collar turned up against the wind that sliced across the parking lot. The sky was the flat gray of old concrete; no dramatic sunrise, no symbolic birds wheeling overhead. Just a chain-link fence, a guard booth with fogged glass, and the low rumble of a delivery truck idling two spaces away.He had come alone, as agreed. Cassandra stayed back at the headquarters with the excuse of a morning call, though they both knew it was to give him space. She’d kissed his temple before he left and said only, “Call me when you’re on the way back. Both of you.”Now the minutes stretched. Nathan leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed, watching the gate. At 8:07 it finally buzzed open.Liam stepped through.He carried a plain duffel bag over one shoulder—the same kind Nathan had carried out of prison years ago. No suit this time; just jeans, a dark hoodie, and sne
Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-Three
The headquarters conference room felt smaller with the blinds half-closed against the afternoon glare. Nathan stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, palms flat on the polished wood. Across from him sat Cassandra, tablet open, scrolling through the fresh court filing with the speed of someone who had read too many of these documents lately. Beside her, the company’s lead counsel—Elena Vasquez, sharp-eyed and unflinching—tapped a pen against her legal pad in slow, deliberate rhythm.Liam sat at the far end, still in the same hoodie from release, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hadn’t spoken since they walked in ten minutes ago. His eyes kept drifting to the window, then back to the table, as though waiting for the floor to open.Elena broke the silence first.“The affidavit is from a man named Marcus Reed. Served three years in the same block as Liam. Claims Liam told him—multiple times—that he ‘got away with murder once and would do it again once he was out.’ Dir
Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-Four
The studio lights were hotter than Nathan remembered from the few times he’d done press after the gala. They beat down like judgment, turning sweat into accusation before it even formed. The set was simple—two armchairs angled toward each other, a low glass table between them, the Riverpoint Gazette logo glowing blue on the backdrop. No audience. Just cameras, a moderator named Claire Hensley with a calm voice and sharper eyes, and the live feed ticking in the corner of every monitor.Nathan sat stage left. Liam stage right. Between them, the space felt wider than the few feet it measured.Claire adjusted her earpiece, smiled at the lens.“We’re live in thirty.”Liam’s knee bounced once, then stilled. He wore a plain dark button-down—nothing flashy, nothing that screamed money. Nathan had suggested it. Let them see the man, not the myth.Claire counted down silently with her fingers.The red light blinked on.“Good evening, Riverpoint. I’m Claire Hensley, and tonight we’re speaking di
Chapter Three Hundred and Forty-Five
The fallout hit before breakfast the next morning.Nathan’s phone vibrated across the nightstand at 6:14 a.m., the screen lighting the dark bedroom in cold blue pulses. He reached for it without opening his eyes fully, thumbed the notification.Riverpoint Gazette breaking alert.“Hayes Brothers’ Emotional TV Confession: Redemption or Reckless Risk?”Below it, a thumbnail still from last night’s broadcast: Liam mid-sentence, eyes steady on camera, Nathan beside him looking calm but unyielding.Cassandra stirred beside him, voice thick with sleep. “Already?”Nathan sat up, back against the headboard, and opened the article.The piece was balanced—almost disappointingly so. No screaming headlines calling Liam a monster reborn. Instead, it quoted his admissions word for word, framed Nathan’s support as “a calculated gamble on family over optics,” and noted the timing of the affidavit as “suspiciously convenient.” A sidebar quoted two anonymous board members: one calling it “refreshing tra
Chapter Three Hundred and Fifty-Six
The dining room at the estate hadn’t been used for a full family meal in over a year—not since the gala where Nathan laid everything bare and the old order cracked open. Tonight it was lit only by the long chandelier and two table lamps, soft enough to hide the fresh tension lines on everyone’s faces. The table was set for five: Nathan at the head, Cassandra to his right, Liam across from her, Aunt Marjorie at the foot like she still owned the chair, and Cousin Derek—Marjorie’s favorite echo—flanking her like a bodyguard in a pinstripe suit.No staff hovered. Nathan had sent them home early. Whatever happened tonight, it would happen without witnesses.Marjorie arrived first, pearls clicking, perfume arriving before she did. She swept in without knocking, coat still on, eyes sweeping the room like she was appraising an auction lot.“You actually invited us,” she said, voice bright with false surprise. “I half-expected security to turn us away at the gate.”Nathan didn’t rise. “Sit. We
