RISE OF THE LOST HEIR: ASHES TO EMPIRE

EIGHT: THE ENCOUNTER I

A year had quietly unfolded since Levi vanished into a new city—twelve long months of trying to rebuild himself piece by piece, and in the process, losing parts of who he used to be. His mind had erased almost everything about his past, not out of healing, but out of survival.

Only one memory clung stubbornly to him: his grandmother.

Her voice, her warmth, her warnings. She was the final thread tying him to the life he left behind. Everyone else? Gone. Faded. Buried.

By early 2017, Levi and Luke had managed to scrape together enough money to move out of their run-down apartment and into something better. They found a modest but vibrant two-bedroom unit on Lantern Row, a district loved for its energy and its beauty.

Lantern Row was a world of its own—walk-up apartments stacked above tiny restaurants, mismatched cafés, old bookstores, tattoo studios, and late-night eateries with neon signs that flickered like restless fireflies. The place never truly slept. Musicians played at odd hours, couples argued on street corners, and small shops stayed open deep into the night.

But the real pride of the district were the lantern posts.

Tall, vintage lights lined up in a perfect row starting at the main road and stretching all the way down to the beach. When they lit up each evening, the district transformed into something magical. Warm amber glows reflected across the pavement and danced over the ocean breeze, creating a glowing, dreamlike path.

People often walked the lantern line slowly, wondering what lay at the very end of the illuminated path, as if it promised hope, or answers, or something worth finding.

Levi and Luke chose the place mainly because it was close to their jobs. But Luke saw it as a fresh start. A chance to drag Levi into a brighter life. Levi, however, didn’t see it that way.

Trust—friendship—love…

Those things had died inside him after Tommy and Clarie.

Luke tried to befriend him, but Levi kept a careful distance. He didn’t open the door wide enough for anyone anymore, not even the people standing beside him.

Teyana visited often too, always smiling, always trying to break through the wall Levi built. SomeDiego es she tried to befriend him. Other Diego es… maybe more. But Levi’s new coldness kept everyone at arm’s length. He didn’t hate them. He simply didn’t let them close.

To him, Luke and Teyana were comrades of circumstance, not friends.

He lived with Luke because bills needed splitting.

He talked to Teyana because she showed up relentlessly—and because she cooked well. Something boys never said no to.

SomeDiego es they invited him out—to festivals, to small beach gatherings, to grab drinks after work. But Levi rarely joined because he was always working.

Always.

---

The first construction project he worked on had finished months ago. Now, he and the team were working on something much bigger:

a hotel commissioned by the Hales.

This one came with pressure. A heavy Diego e frame. Unbelievably high expectations. And eyes—expensive eyes—constantly checking the progress.

Every week, new luxury cars pulled up: models Levi had only ever seen on magazine covers. Men in suits toured the site, whispered to supervisors, and left just as silently.

One thing became clear.

This wasn’t just another hotel under the Hale Conglomerate.

This was a major development—huge, ambitious, and destined to become one of San Francisco’s landmarks.

“Look, I’m not saying the others aren’t huge, but this one is going to be big—and yet the best,” Marcus argued loudly, waving his arms dramatically.

Diego rolled his eyes. “And I’m telling you, we did the construction for the hotel in Vegas. That one is wayyy bigger. The interior alone will blow your mind.”

He stood next to the cement mixer, tossing in sand with unnecessary force.

“I know! But why can’t you just picture it with me?” Marcus insisted. “This one is going to be better. Just wait and watch—”

Levi stepped out of the building, hearing their voices. He saw Karan leaning on a shovel, watching the argument like it was a soap opera.

“What’s going on?” Levi asked.

Karan, with his thick Indian accent, chuckled. “They are arguing about which hotel will be the best—this one or the one in Vegas.”

Levi looked at the half-built structure and raised a brow.

“But… it’s not even done yet.”

Karan smirked. “Have their arguments ever made sense?”

He slung the shovel over his shoulder and walked off shaking his head.

“Come on, Levi!” Marcus called. “You tell us which will be the best.”

“Yes! Tell us,” Diego added.

Levi didn’t bother stopping. “Ah, sorry guys, I have unfinished work—”

He sped off before they could trap him in their daily drama.

Marcus and Diego glared at each other and resumed arguing like irritated children.

