MICHAEL SULLIVAN: NEW DYNASTY

— 13 —

Michael was on his to work when he spotted the familiar figure waiting by his building's entrance. Octavian Medici leaned against a sleek BMW, dressed in a customized red suit. Unlike his older brother Phillip, Octavian carried himself with quiet confidence rather than aggressive arrogance.

"Michael," Octavian called out, pushing off from the car. "Got a minute?"

Michael glanced at his watch. He was already running late for his shift at the coffee shop. "I'm actually heading to work."

"This won't take long." Octavian's smile was warm. "I wanted to check on you."

"Check on me?"

"Phillip came home yesterday in quite a state. Screaming about how he was going to kill you. Something about a doll girl that attacked him?" Octavian's tone was carefully neutral. "I thought I should find out what actually happened."

Michael's mind raced. How much should he tell Octavian? The man seemed reasonable, nothing like his crazy brother. For a moment, Michael considered explaining everything. But something held him back.

"Your brother came to my apartment uninvited," Michael said carefully. "He was looking for something he thought Frank left me. When I told him there was nothing, he got aggressive."

"Aggressive how?"

"He shoved me against a wall. Threatened to hit me."

Octavian's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry about that. Phillip has... anger issues. He's been under a lot of pressure since that night."

Michael shrugged, but didn't say a word.

"What about this girl he mentioned?" Octavian pressed gently. "What kind of girl can throw a grown man out of a house?"

"I have no idea what he's talking about. Maybe he hit his head when he fell down the stairs."

Octavian studied Michael's face for a long moment, then chuckled. "You know, I almost believe that. Phillip does have a tendency to create stories, especially when his ego gets bruised."

Michael checked his watch again. "I really need to get to work."

"Of course." Octavian stepped back toward his car. "I'll let you go for now. But Michael, if you need anything – anything at all – don't hesitate to call me. We're family, after all."

Michael froze. "What did you say?"

"We're family," Octavian repeated, his expression serious now. "Dad may have kept things complicated, but that doesn't change the fact that you're my brother."

The word hit Michael like a cold wave of water. Brother. In all the years he'd known the Medici family, no one had ever acknowledged him, let alone called him 'brother'.

"I..." Michael started, then stopped. He didn't know what to say.

Octavian smiled and got into his car. "Think about what I said, Michael. You don't have to face everything alone."

As the BMW pulled away, Michael stood on the sidewalk feeling like his world had shifted slightly on its axis. Brother. The word echoed in his head as he hurried toward the coffee shop.

The morning rush was in full swing when Michael arrived. The familiar smell of espresso and the sound of milk steamers usually calmed him, but today he felt distracted.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the commotion near the back counter. Adam, the shop manager, was standing over Mara. Mara was a sweet woman who treated everyone warmly and always asked about Michael's day. Right now, she looked bitter and close to tears.

"This is the third time this week you've messed up an order!" Adam was shouting, his face red with anger. "How hard is it to remember that a cappuccino has foam? Foam! It's not rocket science!"

"I'm sorry," Mara said quietly, her hands shaking as she tried to clean up spilled milk. "I'll remake it right away."

"You'll remake it? You should have made it right the first time! Do you know how much money this shop loses when we have to remake drinks? Do you have any idea what kind of profit margins we're working with?"

Michael watched the scene unfold, feeling his anger build. Adam was notorious for his temper, but he usually reserved his worst behavior for the younger staff. Seeing him berate Mara, who was probably in her sixties now, made Michael's blood boil.

"Maybe you should calm down," Michael said, stepping forward.

Adam whirled around, his eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"

"I said maybe you should calm down. There's no need to shout at her like that."

The coffee shop fell silent. Other staff members stopped what they were doing, customers looked up from their phones, and everyone stared at Michael in shock. In all the years he'd worked there, Michael had never raised his voice, never talked back.

Adam's shock quickly turned into rage. He stalked toward Michael with his chest puffed out like an angry rooster.

"Well, well, well," Adam said, his voice dripping with hate. "Look at little Mikey here. Grown some spine, eh? What happened, did you finally hit puberty?"

"I just think—"

"You think?" Adam laughed. "Since when do you think, Sullivan? Want me to slice your pay again? Because I can make that happen real quick."

Michael hurriedly replied, "I just feel that shouting at an old woman like Mara is wrong."

