Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

0008

The conference room of the Schwarzenger estate was a monument carved into silent opulence. The air was cool and conditioned, carrying a trace of cologne and the scent of old, expensive paper. Massive glass windows stretched across the far side, overlooking a trimmed Zen garden, complete with slow-moving fountains and polished black stones arranged in symmetrical patterns.

The walls were lined with rare oil paintings; some were original while others were collected from European masters. In the center of it all stood a long, thick, heavy dark mahogany table that gleamed as if it had just been birthed from the roots of an enchanted forest.

The corners of the table were plated in gold, and the Schwarzenger Seal—two wolves facing opposite directions, a sword between them, wrapped in laurels and crowned with seven stars—sat etched in the middle.

Elijah sat at the far end of the table, dressed in fresh tailored clothing: a sharp white designer shirt tucked neatly into deep navy trousers, with a custom blazer draped over his seat. He appeared clean and presentable, but the thoughts in his chest hadn’t calmed.

Spread across the table were dozens of photos, documents, and clippings. However, it was the particular photo in his hand that made his throat tighten further.

In it, a young and beautiful woman with flowing golden-brown hair lay in a hospital bed, her arms cradling a wrapped newborn. Beside her stood a younger Schwarzenger, with a wild smile, his hand around her shoulders. Behind them, a blurred wall clock read 03:19 AM.

Elijah stared at the image for a long time, fixated on the way the baby’s fingers curled instinctively around the woman’s index finger. “This… this is in the labor room?” he finally asked, his voice surprisingly low.

Schwarzenger, seated across from him with a glass of untouched wine at his elbow, gave a slight nod. “That is your mother, and my dear wife, Marianne. She insisted on keeping that photo so she could show you when you were grown. She wanted our son’s first moment to always be remembered."

Elijah looked up from the picture, his voice caught somewhere between grief and acceptance. “So this woman, Marianne… is truly my mother.” He swallowed hard, lifting the photo again, this time bringing it closer to his face. “There’s no denying it anymore,” he continued, more to himself than anyone else. “Photographs… I know they can’t lie.”

“Look at the birthmark,” Schwarzenger said softly, reaching forward and tapping the lower right corner of the image.

Elijah shifted the photo to inspect the baby’s neck, where a slightly faded but still discernible outline of a curled tick-shaped birthmark lay just below the left ear. He instinctively reached toward his neck and brushed his fingers over the same spot, confirming that it was indeed the same.

He sighed, leaning back against the chair, and his gaze shot to the ceiling instantly. “This is real, Elijah," he muttered. “It’s all real.”

“I just…” he began again, his voice quieter this time. “It’s still hard to believe. The nanny, Albertina… she gave me everything she had. She sang lullabies when I was scared to sleep. She starved so I could eat. I don’t know how to accept that someone who loved me that much wasn’t my real mother.”

Maestro, who had been standing at a respectful distance near the bookshelf, cleared his throat before stepping forward. His hands were folded behind his back. “Even I…” he said, pausing to choose his words carefully, “even I can’t tell what was going through her mind. Why she did it? Maybe it was because she had no child of her own. Or perhaps she had other plans? Maybe she couldn’t let go. Who knows? I still can't wrap my head around it."

He walked closer, his voice slowly hardening. “But none of that is an excuse! She clearly knew who you were. She knew who she had abducted. That woman kidnapped the only heir of Lord Schwarzenger and built a false world around you. Albertina didn't just steal a child; she almost ran away with a legacy."

Elijah’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on the ceiling. The guilt of placing Ruthila above Albertina, the confusion about his parents, the affection he once shared with Albertina, and the betrayal by Ruthila all clashed in his chest like a war without end, taking turns overpowering him.

“She was all I knew,” Elijah whispered. “I would’ve taken a bullet for her.”

Schwarzenger leaned forward, his tone calm but weighted with authority. “And that, my son, is the power of deception when mixed with love. But now you know. Now you see it. And I promise you that whoever else was involved in hiding you from me will answer for it because now… you have risen to power."

Elijah didn't respond but smiled at his father's praise. "What's your full name, Dad? Or does everyone just refer to you as Schwarzenger?” he asked, looking straight into Schwarzenger's eyes.

Schwarzenger glared at Elijah for a moment, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. "Actually, Schwarzenger is my late father's name. He was the wealthiest and most influential person in Futuriux before me. My mother and he decided to name me Schwarzenger Junior, meaning I don’t have a first name."

"Wow!" Elijah mused, nodding repeatedly as he took it all in. "Must be great being the only child, right?" He rested his hands below his chin, trying to keep the conversation moving.

