MICHAEL SULLIVAN: NEW DYNASTY

— 1 —

The early morning cold stung Michael Sullivan's face as he pedaled through the lonely streets of Westbrook Heights. The newspaper bag slung across his chest danced up and down as he moved. At age twenty six, he was at least a decade older than most paper delivery boys.

And this very fact never failed to twist his gut with shame each time he made his rounds.

Today's route was nearly complete. Only the massive estates remained—the ones perched at the highest point of Westbrook Heights. Everytime he visited those parts he always thought that the air seemed cleaner and the morning light touched the rooftops first. Michael pedaled harder, his breaths forming small clouds in the frigid air. He'd saved the Medici mansion for last, as he always did.

The mansion stood like a fortress at the end of a long driveway. Even from the gate, Michael could see lights on in several windows. The Medicis were early risers.

Michael retrieved the newspaper from his bag and stared at the front page. Frank Medici's face stared back at him. The headline read: “Medici Industries Acquires Phantom Breweries in Bold $8.3 Billion Move.” Another victory for the old man.

He folded the paper hastily and threw it toward the front door with more force than necessary. It hit the door with a satisfying thud before sliding to rest against the welcome mat.

Michael allowed himself a small, bitter smile. As he turned to leave, movement caught his eye. A figure stood at one of the second-floor windows, watching him. Even at this distance, Michael recognized Victoria Medici's silhouette. She didn't wave or acknowledge him. She just watched until he pedaled away and back down the hill.

_

Much to his annoyance, the apartment was cold when Michael returned. He'd begged the landlady to just fix up the building's heating system or even get a new one because he was pretty sure the system had been there since the ’90s. But his landlady had just ignored him and went on with her business. By now he was used to people ignoring him anyway.

He checked his phone for time. 5:42 AM. He had just enough time to shower before his shift at the Coffee shop.

As he entered the bathroom, the mirror revealed dark circles beneath his eyes. This was a souvenir from another night of restless sleep. The same nightmare had plagued him for weeks now: his mother's final days. He could picture her pale face as she lay on her sickbed, whispering, “Don't hate him, Michael. Hate only hurts the one who carries it."

But he did hate Frank Medici. Hated how the man had seduced his mother, a young maid working in the Medici household, only to discard her when she became pregnant. Hated how Frank had paid her off with just enough money to disappear quietly but not enough to live comfortably. Hated how his mother had died of what the doctors called heart failure but what Michael knew was really heartbreak.

Michael splashed cold water on his face and tried to focus on the day ahead. Two shifts at the coffee shop, then a few hours of freelance work if his ancient laptop would cooperate. It wasn't much of a life, but it was his.

His phone buzzed. His lips parted in a small smile as he read the text: “You awake? Check your email when you can. Found something interesting."

Alexis Stern had been his online friend for nearly four years. They'd met in a comment section. Michael’s smile grew wider as he recalled the memory. He'd commented on a new product from a company whose name he couldn't remember. Alexis had been annoyed by his comment and they'd fallen into a long argument. In the end, the company locked their comment section and banned He and Alexis from the group so they took their arguments to emails, and soon enough they became friends. Alexis lived in Germany, and strangely that was all Michael knew about him. He refused to reveal anything else. Despite never meeting in person, he was probably the closest thing Michael had to a real friend.

He opened his email to find a message from Alexis with a link to a financial news article. The headline made his heart skip: “Frank Medici Reportedly Sick, Succession Plans Unclear.”

The article was brief. It claimed that Frank Medici had been diagnosed with a serious illness and was putting his affairs in order. The stock price of Medici Enterprises had already dipped slightly on the rumor.

Michael stared at the screen, unsure how to feel. Should he be happy? Sad? The man was technically his father, but he'd never been anything close to a parent. Would Frank's death change anything for Michael? Probably not. The Medici empire would pass to Victoria or one of the other legitimate children, while Michael would have to continue delivering papers and making lattes for the rest of his life.

He texted Alexis back: “Thanks. Not sure what to think about this."

The reply came almost instantly: “Keep an eye on your mail, dude. Something tells me this isn't just a rumor.”

Michael frowned at the message but had no time to press for details. He was already running late for work.

---

The coffee shop was packed with the usual morning crowd. And as usual everyone was not in a good mood. Some were already yelling for their coffee, while others were pacing about while swearing under their breath. Michael made his way to the counter and began taking orders. As he worked, he gave the customers a forced smile that never reached his eyes.

He was in the middle of creating a mocha when a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

"Michael! I thought that was you. Still making coffee, I see."

Michael's stomach clenched as he looked up to see Hillary, his ex-girlfriend, standing at the counter. She was immaculately dressed in designer clothes. Her hair was perfect, and her smile as false as the promise she'd made to love him forever several months ago.

"H-Hi, Hillary,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “What c-can I g-get you?"

"Oat milk latte, extra hot,” she said, then turned to the man beside her. “Phillip, this is Michael Sullivan, an old friend. Michael, this is Phillip Medici."

Michael's hands froze on the espresso machine. Phillip Medici. The eldest Medici son, and the next in line to inherit Medici Industries.

Phillip looked at Michael with mild curiosity, as if examining an unusual but ultimately unremarkable insect. “Sullivan? Any relation to Michelle Sullivan?"

The question hit Michael like a physical blow. “She was my mother,” he said stiffly.

Recognition dawned in Phillip's eyes, followed by something that might have been amusement. “Oh, right. You're Father's little... mistake. Victoria mentioned you lived around here somewhere."

Hillary's eyes widened with sudden understanding, glancing between the two men. Michael could almost see the calculations running behind her eyes, the realization that her ex-boyfriend was somehow connected to the Medici fortune.

"Your drinks will be ready in 5 minutes,” Michael said, turning away before either could respond. His hands shook as he prepared the lattes. He ended up spilling milk on the counter and earning a sharp look from his manager.

When he called out their order, Phillip approached the counter alone. He dropped a hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar.

"Here's a small tip for family,” Phillip said with a wink that made Michael's blood boil. “And hey, I guess I'll be seeing you at the family meeting later this week. You should come. Might be worth your while."

Before Michael could respond, Phillip rejoined Hillary. She cast one last curious glance at Michael before they left the coffee shop.

Michael stared at the hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar as different thoughts swam in his head. A family meeting? Since when did the Medicis have family meetings? And why would they want him there after all these years of pretending he didn't exist?

The questions swirled in his mind for the rest of his shift, distracting him so much that he messed up three orders and got chewed out by his manager. By the time he clocked out at 2 PM, his confusion had changed into determination. If the Medicis wanted him at their meeting, he would go. Not out of any sense of family loyalty, but because after so many years of being ignored, he deserved some answers.

And if Frank Medici was dying, Michael wanted to look him in the eye at least once before he did.