10-Year Trial: Reclaiming My Trillionaire Bloodline

Chapter Two

"What billion dollars, Leo?" Drew repeated, his laughter fading as he stared across the diner table, squinting through the neon glare at the glowing, cracked screen of Leo's phone.

He reached out, trying to grab the burner phone to see the alert for himself. "Come on, let me see that screen. What kind of dispatch message says 'a billion dollars'?"

Leo didn't hand it over. Instead, he tilted the phone slightly away, his cold, dark gaze fixing on Drew with an eerie calmness that made Drew's hand freeze mid-air.

"The kind of message," Leo said softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper, "that means I never have to haul another crate for Marcus Sterling's city ever again."

Drew stared at him, his mouth slightly open, caught entirely between thinking his best friend was having a psychotic breakdown and feeling a sudden, strange chill run down his spine.

Before Drew could choke out another word, the burner phone in Leo's hand vibrated again—a heavy, silent pulse as the private, encrypted line connected.

"Tell me you're not picking that call, Leo," Drew groaned, leaning back into the diner booth and pointing a fry at him. "Is this person really trying to get your attention right now? It's almost midnight! I told you we were taking a break after your heartbreak. Just rest, man. Let it be."

Leo didn't reply. His eyes locked onto the glowing caller ID on the cracked screen: **Butler Thomas**.

Without saying a word, Leo slid out of the vinyl booth. "Excuse me," he said quietly, his voice carrying a flat, unreadable tone that cut right through Drew's protest.

Drew blinked, caught off guard as Leo turned and walked toward the diner door. "Hey! Where are you going? Your coffee's getting cold!"

Leo pushed through the heavy glass door and stepped out onto the damp pavement. The cold midnight air hit his face, smelling of wet asphalt and rain. Standing beneath the flickering yellow streetlamp, away from Drew’s prying eyes, Leo swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Leo commanded softly.

"Is this Young Master Vance?" a deep, aged voice spoke through the speaker. The tone carried absolute, terrifying authority, yet was laced with profound, solemn respect. "I am Butler Thomas, chief administrator for the Vance Family Apex Trust."

"I am Leo Vance, not a young master," Leo cut in, his brow furrowing. "How can I help you?"

"Well, there is an inheritance that calls for you."

"Wait, what inheritance?" Leo said, stepping under the shadow of the diner's awning as he muttered under his breath, "...could it be the money I just received?"

"Well, one billion is nothing compared to your inheritance..." Thomas replied smoothly over the line. "But the rest can only be transferred after some formalities."

"Wait... there is *more*?" Leo said, his mouth agape as he held the phone tighter. "Listen, I am an orphan. I never met my parents, so this inheritance doesn't even make sense... because if I had wealthy parents, I wouldn't be living the life I lived."

"Everything you need to know will be explained when we meet," Butler Thomas said, his voice unshakeable. "When can I send a car over to get you?"

"Wait... you know where I live?"

"There are many things we do know, and you will find out as soon as we meet," Thomas replied. He paused for a beat, his tone softening only slightly. "When can I send a car for you?"

Leo stood frozen under the yellow streetlamp. His mind was spinning so fast he couldn't form a thought, let alone an answer. Not sure of what his response should be, Leo abruptly ended the call, shoving the burner phone deep into his coat pocket.

He turned and looked through the steam-fogged diner window where Drew sat eating, unaware of the ground shifting beneath them. Leo intended to go back inside, but the weight of everything pushed him forward into the dark instead. He turned his collar up against the rain and walked away, heading back toward his neighborhood.

The overwhelming shock of the phone call, combined with a day spent starving himself to pay Chloe's debts, made Leo's head swim and his stomach twist into an intense knot. He felt suddenly pressed, his body reacting to the sheer adrenaline and exhaustion.

Looking around at the dark storefronts, his eyes landed on a grand, multi-story luxury corporate tower ahead. The polished glass facade practically glowed against the wet pavement. Knowing his worn canvas coat and dirt-stained boots would get him kicked out by front desk security, Leo pulled his hood low, picked up a discarded yellow micro-fiber cloth from a utility cart near the side entrance, and draped it over his shoulder—intending to pretend to be a late-night cleaning staffer just long enough to use the facilities.

