EX-CONVICT RETURNS: LOST HEIR OF THE LAURENT CONGLOMERATE

7 - DNA

"And then someone found me sleeping on a park bench and decided to bring me here," Silvan finished, his skepticism bleeding into his words.

"The Cross family found you first," Zane clarified, standing near the mantelpiece.

"They owned the private hospital where you were admitted, and they buried your intake records to keep you hidden."

"Why would they do that?" Silvan asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the timeline.

"Because they realized you retained your genius-level intellect despite losing your memories," Charles explained.

"They stole a Laurent heir to build their pathetic little corporation, using you like a workhorse before throwing you to the wolves."

Silvan’s chest tightened as the pieces of Declan and Miranda's betrayal finally clicked into place.

They hadn't just faked a marriage; they had actively stolen his identity to use him for profit.

"We only discovered the truth two days ago," Zane interjected, pouring a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

"Your fingerprints were uploaded to a federal database when you were processed for your release."

"Our algorithms flagged the match instantly, and we moved to secure your location."

"We traced you to the Cross estate, but by the time my men arrived, you had already been thrown out into the rain."

Silvan gripped the armrest of his chair, the memory of Miranda's cold laughter echoing in his mind.

"They used my amnesia against me," Silvan muttered, his jaw ticking.

"They fed me scraps of affection, gave me a fake marriage, and told me I owed them my life."

"I built their logistics network and restructured their offshore accounts, making them billionaires."

"And when Declan got sloppy with his wire transfers, they convinced me to take the fall."

Charles slammed his fist onto the armrest of his wheelchair, his cloudy eyes flashing with sudden, terrifying fury.

"They dared to put a Laurent in a federal cage to cover their own incompetence?"

The sheer power radiating from the frail old man made the hairs on the back of Silvan's neck stand up.

"I will crush them into dust," Charles vowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I will dismantle the Cross Corporation piece by piece and salt the earth where their mansion stands."

"No," Silvan said sharply, his voice cutting through the old man's rage.

Charles blinked in surprise, looking at his grandson.

"They are my problem," Silvan stated, his dark eyes burning with cold resolve.

"I don't need an army to fight my battles, and I don't need an old man to seek revenge on my behalf."

Zane stepped forward, ready to scold the younger man for speaking to the Patriarch that way.

Charles raised a hand, stopping Zane in his tracks.

Instead of getting angry, Charles let out a weak, rattling chuckle.

"You truly are your father's son," Charles said, a fierce pride replacing the sorrow in his eyes.

"Alfred always hated it when I interfered with his business."

"Words are cheap," Silvan said, pushing the rising anger down and locking eyes with the old titan.

"Miranda told me a lot of nice stories too, and those ended with me sitting in a federal cell."

"I need proof."

Charles didn't look offended by the harsh pushback.

"You don't trust blindly, and you demand facts," Charles noted with a nod of approval.

Charles unlocked the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a thick, sealed manila folder.

He tossed it onto the low coffee table sitting between them.

"Open it," Charles instructed.

Silvan reached for the folder, his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before breaking the seal.

He pulled out a stack of medical documents, scanning the dense text with the rapid comprehension he usually reserved for corporate mergers.

The top page bore the official seal of the federal penitentiary system, cross-referenced with a private genetic testing laboratory.

He traced his finger down the columns of data, looking past the complex medical jargon to find the conclusion.

The final paragraph highlighted a 99.9% DNA match between his blood sample and the Laurent family registry.

He stared at the numbers, his rational mind struggling to find a flaw in the hard, empirical evidence.

This wasn't a cheap, forged marriage certificate bought for fifty bucks.

This was undeniable, verified science proving that the man sitting across from him was his blood relative.

"It is real," Zane said quietly, watching Silvan's face.

"You are the sole surviving heir to the Laurent Conglomerate, and the rightful owner of everything you see."

Silvan dropped the file onto the table, the weight of the revelation crashing down on his exhausted shoulders.

He wasn't a stray dog, a nobody, or a convenient scapegoat.

He was the prince of an empire, stolen and discarded by people who weren't even fit to shine his shoes.

He looked up at Charles, opening his mouth to speak.

Before he could form a single word, a sharp, agonizing spike of pain pierced directly through the center of his skull.

Silvan let out a harsh gasp, grabbing the sides of his head as the room suddenly tilted on its axis.

"Silvan!" Charles shouted, trying to push himself up from his wheelchair.

The warm lamplight of the study flickered and warped, replaced by a blinding, terrifying flash of orange fire.

The deafening sound of crunching metal echoed in Silvan’s ears, so loud it drowned out Zane's urgent voice.

He wasn't sitting in a leather chair anymore.

He was trapped inside a crushed vehicle, the intense heat blistering his skin as thick black smoke filled his lungs.

He looked to his left, seeing a man with a ruined, bloody face slumped over the steering wheel.

The man turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Silvan through the smoke and flames.

"Run," the dying man whispered, blood bubbling past his lips.

Silvan’s vision went dark as the burning car exploded, pulling him backward into the void.