Chapter Three Hundred and Fifty-Seven
The rain had stopped by evening, leaving the estate grounds slick and shining under the security lights. Nathan stood on the back terrace, coat unbuttoned, hands in his pockets, watching the water drip from the eaves. The house behind him felt quieter than it had in years—no echoing footsteps of staff, no distant clink of glasses from a party that wasn’t happening. Just the three of them now, and the weight of what had been said at dinner still hanging in the air.Cassandra joined him first. She carried two mugs of tea—chamomile, no caffeine, the kind she made when nights ran long and nerves stayed raw. She handed him one without speaking, then leaned against the railing beside him.“He’s in the study,” she said after a sip. “Staring at the old family photos on the mantel. Hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.”Nathan nodded. “He’s processing.”“He’s grieving,” she corrected gently. “Not just for what Marjorie said. For what he believed all those years—that he had to fight dirty to belong.”
Chapter Three Hundred and Fifty-Eight
The next morning broke gray and ordinary, the kind of day that refused to acknowledge last night’s confrontation. Nathan woke early, coffee already brewing downstairs, the house still wrapped in quiet. He found Liam in the kitchen, standing at the island with a mug in both hands, staring at the steam rising like it held answers.“You didn’t sleep,” Nathan said, not a question.Liam shook his head once. “Kept replaying her face when she read the letter. The way her mouth went flat. Like someone pulled the plug on everything she thought she controlled.”Nathan poured his own coffee, black, no sugar. “She built her whole identity around being the one who knew best. The one who ‘protected’ the family. Losing that hurts more than losing money.”Liam set his mug down carefully. “I keep wondering if I should have said more. Pushed harder. Told her exactly how much she enabled Father. How she stood by while they erased you.”Nathan leaned against the counter opposite him. “You said enough. Mo
Chapter Three Hundred and forty-Nine
The community center groundbreaking took place on a crisp Saturday morning, the kind where the air smelled of wet earth and fresh-cut ribbon. The site was an old warehouse lot on the east side—cracked concrete, chain-link fence still standing in places, but already cleared of debris. A small crowd had gathered: local council members in bright vests, a handful of reporters with notepads, neighborhood kids kicking at gravel, and volunteers unloading folding chairs from a van.Liam arrived early, in jeans and a plain gray hoodie, sleeves pushed up. No suit. No entourage. He carried two boxes of bottled water and set them down beside the makeshift stage without fanfare. A project lead—a woman named Maria with a clipboard and a quick smile—spotted him immediately.“You’re Liam Hayes?”He nodded. “Here to help. Whatever you need.”She studied him for a second—recognition flickering, then settling into something neutral. “We could use hands setting up the sound system. Cables are in the back
Chapter Three Hundred and Fifty
The boardroom on the forty-second floor overlooked the river at midday, sunlight slicing through the glass in sharp, unforgiving angles. Nathan sat at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled, a single folder open in front of him. The quarterly review had ended twenty minutes ago—numbers solid, projections steady, no alarms—but the room still held eight executives who hadn’t left. They lingered, chairs turned slightly toward him, waiting for the real conversation.Cassandra occupied the seat to his immediate right, tablet closed, hands folded. Liam sat two chairs down on the same side—not at the table’s center, not yet, but present. He wore a simple navy blazer over a white shirt, no tie. His posture was straight but not rigid; he listened more than he spoke.The silence stretched until Elena Vasquez—legal counsel, now a permanent fixture at these meetings—cleared her throat.“The last item on the unofficial agenda,” she said, “is the ongoing estate litigation. Marjorie’s appeal was