All Chapters of LEWIS GORDON: RETURN OF THE FORGOTTEN HEIR : Chapter 91
- Chapter 100
130 chapters
BLOODLINE ON TRIAL
Maria’s gaze found him. For half a heartbeat, mother and son locked eyes across the packed courtroom. Lewis quickly stood. The wooden bench scraped softly against the floor as he moved past knees and coats, past whispered disbelief. Cameras swiveled instinctively. A few heads turned in confusion, others in dawning recognition. He walked quickly, shoulders squared, pulse steady despite the roar in his ears. When he reached the open space beside the defense rail, he stopped and stood beside Maria. She lifted her hand and rested it lightly against his arm. “Here,” Maria said clearly. “Here is my son.” A murmur rippled through the gallery—sharp and electric. The judge leaned forward slightly. “Young man,” she said, voice even, authoritative. “Step forward.” Lewis did. “What is your name?” the judge asked. Lewis met her eyes. “Lewis Gordon,” he said. The name landed like a dropped glass. He didn’t pause. “I am the biological son of the late Martin G
I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU!
Lewis inhaled slowly. Then he spoke. “My tangible evidence,” he said evenly, “is standing right here.” A ripple of confusion passed through the gallery. Lewis lifted his chin slightly, eyes sweeping the courtroom—not theatrically, not arrogantly, but with a calm that carried weight. “Look at me,” he said. “And look at my mother.” He turned just enough for the jury box, the press, the judge—to truly see them side by side. “Most of the people in this room already know who she is,” Lewis continued. “They just haven’t said it out loud.” A murmur rose again. “That’s Maria Gordon—” “Martin’s wife… I remember her from the charity galas—” “She vanished all of a sudden—” Lewis went on. “You’ve seen the resemblance. Not just in my face—but in how I stand. How I speak. The way I carry myself.” His jaw tightened. “The same build. The same cadence. The same temper held in check.” He paused, letting it sink in. “And her name,” he added quietly. “Maria.” A sha
TAKEN OUT FROM THE CRIMINAL COURT
The bailiffs’ firm grips never wavered as they dragged Samuel forward, his legs stumbling against the polished floor. Behind him, six other detainees—each guilty of their own violent and calculated schemes—were also being hauled toward the exit. Their protests and curses mingled into a chaotic chorus, bouncing off the high ceilings and the cold, imposing walls of the Criminal Court. Samuel’s voice rose above the others, harsh and bitter, every word a venomous lash aimed directly at Lewis and Maria. “You—both of you! Mark my words, you’ll regret this!” He screamed, spittle flying as he twisted against the bailiffs. “I will haunt every step you take! You think this victory is yours? You’re blind to the storm I’m bringing down on you!” Maria’s hands trembled as she tightened her grip on Lewis’s sleeve. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t pull away. Her eyes followed Samuel as if trying to burn his face into memory, every bitter curse hitting her chest like a physical blow.
THE CALM AFTER JUDGEMENT
Her fingers tightened around Lewis’s hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as if to steady herself. “Maybe… maybe nobody will even be at home.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the window where sunlight shimmered off passing cars. “After everything today, I doubt Carolina would have the courage to stay.” Lewis leaned back against the booth, his shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp, calculating. “If we go back and I see Carolina there,” he said evenly, his voice low and controlled. “I will personally escort her out. Immediately!” Maria turned to him, searching his face. “I’ll have every single one of her belongings thrown out,” Lewis continued without hesitation. “That house isn’t theirs. It never was. She should go and meet her husband where he belongs—at the Brooklyn Detention Center.” There was no heat in his tone, only certainty. A line drawn and defended. “I don’t care,” he added bluntly. “I don’t give a damn fuck how it looks. I’m doing ex
AT THE BROOKLYN DETENTION CENTER
The low murmur from the front row drifted toward him in broken fragments, weaving through the soft clink of cutlery and the steady hum of the hotel’s air conditioner. “…the entire board is scrambling.” One man said, leaning back in his chair with a scoff, fingers drumming impatiently against the tabletop. “No interim announcement, nothing official. Just panic emails,” Another replied, his voice edged with disbelief. A third voice cut in, quieter but sharper. “Because nobody knows who’s really in charge now.” Lewis’s jaw tightened—barely noticeable unless someone was watching closely. His fingers paused mid-motion, the sandwich hovering inches from his mouth. He didn’t bite. He glanced sideways at Maria. She sat upright across from him, both hands wrapped around her glass of Coca-Cola, condensation dampening her fingers. Her shoulders were tense, her posture careful, like someone bracing for a sudden gust of wind. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the speakers,
SILENCE OF THE FALLEN
The bailiffs kept dragging them. Four of them—spread evenly along the line—hands firm on cuffs and upper arms, movements efficient and practiced. The moment Samuel and the remaining detainees crossed the threshold of the Brooklyn Detention Center, the air changed. The faint daylight behind them vanished, swallowed whole by harsh fluorescent light and raw concrete that pressed inward with every step. The temperature dropped a few degrees—not cold, but stripped of warmth. Even sound behaved differently in here. Footsteps echoed too long. Breathing felt louder than it should have been. “Single file. No talking.” One bailiff said from the front, voice flat. Another walked the rear, boots landing heavy and deliberate, making sure no one lagged. Handcuffs stayed on. Chains clinked softly with each step, metal brushing against fabric, against skin. The sound followed them like a reminder—constant and unavoidable. Samuel’s jaw tightened as the intake corridor stretch
YOU WON'T ENTER HERE!