"Oh, you feel, do you?" Adam was enjoying himself now, playing to the growing audience of staff and customers. "Poor little Mikey has feelings. How precious."

"Adam, please—" Mara started.

"Stay out of this, old bat," Adam snapped without taking his eyes off Michael. "Your boyfriend here thinks he can tell me how to run my shop."

The other staff members began to murmur among themselves. Some looked uncomfortable, but others seemed to be enjoying the show. Jake, one of the younger baristas, actually snickered.

"You know what?" Adam continued, his voice getting louder. "I'm tired of carrying dead weight in this shop. Maybe it's time I cleaned house."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael asked.

"It means you're fired, Sullivan. Pack your shit and get out."

Michael felt the familiar knot of anxiety in his stomach, but this time it was accompanied by something else – anger. Red hot anger.

"Fine," Michael said. "I don't need your money anyway."

Adam burst out laughing. "You don't need my money? That's rich! What are you going to live on, fresh air and good intentions?"

"Maybe I will."

"Right. And maybe I'm the Pope." Adam looked around at the gathered crowd. "Does everyone hear this? Poor little Mikey doesn't need money. Guess he's planning to pay his rent with wishes and rainbows."

That's when Sarah, one of the regular customers, spoke up from her table near the window. "Isn't he Frank Medici's son?"

The coffee shop fell silent again. Adam's laughter died in his throat.

"What did you say?" Adam asked.

"Frank Medici. The billionaire who got sick last week. I read in the paper that he had a stepson. The name was Michael Sullivan."

Every eye in the shop turned to Michael. He immediately wanted the crowd to open and swallow him up.

Adam recovered first, his laughter returning with even more venom. "Frank Medici? Are you kidding me? I've known this loser for over five years. There's no way he's the son of a multi-billionaire. Look at him! He doesn't have a car! He even wears the same three shirts to work every day."

"I didn't say he inherited anything," Sarah pointed out. "Just that he was Frank's stepson."

"Even if that's true, which I doubt, it doesn't change the fact that he's broke as a rat." Adam's eyes lit up with malicious glee. "You know what? Let's settle this right now. Michael, if you're really connected to all that Medici money, prove it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you," said Michael as he shifted nervously.

"Oh, but you do. See, I think you're a liar. I think you're letting people believe you're connected to money you'll never see. So here's what we're going to do." Adam's voice carried to every corner of the shop. "We're going to have a little contest. You and me, we'll both show our account balances. If your balance is bigger than mine, I'll apologize."

"That's ridiculous," Michael started to say but Adam wasn't done.

"But if I win," Adam continued, ignoring Michael's protest, "you're going to get down on your knees, lick my boot, and apologize to everyone here for wasting their time. And if you don't do it, I will fire both you and grandma over there."

"You can't fire Mara for something I did!" Yelled Michael.

"I can fire anyone I want for any reason I want. This is my shop."

The crowd was murmuring excitedly now. Someone actually pulled out their phone to record. Michael felt trapped, backed into a corner with no way out.

"Come on, Michael," Jake called out. "Show us that Medici money!"

"Yeah!" another voice added. "Let's see those billions!"

Adam was practically glowing with anticipation. "But just to make this interesting, if by some miracle, you actually have more money than me, I'll shave off all my hair and apologize to you in front of everyone."

The crowd cheered at this addition. Michael looked around desperately, seeing nothing but eager faces waiting for his humiliation. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone.

"This is stupid," he muttered.

"What's stupid is opening your big mouth and pretending to be something you're not," Adam shot back. "Come on, Sullivan. Show us that balance."

Michael opened his banking app with trembling fingers. The numbers appeared on his screen: $47.32.

His heart sank. Forty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents. That was it. That was all he had in the world.

Adam was grinning like a shark. "Well? What's the verdict, Mr. Medici?"

Just as Michael was about to close the app in defeat, his phone chimed with a notification.

DEPOSIT: $30,847,391.00

Michael stared at the screen, certain he was hallucinating. The number didn't change. Thirty million, eight hundred and forty-seven thousand, three hundred and ninety-one dollars.

Another message appeared immediately below the deposit notification:

"Show them who's boss, Mr. Sullivan" with a smiley emoji.

Michael's heart nearly stopped. Ava. Somehow, Ava had just deposited over thirty million dollars into his account.