Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

0005

The tension in the room grew sharper with every passing second as Maestro focused his gaze on the ceramic tiles on the floor, carefully monitoring the patterns, hoping they would magically inspire a new way to persuade Elijah. He was out of ideas for now.

Noticing that none of the police officers were paying full attention to him, Elijah sat back down, the photograph still clutched loosely in his hand, his eyes darting between the mysterious butler and the guards, who seemed to treat him like royalty.

Maestro exhaled slowly, straightening his suit. "I need a DNA test. Immediately."

Elijah blinked. "What?" The look on his face suggested he had just heard something utterly horrific and confusing.

"I won’t convince you with words, Eli," Maestro said. "I need proof—something your heart and your eyes won’t be able to deny."

He turned to the officer beside him. "Prepare the prison medical wing. I want this done cleanly and without interference."

The officer nodded and picked up the phone.

Elijah folded his arms. "You’re crazy if you think I’m just going to sit in a lab and let someone poke me. Just because I grew up on the streets doesn’t mean I don't watch telenovelas too, sir. You could be harvesting organs for all I know."

Maestro didn't laugh. Instead, his tone softened. "I served your father for fifteen years, Elijah. I failed him only once, and I won’t fail again."

"But why me?" Elijah asked quietly, squinting his eyes nervously. "Out of everyone in the world, why pin this on me? I'm not the only one in the country named Elijah, and because..."

"Because you’re not just anyone," Maestro interrupted. "You were born in June. You have the dimple, the birthmark, the hair, the face. And you have the fire. I saw it the moment you were brought into that hellhole. You are Elijah Schwarzenger, not Elijah Harold!"

Before Elijah could argue, four guards entered the room. "Sir, the medical room is ready."

Maestro gestured toward the door. "Please, Elijah. If the results say I’m wrong, I’ll walk away and never disturb you again."

Elijah didn’t move at first. Then, reluctantly, he stood. "Fine. One test. But you better not try anything funny." He frowned before turning to the officer at the desk. "If anything happens to me, it's on you, man!"

As they walked toward the lab, Elijah couldn’t help but chuckle at how the guards cleared paths and saluted Maestro as they passed. He wasn’t just respected; he was also feared.

---

Ten Minutes Later,

The lab was sterile and brightly lit. "Can you please be quick about it?" Elijah mumbled as the head medic swabbed the inside of his cheek and sealed the sample in a container. He maintained an irritated look as the lab scientist continued his work.

Maestro also submitted some strands of hair that Elijah didn't care where he got them from. "Fortunately, some strands of hair were still left on my boss's comb before he left for the States."

Without replying to Maestro, Elijah crossed his arms, pressed his lips together in silence, and gave him a skeptical side-eye before turning to watch as the samples were processed in a private machine at the corner of the room.

Then, something strange happened.

A nearby police officer’s tablet buzzed. He stepped aside to check it.

The screen displayed a high-level encrypted message:

*"Delay the results. Or alter them. Do not let the boy leave. If there's a chance—terminate."*

The officer's fingers trembled slightly as he shut the screen and pocketed the device. He turned back, forcing a calm smile.

No one in the room noticed except for Elijah. "What was that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing," the officer lied. "Just regular updates on local happenings."

Elijah didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know what to say, and the room fell quiet again.

---

Twenty Minutes Later,

The machine pinged. A lab assistant printed out the results and handed them to the medic.

The medic collected the results, and a frown landed on his face, intensifying as he keenly examined them. Finally, after a few minutes, he turned to Maestro with a strained expression. "Sir... the test says they’re not related. Zero match."

Elijah scoffed. "Well, there you have it. Can I go now?" He turned to the officer with the tablet. "Officer, please, I would like to leave now."

Maestro stood frozen. His fingers crumpled the edge of the table. How could the test results come out that way? He was sure that this was the Elijah he had lost sight of two decades ago.

"This isn’t possible," he muttered. "I was so sure..."

Elijah turned to the guards. "Back to my cell, please. I’ve wasted enough time on fairy tales."

But before anyone moved, the assistant who had handled the samples dashed into the room, looking pale and panicked.