Lewis stepped forward, broad shoulders squaring as his shadow fell across the marble threshold. Maria was right behind him, spine straight, jaw tight, eyes blazing with a fury that had been simmering since dawn. He quickly yanked the door open. Evening light spilled in and with it came Carolina. She stepped out of the Tesla Model X, the door slamming shut behind her with unnecessary force. Her heels struck the stone driveway in rapid, angry clicks, each step charged with bitterness. Her face was rigid, lips pressed thin, eyes red-rimmed and burning like coals that refused to cool. Lewis didn’t move aside. He stood planted in front of the doorway, blocking it completely. Maria crossed her arms slowly, her stare cold and unwelcoming. Carolina advanced until she was only a few feet away. Lewis lifted a hand sharply. “Stop right there.” Carolina scoffed, her laugh brittle. “Oh? You think you can stop me from entering my husband’s house?” “Go back,” Lewis sai
DEPRIVED OF THE TESLA MODEL X
She stood there long after the door had slammed shut. The heavy silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the faint hum of the street and the distant bark of a dog somewhere down the block. Curtains twitched. Blinds shifted. Faces hovered behind glass like spectators at a slow-moving accident. No one spoke to her. No one came to her aid. Her wrist throbbed. Her pride burned hotter. She lifted her chin, swallowing the humiliation crawling up her throat, and turned slowly in a full circle, staring down Clark Street as if daring it to answer her. “Clarks Street!” She suddenly shouted, her voice sharp and cracking through the evening air. “Clarks Street, come for my rescue!” A few heads leaned out farther. Someone paused mid-step. Still—no one moved. “Brooklyn!” She yelled again, louder now, desperation bleeding into rage. “Brooklyn, come for my rescue! Someone has taken over our position—what doesn’t belong to them! Their little game finally worked!”
SEIZING THE EMPIRE
She calmly dialed her brother's number. “Hamilton.” She said as soon as he picked up, her voice sharp, strained, and heavy with frustration. “You won’t believe what just happened. Those strangers… the ones trying to take over what belongs to us… they’ve finally succeeded. They’ve taken over our own house. They… they even humiliated me with insults, slaps… and now—they’ve deprived me of using our own cars.” Her voice cracked at the edge of rage and disbelief. “You know my husband is at the Brooklyn Detention Center, right? All because of these same people… trying so hard to claim what doesn’t belong to them. Can you imagine?” Hamilton’s voice came through the speaker, tight and incredulous. “I’ve already seen it on CNN live… the debate’s still going on. And get this—they’ve sentenced Samuel to fifteen years in prison. Fifteen years!” Carolina’s breath hitched, and she squeezed the phone harder. “Fifteen years?” “Yes. Unbelievable!” Hamilton said, his tone grim.
READY FOR TOMORROW!
They watched the news for a while, Lewis checked the golden clock. “It’s almost eight.” He said, his voice calm, yet tinged with anticipation. Maria looked at the clock and nodded quietly, acknowledging the truth in his statement. “We should rest for tomorrow.” Lewis continued, his eyes fixed on the chaotic market graphs on the screen. “I’ll go to court early, bring up my possession case… this house, Gordon Technologies, and every uncovered asset. Samuel might even confess under the right pressure.” Maria’s voice was soft but firm, her words carrying the wisdom of someone who had navigated life’s storms alongside her son. “When tomorrow comes… make sure everything is precise,” she said. Then, a pause, a softer tone. “Aren’t you hungry?” Lewis’s eyes flicked toward her, a brief acknowledgment passing through his gaze. “Yes.” She rose, her figure graceful as ever, and moved toward the golden-lit kitchen. The space was luxurious, the countertops glinting under