PHILIP SCOTT: THE LOST HEIR

UNFOLDEN

“What happened… What happened to Mom?” Philip's voice trembled as he asked.

“Your mother was shot when she was coming back from selling corn,” Mr. Scott replied, his voice choking with emotion. Tears streamed down his face as he nodded in pain. He placed his hands on Philip's shoulders and began to weep profusely.

“What? What happened?” Philip's voice broke. “Is she… is she dead?” he stammered, barely able to form the words.

“No, no, she’s not dead,” Mr. Scott said, raising his head to wipe his eyes. “She’s going to be alright, my son,” he added, attempting to sound reassuring, though his own certainty was not sure.

“No, no, it’s not alright. It can’t be. Where is she?” Philip demanded, desperation creeping into his voice.

“She’s at the central hospital,” Mr. Scott replied quietly.

“Let's go see her,” Philip insisted.

“Okay, my son,” Mr. Scott agreed. He took a moment to compose himself, wiping away his tears, and then walked over to lock the door. Philip waited by the car, a mix of fear and impatience was on his face.

Once they were both in the car, the driver started the engine, and they sped down the road. The ride was silent, each passing moment filled with dread and anxiety. Philip's mind raced with thoughts of his mother, his heart pounding in his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the central hospital. The car came to a halt, and Philip and Mr. Scott quickly got out. They hurried through the hospital’s entrance, the sterile smell of disinfectant hitting their noses. Philip could hear the distant hum of medical equipment and the muffled voices of doctors and nurses.

The corridors seemed endless as they rushed to find his mother. Mr. Scott’s hand was firm on Philip’s shoulder, guiding him through the maze of hallways.

AT THE CENTRAL HOSPITAL

Philip's heart pounded in his chest as he rushed through the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the hallway. His mind raced with the dreadful thoughts of what his mother might look like after the gunshot wound she had suffered. Panic tightened its grip around his chest as he finally reached the reception desk in the emergency section.

"How can I help you?" the nurse asked, barely looking up from her computer screen as she continued her work.

"I'm here to see my mom," Philip said, his voice shaky with a mix of fear and urgency.

The nurse paused, something in his voice causing her to look up. As she met his eyes, a strange wave of emotions washed over her. Philip's presence struck her like a lightning bolt, and before she knew it, a smile crept across her face. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, betraying her sudden and unexpected attraction.

Philip noticed the nurse's reaction and felt a flush of shyness himself. Under different circumstances, he might have entertained the possibility of a connection with her. But now, with his mother's life hanging in the balance, all thoughts of romance were ruthlessly shoved aside by the crushing weight of reality.

"So, what's her name?" the nurse asked, her eyes lingering on Philip, clearly hoping to elicit another smile from him.

"Mrs. Scott," he replied, casting a quick glance at his father to avoid the nurse's gaze.

"Okay, thank you," the nurse said, turning back to her computer. She began typing, searching the hospital's database for any information on Mrs. Scott. After a few minutes, she found the entry.

"Mrs. Francisca Scott?" she asked, looking back up at Philip and his father.

"Yes, that's her," Philip and Mr. Scott replied simultaneously, their voices heavy with anticipation.

"She was admitted with a gunshot wound," the nurse continued, her tone now more professional. "She was scheduled for surgery yesterday."

"Yes," Mr. Scott confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, it's a good thing you made the payment yesterday," the nurse said, her eyes flicking back to Philip.

"Payment?" Mr. Scott's voice was filled with confusion. "I didn't make any payment."

"The bill here says it's been cleared," the nurse replied, puzzled but still glancing at Philip.

Philip exchanged a look with his father, his mind racing. He had a good idea where the money might have come from. "Give me a minute," he said, stepping away from the desk to use the public phone in the hospital lobby.

He dialed a number he knew all too well. "Hello," came the voice on the other end of the line, belonging to Barry Aton.

"Did you know?" Philip asked, skipping any formalities.

"Know what?" Barry replied, sounding genuinely confused.

"Cut the shit. Did you know about my mom?" Philip's voice was tight with anger and frustration.

After a pause, Barry spoke. "Yes, a few days ago, when we were doing our research and questioning, I found out Mrs. Scott had been shot. I sent my men to investigate."

"And why didn't you tell me?" Philip's voice was rising, attracting glances from people around him.

"There was no easy way to bring it up," Barry said defensively. "I wanted you to find out on your own. The truth is, the closer you stay to them, the more danger they're in."

"You are the danger, Barry. Since you came into my life, everything has been upside down," Philip shot back, his voice filled with venom.

"My son, you can't blame me for everything that's happened to you," Barry said, trying to stay calm.

"I blame you, Barry. I fucking blame you!" Philip's voice echoed through the lobby, drawing more attention. "You know what? Fuck you and your money. I don't want any of it." With that, he slammed the phone down, his chest heaving with emotion.

Philip sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. His father approached him, a look of deep sorrow on his face. "You should take the money," Mr. Scott said softly from a few feet away.

"What do you mean?" Philip replied, looking up at his father through tear-filled eyes.

"My son, there are some things we've been meaning to tell you," Mr. Scott said, his voice trembling as he knelt down beside Philip.

"No... no... no, it can't be. Please tell me it's all a lie," Philip begged, his face contorted with pain.

"It is the truth," Mr. Scott said, placing a hand on Philip's shoulder. "We are not your real parents."

"Please, tell me you're lying," Philip whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's the truth. Barry Aton is your grandfather," Mr. Scott said gently.

"It can't be. All my life... it can't be. You are my father and will always be my father," Philip said, his voice breaking.

"I will always be your father," Mr. Scott reassured him, tears welling up in his own eyes. "But the truth is, you are Aton." He held Philip's face in his hands, wiping away his tears.

In that moment, the weight of the truth crashed down on Philip, altering the course of his life forever.