He slipped through the side service door unnoticed and ducked into the first lavish, marble-tiled restroom he found.

Inside the private stall, Leo sat in the quiet dark, his mind racing wildly over Butler Thomas’s words. *One billion is nothing... an inheritance... a ten-year trial?* It sounded like a fever dream, yet the cold reality of the banking alert remained pinned to his phone screen.

Suddenly, the outer restroom door swung open with a sharp click of high heels.

Before Leo could react, the stall latch clicked and the door swung wide. A finely dressed lady in an immaculate silk dress stood in the doorway, clutching a designer clutch.

She froze, looking at Leo sitting there in his oil-stained work pants, before letting out a blood-curdling shriek.

"Aaaah! Security! Help!" she screamed, retreating rapidly into the hallway. "There's a creep in the ladies' room!"

Leo’s eyes went wide. In his rush and confusion, he had missed the silver plaque on the outer door.

"Wait! It was a mistake!" Leo shouted, scrambling up and buckling his belt as heavy footfalls began pounding down the marble corridor.

"Arrest that stray! He molested me!" the woman yelled to the arriving guards.

Three burly security guards rounded the corner with batons drawn. "Stop right there, dirtbag!"

Panic taking over, Leo bolted past the guards, dodging a wild swipe from a baton. He broke out into the main corridor, sprinted toward the central service core, and threw open the heavy emergency exit door. His lungs burned as he sprinted up the concrete stairs, the frantic stomping of heavy boots echoing loudly behind him.

"Check the upper landings! Don't let him cut back down!" a guard roared into his radio from two flights below.

Duck-pacing past the top landing floor, Leo found himself at a dead end. Right beside the exit door stood a private, brushed-gold express elevator with a dark glass digital display. Without thinking, Leo slammed his palm against the call button. The polished brass doors slid open instantly with a quiet, expensive chime.

He threw himself inside and slammed the door-close button just as two guards burst through the stairwell door.

The brushed-gold elevator doors sealed shut, cutting off the angry shouts and heavy footsteps of the security guards below.

Leo leaned his head back against the cool mirrored wall, his lungs burning as the indicator counted up: *12... 18... 24...*

His heart was pounding, the adrenaline from the chase mixing with the sheer absurdity of the night. He pulled out his cracked phone, staring at the screen. The number **$1,000,000,000.00** was still glowing against the black glass, alongside the abrupt end of his call with Butler Thomas.

He hadn't accepted a single cent. He hadn't agreed to meet anyone. None of this made sense—the money, the inheritance, the old man calling him "Young Master." For all he knew, this was some elaborate scam or a cruel joke.

But right now, stuck in a luxury elevator heading to a private penthouse, none of that mattered. He didn't care about Vance or Marcus Sterling. He just needed to survive the night, get out of this building, and figure out what the hell was happening to his life.

Down in the main lobby control room, the head of security stared at his bank of wall monitors, his face turning bright red as his walkie-talkie crackled with chaotic reports.

"Where did he go?!" the security director roared into his handset.

"Sir! The trespasser ran up the east stairwell!" a panicked guard reported through the speaker. "He... he jumped into the private express lift!"

The director's face went completely pale as he looked up at the master elevator tracking panel on his wall. A bright red indicator light was flashing on the very top floor.

"The express elevator?" the director stammered, his voice cracking in pure terror. "Elevator said *Penthouse*?!"

"Yes, sir! He's on the top floor right now!"

"What???!" the director screamed, slamming both hands onto the control desk. "How did you let a STRAY get to the PENTHOUSE?!"

Before any of the guards could answer, the front lobby glass doors glided open.

Three pitch-black Maybachs sat idling at the curb outside, their hazard lights blinking softly in the rain. Butler Thomas walked smoothly across the polished floor, flanked by four tall men in dark tailored suits. His polished leather shoes clicked with a slow, heavy rhythm that made the entire lobby fall dead silent.

Butler Thomas stopped directly in front of the frozen security director at the desk, fixing him with an icy, terrifying stare.

"Where," Thomas asked softly, his aged voice carrying immense, suffocating authority, "is Young Master Vance?"