"No, I'm not the only child. I have a brother, Pierce. He lives in the United States," Schwarzenger paused before reaching for his phone. "Would you like me to call him?"

"Nah..." Elijah interrupted before he could finish. "I have to get somewhere right now before it gets late."

Schwarzenger chuckled briefly, swirling the glass of untouched wine before setting it aside. “No time is too late for the heir of Schwarzenger,” he said. “If you want to leave at midnight, Maestro will drive you anywhere, anytime. That’s not even a problem.”

Elijah nodded. “I know. But I want to go alone. Just for now.” He stood up and pushed the chair back gently, already turning toward the door.

He barely took two steps when his father's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait… Elijah,” Schwarzenger said slowly, folding his hands in front of him. “Did Albertina ever try to send you to school at all?”

Elijah paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and then turned fully around. “Of course. She sponsored my entire education... from nursery until I graduated from university. I have a degree.” He shrugged. “I just never attended the convocation because we couldn’t afford the gown and fees.”

Schwarzenger leaned back slightly, clearly displeased. “Then I’ll have the university organize a convocation. They’ll recall the entire set if that’s what it takes.” He tightened his jaw. “And if they refuse… the school will shut down permanently.”

Elijah blinked and laughed, caught between disbelief and amusement. “Seriously?” he chuckled. “You’d shut down an entire university just because your son didn’t get to throw a hat in the air?”

“I would shut down five if need be,” Schwarzenger replied, his voice dangerously low. “No one robs you of your honors and gets away with it.”

Elijah studied him for a second, then slowly walked back toward the table. He leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his father's forehead. “You’re something else,” he whispered with a crooked smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the conference room.

Schwarzenger's gaze remained fixed on the door Elijah had just exited. Then he shifted his head slightly and spoke in a calm, commanding tone. “Maestro…?"

“Yes, sir,” Maestro answered from behind.

“Keep an eye on him. Not too close. Just make sure nothing... and I mean nothing… touches him.”

Maestro bowed slightly, his hand over his chest. “Consider it done, sir.”

Schwarzenger nodded once, then turned to the window, staring into the gardens without another word.

Meanwhile, in the glass-walled showroom nestled in the San Dicevey luxury district, the air-conditioning buzzed softly, and the entire space smelled of polished leather.

Benjamin reclined on a sofa in the VIP section, sipping on complimentary wine while balancing his phone between his shoulder and cheek. A smiling attendant stood nearby, waiting for instructions.

On his phone screen, Ruthila glowed with excitement during their video call. “So…” Benjamin drawled with a grin, “which one do you think suits us best for our wedding day? I want it to be iconic… something that’ll make everyone stop and stare when we pull up at the hall.”

Ruthila giggled, adjusting her hair on camera. “Wait...you’re saying you’ll buy any car I choose? If you spoil me like this now, what will you do when I give you twins?”

Benjamin chuckled. “Even if it’s the most expensive here—Rolls-Royce Cullinan, Bentley Bentayga, Lamborghini Urus, name it. If you want a Bugatti, I’ll even call their Dubai showroom.”

Her eyes widened on the screen. “You’re crazyyyy."

“No,” he said, feeling butterflies in his stomach. “I’m crazy in love.”

She grinned and bit her lip. “Then I want the Rolls-Royce Spectre. Pure white, red wine interior. I want to step into our honeymoon in that exact car. Just you and me in the back, forever…”

Benjamin's heart raced with joy. “Spectacular... Isn’t it?” he replied softly. “And I swear…. ”

Just then, a quiet stir in the showroom made his words trail off. A couple of attendants shifted their posture subtly, and some quickly opened the showroom doors. "The manager's office is this way, sir." Six attendants swiftly ushered Elijah across the VIP section into another room.

Benjamin froze, watching the scene unfold. He instinctively blinked to ensure he wasn't hallucinating. Did he just see the dishevelled and poor Elijah, whom he had illegally arrested yesterday, step into the showroom looking clean and sharp and being treated with respect?

He couldn't process how Elijah was dressed in an expensive, sleek black designer outfit, with a minimalist Richard Mille watch gleaming on his wrist.

Benjamin's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in disbelief. "What the hell… how is he even allowed in here? How did he escape from prison? He was supposed to serve a year!"

The Elijah he knew never stepped anywhere near luxury, and now he was walking into the most secure showroom in the district like he owned it. “Babe…” Benjamin said suddenly, cutting Ruthila’s flirty tone short. “I’ll call you back. Something just came up.”

He ended the call and slowly sat upright, every nerve in his body firing up wondering what kind of phone call could have freed Elijah in less than 24 hours and dress him in money overnight?