APOCALYPSE AND THE BILLIONAIRE HEIR

CHAPTER 0006

                                              Adam Smith

“And how long will you let that piece of crap stay in this mansion with your grandson?” James fumed as we strutted into the drawing room, followed by Maria, who was utterly dissatisfied with what had played out in Adam’s room.

“Who let her come to him in the first place?” Maria asked, stopping behind one of the sofas while James walked over and sat down, breathing with a difficulty I could sense.

I said nothing to them. I simply headed to the wine rack in the drawing room and grabbed a bottle while they watched. I picked up three glasses and slowly returned to the center of the room, placing the bottle and glasses on the table.

James’s eyes asked a thousand questions. Maria looked completely puzzled. I knew they had hoped I would kick Rosa out the moment I saw her in the hospital room with Adam. I could have done away with her and swept her existence under the carpet if I had wanted to, but no.

I glanced at James. “We need to drink,” I muttered. “It’s been three freaking years since we worked ourselves to exhaustion staying awake and praying the scientists and doctors would revive our boy. Now he’s awake. That’s what matters most.”

James’s face reddened, but I wasn’t going to repeat myself. He knew better.

I headed for the mini sofa beside the large one Maria was standing behind and sat down, crossing my legs as I watched the stunned James rise to his feet and head to the table to do what was necessary.

He opened the wine bottle, set the glasses properly, and gently poured the red liquid into them. Then he nodded at Maria, who walked over, picked up my glass, and brought it to me.

I took it from her and nodded gently. She returned to the table, took her own glass of wine, and turned to face me along with James.

I raised my glass. “To my boy, Adam.”

“To Adam,” they chorused.

As I brought the glass to my lips, memories of what had transpired during the three years of Adam’s horrible ordeal, the zombies, and the costly New York City accident flashed in my mind like a nightmare. I stood up abruptly, still holding the stem of my glass.

“Adam’s physiotherapy begins tomorrow,” I announced. “You must stay around him and prevent him from recalling the wrong memories.”

James nodded. Maria followed. I nodded in return and left the drawing room.

By wrong memories, I meant memories of his apathy toward his role as heir to the Smith Dynasty. I stopped at the sink outside the drawing room and poured the wine into it. I was allergic to wine, but sometimes I pretended to take a sip. Tonight, I did not even have the urge to pretend.

I left the glass in the sink and headed to my room, memories of the last three years surfacing again. I hoped to take sedatives and sleep as the images of what I saw in the streets of New York the day I went to retrieve my grandson replayed in my mind.

When I reached the drawer in my room, I found nothing at first. I turned the room upside down before finally locating the box that contained the pills. I took three, tossed them into my mouth, and swallowed hard.

It started the day I received reports that my grandson was working a meager job in the streets of New York under a ruthless boss who flaunted the little dirty wealth he had accumulated by exploiting his workers in his small company.

Someone rumored that Adam worked as an intern. Another said he was an underemployed clerk. Rage coursed through my veins when I heard the news.

How could my grandson abandon the good life and privileges he had in the dynasty and flee to the streets of New York to live like a commoner just because he wanted to impress his riffraff girlfriend, Rosa, whom I heard he was about to wed in a New York court?

The reports disgusted me to the marrow. I wanted to make an executive call and have the police hunt for Adam, arrest him, and return him to his place. But a better thought crossed my mind. I should visit him myself and bring him home.

I did not go alone. I went with James, Maria, and five men to subdue him if he refused to see me. He had once threatened never to inherit my estates. He had once threatened to abandon the Smith Dynasty. He had defied me before, and he would do it again. But I was prepared to bring him home by force and discard his reckless girlfriend.

But as we landed in New York City, we received a firsthand report that a virus had been smuggled out of the Pentagon and released into the streets by some unhinged extremist who believed humans should experience being hunted and eaten just as they hunt and eat animals. The infection was spreading through violent, infected humans across the city.

I was informed that the virus had spread rapidly. Even the address I received from informants who had tracked Adam was said to have been overrun by violent zombies feeding on severed limbs and searching for blood and flesh.

The thought of Adam in such a horrific situation terrified me. James tried to hold me back, but I insisted on finding my grandson.

“Sir, you can’t risk it,” one of the experts said that terrible day. “You can’t retrieve him. He might have been eaten. Or worse, he might be one of them now. Would you risk being infected too?”

I grabbed the expert by the collar and squeezed hard enough to cut off his breath. “Risk or no risk, I am retrieving my grandson, whether it is his body or his infected self.”

I released him and turned to James. “Are you coming with me?”

James hesitated thoughtfully. Then he answered, “Yes.”