LEWIS GORDON: RETURN OF THE FORGOTTEN HEIR

THE PRICE OF GENIUS

Lewis drew in a shaky breath, his palms pressed together in front of him like he was trying to cage the storm swelling inside his chest. His voice came low but steady, cutting through the thick silence of the workshop.

“Sir, my mother was unconscious yesterday, and I stayed at the hospital with her until late at night. That was the only reason I missed work.”

The room froze. Tools stilled. The smell of oil and solder lingered in the air, but all eyes were on Carrington Louis. His jaw locked, muscles twitching like a vise under strain. His eyes flashed, sharp and cold as steel, and when he spoke, his reply cracked like a whip.

“Don’t you dare bring your personal sob stories into my shop, Lewis!” he roared, his finger stabbing at him like a blade. “One day absent, and you think excuses will pay the bills? This world doesn’t wait for a man with problems; it buries him. Do you hear me? You want sympathy? Go beg at the church doors. Here, all I want is results!”

Lewis bent his head, shame burning across his face like hot iron. His shoulders curled inward as though he were bracing himself against heavy blows.

“Sir… I’m really sorry. I won’t repeat this act again.” His voice was low, trembling with restraint.

Mr. Louis didn’t even flinch. There was no pity in his eyes, no softness in his tone, only a merciless wall.

“You even have the audacity to skip work without my approval? Are you stupid?” His voice thundered, rattling the tools on the workbench.

Lewis clenched his fists behind his back, the fire inside him threatening to break loose. But he bit it down, locking away the chaos of last night, Bianca’s betrayal, the accident, and the hospital’s cold corridors.

“Sir, please pardon me. I know I’m at fault. My apologies.”

For a fleeting moment, Carrington Louis’s eyes flickered. He remembered the boy’s gift, how Lewis’s hands could breathe life into dead machines, and how his instincts outpaced every worker in the shop. His mind softened for a second, but his face stayed carved in stone. He would never show weakness in front of the others. Fear was his chosen language.

“I called you several times yesterday, even this morning,” Louis snapped, his brows knotting like a storm cloud. “You refused to pick up. That shows how rude you are. Don’t you know such behavior is unprofessional? How can a worker keep ignoring his boss’s calls? Does it make sense?”

Lewis swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a stone sinking in water.

“No sir… I didn’t do it intentionally. My phone got lost, and I searched everywhere but couldn’t find it. I know I’m at fault, but forgive me. Such an act won’t repeat itself again.”

Carrington narrowed his eyes, studying him. He knew Lewis wasn’t that type. Since the boy had joined, his record had been spotless. Sometimes it was Lewis himself who called to check in. Deep down, Louis believed him, but still, his pride demanded fury.

“I don’t entertain this kind of nonsense,” Louis spat, his voice rising again. “How can a grown man lose his phone when he knows he’s working under someone? Can you even hear yourself?”

Lewis’s heart sagged under the weight of the words. He wanted to speak of his pain, of the weight he carried alone, but what use? No one in this shop would understand. He lifted his eyes briefly, only to catch the sidelong glances of the other workers. Some bent over their benches pretending to work, but their ears were tuned to every word.

“Sir,” Lewis said, his voice cracking like glass, “I apologize in the name of God. Pardon me. I won’t repeat such a mistake again.”

This job was his only anchor, the only place where his genius in technology could feed him and his sick mother. Loyalty was his last defense. Survival demanded silence and humility, even if it meant swallowing insults that burned like fire.

Carrington scrolled through his old phone, checking his messages. For a while, he said nothing, leaving Lewis standing there in the tense quiet. Finally, he snapped his head up.

“Let this be the first and last time this happens. Next time, I won’t hesitate to fire you.”

Lewis bowed his head quickly. “I’ve heard you, sir. Correction has been taken.”

“Don’t test me again,” Louis thundered, jabbing the air with his finger. “Go and resume work. Repair the LG TV, the Sony TV, and the two Hewlett-Packard laptops.”

Relief surged through Lewis’s veins. His body relaxed a little, and he exhaled slowly, like a man reprieved from execution. He didn’t care that his boss had shown no sympathy. He was grateful simply to still have work.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice full of relief. “My heartfelt regards.”

Louis turned sharply, his coat swaying behind him, and strode into his cramped office. He left Lewis standing there, knowing full well that if it had been anyone else, he would have fired them on the spot. But genius was currency, and Carrington Louis would never waste it. As he passed, the other workers straightened and bent over their tasks, their tools clattering nervously in the heavy silence.

Lewis pulled off his suit jacket, leaving only his shirt. He loosened his tie until it sagged and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the sinews in his arms. The assigned electronics sat before him like fallen soldiers awaiting revival. To Lewis, they were nothing but puzzles, mathematics written in wires and circuits.

He started with the LG TV. With quick, precise movements, he disassembled it, his fingers moving with the calm confidence of a pianist striking chords. Step by step, he traced the fault, adjusted the wiring, and soldered with precision. He repeated the same rhythm on the Sony TV and then the two laptops. Within two hours, he was done. While sweat glistened on his brow, his colleagues were still tangled in their first or second repairs, despite starting earlier.

They stole glances at him, their eyes narrowing. Every time Lewis worked, they watched his hands like detectives searching for tricks, waiting to see if he was using some hidden mechanism or supernatural edge. But all they ever found was instinct sharpened into brilliance. Envy seeped into their whispers.

Lewis wiped his hands clean and walked into Carrington’s office.

“Hello, sir. I’m done with the electronics.”

Louis gave a curt nod, then picked up his old Sony phone. Without looking at Lewis again, he dialed a customer’s number. Lewis bowed slightly and slipped back out of the office.

“Hello, Mr. Rhys,” Louis said into the phone. “We’re done with your Hewlett-Packard laptops. Kindly come as soon as possible.”

He dialed the next number. “Good day, Mr. MacDonald. We’re done with your Sony and LG TVs. Please come pick them up.”

Carrington always overcharged. His customers grumbled, but they paid, because they knew Lewis’s touch meant the machines won't die again for a long time.

An hour later, Mr. MacDonald arrived. Lewis tested the two TVs in front of him, both glowing back to life. The man nodded with satisfaction and disappeared into Louis’s office, handing over $600 before loading the TVs into his old Ford Explorer and driving away.

Another hour passed, and Mr. Rhys showed up. Lewis greeted him warmly, powering on the two laptops, each running smoother than before. Mr. Rhys smiled with visible relief and headed into the office to pay $500. Soon, he carried his laptops to his Chrysler Pacifica and drove off.

Not long after, Carrington’s voice barked across the workshop, summoning Lewis. The sharpness of his tone carried both command and acknowledgment.

Lewis hurried into the office, where Louis shoved an envelope across the desk. “Your cut, $120.”

Though salaries were usually paid at month’s end, Carrington always gave Lewis a share on the spot whenever big jobs were finished. Genius deserved incentive, even if Louis wrapped it in iron.

Lewis picked it up carefully, his heart steadying at the weight of salvation inside. He bowed his head slightly.

“Thank you very much, sir. I truly appreciate this.”

Louis gave only a curt nod, already reaching for his phone, dismissing him with silence.

Lewis stepped out, envelope in hand. His gaze drifted to the wall clock hanging in the workshop. Time froze. The doctor’s words echoed in his head. He had already missed the hour set for his mother’s treatment. Two hours late.

His chest tightened. The money in his hand was salvation, but the clock on the wall was a curse.