"Sir! The test was tampered with!" he whispered to Maestro. "Someone swapped Elijah’s sample. I double-checked the bin; the original cotton swab is gone."

Maestro’s entire expression shifted. "What?! Who touched the samples?"

"He's the only one who left the room since then," the assistant hurriedly pointed at the officer with the tablet.

All eyes turned toward the officer, who wore a confused smile. "What? Why did you point at me? Are you in your right senses?" he stuttered, retreating toward the door.

“Seize him!” Maestro barked.

The officers spun around and ran, but it was too late. One of the guards lunged forward and tackled the officer to the ground, sending the tablet skidding across the floor.

Maestro snatched the tablet up and read the decrypted message. His face hardened, and his eyes turned bloodshot. Elijah stepped back. “What does it say?”

Maestro looked up, his voice cold and quiet. “It says someone doesn’t want you alive, Elijah. Not inside prison. Not outside either.”

Elijah froze and took the tablet from Maestro to examine it. His hands instinctively flew to his mouth in shock.

"Did you quarrel with anyone who might want you dead?" Maestro inquired, eyebrow raised.

"No, not at all," Elijah shook his head, struggling to believe he, a man who always minded his own business, was on someone’s death list. "Except for Benjamin, the man my fiancée left me for. He got me brought here; he might still be after my life."

*That sender's address doesn’t look familiar to this country, Mr. Lugard. It’s an international number—someone residing in the United States could have set this up,* the assistant chimed in.

Furious, Maestro delivered a sickening kick to the officer's groin. "Who sent you? Answer me immediately! Who the heck sent you to kill the young master? Who are you working for?"

"I don't know their name, I swear! They contacted me this morning," the officer mumbled amidst painful groans. "They didn’t tell me their name. They just said they had a target in our prison and I should help eliminate him."

"For how much?" Maestro demanded.

"For $4,000, sir!" the officer replied.

Maestro grinned mischievously before spitting on the officer. Without warning, he kicked him in the chest, causing him to spit out blood. "What a pathetic loser you are! You don’t even deserve to live. You don’t know what you just escaped because of your greed."

He turned to the stationed guards. "How much did Lord Schwarzenger approve to share with the prison staff before we leave, boys?"

"A million dollars, sir!" they all chorused.

Maestro bent down to the officer’s face. "One freaking million cash! You won’t see a penny of that money, and guess what? You’ll also rot in prison, and I will make sure they put you through orientation!" he whispered before spitting on the officer’s face again.

Elijah's face twisted in disbelief as he swallowed hard, grappling with the fact that someone was willing to gift out a million dollars just for him.

"Take him to jail," Maestro ordered the guards. He then turned to the assistant. “Do the test again. I’ll supervise it this time. Lock the lab down.”

"No, don’t let them take the test again," Elijah’s voice cut through the silence, stopping the assistant in his tracks.

Maestro moved closer to him, desperation etched on his face. "But, Elijah. You’re not safe here. The people who did this will come to finish you for sure. Please, listen to—"

"I’m not stopping them from taking the results because I want to return to prison, Maestro," Elijah interrupted sharply. He paused, looking at everyone in the room, each of them expecting more than the other.

Sighing, he straightened and muttered, "I want to meet my father and take what’s mine."

Jubilation filled the prison walls; Elijah's return to the family would bring about significant positive changes for the country, especially for the guards, whose salaries and benefits had been halted since the tragedy struck the Schwarzenger family.

Like a baby, Maestro lifted Elijah up repeatedly, muttering, "Thank you, Master Eli!" before the others joined in chorus.

"But on one condition," Elijah’s voice resonated through the room, prompting everyone to go silent, hoping he wouldn’t change his mind.

"Anything for you, Master Eli!" they responded eagerly.

"Dismiss the choppers, the press, everyone—everything waiting outside. I want my new identity to remain a secret for now; I don’t wish to be broadcast live on TV," he ordered.

"Even the convoy?" Maestro inquired, puzzled about why Elijah wanted to keep his return under the wraps.

"Yes, the convoy, and that includes you and your guards," Elijah replied, gesturing to everyone in the room. "I will find my way to you; don’t worry.”