Heir Above All

The Stranger Called Alfred

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end, brief and deliberate, the kind of pause that came from someone who chose his words before he spoke them.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hudson," the voice said. It was an older man's voice, calm and precise, with the kind of accent that came from decades of speaking carefully. "My name is Alfred. I serve as Chief Butler of the Hudson Family."

Oscar almost laughed. He kept walking down the street, phone still against his ear. "You have the wrong number."

"I don't believe I do."

"My name is Oscar Hall." The name felt strange in his mouth, even after all these years. Her was certain it wasn't the name on his birth certificate, though he didn't know what that name was, but it was the only one he'd ever answered to.

"That is the name you were given," Alfred said. "It is not the name you were born with."

Oscar stopped walking.

Every so often, someone tried to scam him. Not often, he didn't even have money worth stealing, but occasionally a stranger would call claiming to be a lawyer, an investor, a long-lost relative with an inheritance waiting in some account overseas. He'd learned to hang up quickly.

He didn't hang up now.

"Whoever you're trying to sell something to," Oscar said, "you've got the wrong man. I don't have money. I don't have family. I just got divorced twenty minutes ago, if you're looking for a good time to rob someone."

"I'm aware of the timing," Alfred said. "It's part of why I'm calling now rather than sooner."

That should have made Oscar hang up. Instead, something about the way the old man said it, unbothered, certain, like a man reading from a schedule rather than making things up as he went, kept the phone at his ear.

"You were born in the castle of the Hudson Family," Alfred continued, before Oscar could speak again. "Your mother used to hum a lullaby with no words to it, because she'd forgotten the words herself. You had a stuffed animal, a rabbit, woven by your mother herself. You called it Biscuit."

Oscar's hand tightened around the phone.

He hadn't thought about the rabbit in years. It was one of the few things he remembered clearly from before the orphanage – a soft shape, a smell like his mother's perfume. He had never told anyone about it. Not the orphanage staff. Not Harold Hall. Not even Olivia.

"Who are you," Oscar said quietly, "and how do you know that?"

"I told you. My name is Alfred. I have served the Hudson Family for forty-one years." There was a pause. "I served your grandfather until an hour ago."

"Until an hour ago?"

"Your grandfather, the head of the Hudson Family, passed away this morning." Alfred's voice didn't change, but something in it settled, like a man setting down something heavy. "I'm sorry to deliver this to you in a phone call, on today of all days. It could not wait."

Oscar stood very still on the sidewalk. Cars kept passing behind him, none of them slowing down.

"I don't have a grandfather," he said. "Not one still living. Not one I know about."

"You do," Alfred said. "You simply never had the chance to meet him. Fifteen years ago, after your parents were killed, your paternal grandfather made the decision to hide you. Enemies of the Hudson Family were still a threat at the time, and a child was easy to find and easier to hurt. He placed you somewhere safe, under a different name, and watched from a distance for years rather than risk drawing you back into danger too soon."

"That's..." Oscar searched for the word. "That's insane."

"It is a great deal to hear all at once. I understand if you don't believe me." Alfred's tone remained even. "But your grandfather is gone now, and there is no one else. You are the last of the Hudson bloodline, Mr. Hudson. The funeral requires your presence, not as a guest, but as the family's sole surviving heir."

Oscar almost laughed again, except nothing about this felt funny anymore.

"Even if any of this were true," he said, "why now? Why today?"

"Because your grandfather asked that you not be told until you no longer had anything holding you elsewhere." A brief silence. "He didn't want you distracted by two lives at once. He wanted you free to choose this one."

Oscar didn't answer right away. Somewhere behind him, the Hall Villa's gates had already closed. Ahead of him was an empty street and a life he hadn't planned for that morning.

"I don't believe you," he said finally. "But I'll hear you out."

"That's all I ask," Alfred said. "Look up, Mr. Hudson."

Oscar frowned. "What?"

A distant sound reached him before he understood it – a low, mechanical thrum, growing louder, cutting through the gray afternoon sky. He turned toward it.

A sleek black helicopter was descending over the empty field across the road, its blades kicking up a wide circle of dust and loose grass as it dropped low and touched down. The door slid open before the blades had even finished slowing.

An elderly man stepped out, silver-haired, dressed in a suit too well-tailored for anyone Oscar had ever met in person. He looked directly at Oscar, as if he'd known exactly where to find him.

Oscar's grip tightened on the phone still pressed to his ear.

"Mr. Hudson," Alfred's voice said calmly, "I believe it's time we spoke in person.”