---

Months passed, and slowly, the hotel began taking shape—grand, elegant, and huge. Marcus had been right about one thing: this project was no ordinary one.

That’s when the head supervisor began showing up.

And he was hell.

He took no nonsense. No mistakes. No excuses.

He fired people like he was swatting flies.

Even Harold—the regular supervisor the workers once feared—now cowered in front of this man.

The only good thing?

He issued weekly bonuses. That softened the blow.

But one particular morning, as Levi walked onto the site, tension hung thick in the air.

Everyone stood stiff. Quiet. On edge.

“What’s going on? Why’s he pissed?” Levi asked Karan.

“Someone is coming to inspect the work,” Karan replied.

“Who?” Levi frowned.

Diego and Marcus leaned in dramatically.

“Someone above,” Diego whispered.

“We heard the reason this project has so many eyes on it,” Marcus added, “is because the Hales opened their doors for partnership. And all the big boys invested.”

“Not big boys,” Diego corrected. “Big big huge boys.”

“The kind you only ever see on TV,” Marcus whispered.

“That’s why the head supervisor came this week,” Karan said. “And unfortunately for him… the big man is coming today.”

“And if he is coming, then other investors are coming,” Marcus added.

“You know the rumors,” Diego whispered. “The Hales are like the gods of the underworld.”

“So of course he’s pissed,” Karan said. “He’s pissed at everything and everyone.”

Levi looked between them, confused but intrigued.

“Where exactly do you guys hear this stuff from?”

“That’s your concern?” Diego scoffed.

“You should be grateful we share updates with you,” Marcus said proudly.

“Updates?” Levi muttered.

“Shhh!” Marcus hissed. “Here he comes!”

The head supervisor marched toward them and barked,

“Everyone listen up!”

They snapped to attention.

“We are days away from completing the major structural work on this hotel. Today, of all days, there must not be a single mistake. Not one. Mistakes will have consequences—heavy ones. I don’t care if your wife is pregnant or your mother is on her deathbed. Today, you WORK.”

He paced in front of them like a general addressing soldiers.

“You ! You ! Check every reinforcement bar before welding.” He said to Diego and Marcus.

“You two—recheck the scaffold stability.”

“Paint crew—no splashes, no streaks, no missed spots.”

“Electrical team—every wire must be sealed, tied, and locked.”

Then he turned to Levi and Karan.

“You two—come with me.”

The workers exchanged glances.

Levi and Karan? Together? That meant something big. Because they were the hardworking ones.

The supervisor led them to the front façade—the very first thing anyone would see when entering the hotel. The most important area.

“I need both of you on the exterior detailing,” he ordered.

“We need flawless surface finishing on the front pillars. Perfect texture. Perfect alignment. No cracks. No uneven patches. That’s what should impress the big men first.”

Levi and Karan exchanged a look.

This wasn’t normal work.

This was showcase work.

---

The entire field was busy, the sounds of machines, mixing, drilling and stuff.

At exactly 2:00 PM, a car glided into the open field.

Not just any car.

A Rolls-Royce Phantom Series II, sleek black, glossy enough to reflect the entire construction site. Its arrival silenced the entire field.

A man stepped out.

Sharp suit.

Polished shoes.

Silver hair perfectly styled.

Dark shades.

An expensive wristwatch that glittered even under the dull sun.

Perfect posture.

A presence that screamed power.

He looked around fifty—elegant, commanding, wealthy without trying.

Even the air around him felt richer.

The workers froze, staring in disbelief until the supervisor snapped:

“Back to work! NOW!”

He rushed to the man, bowing almost.

“Welcome, Sir Alex. This way please.”

Sir Alex.

Vice-Chairman of the Hale Conglomerate.

The man whose signature could elevate or ruin a business.

The workers exchanged quiet laughs.

They used to fear Harold.

Harold feared the supervisor.

And now the supervisor feared this man.

Who knew—maybe even Alex had someone above him.

Almost an hour later, Alex stepped out of the building. The supervisor followed him like a trembling shadow.

Karan whispered to Levi, “Funny how one moment he’s our superior, and the next, he’s no better than us.”

Levi scoffed. “The ladder of social status. There’s always someone above.”

Karan snorted. “Not above William Hale. That man could start World War Three and no one would stop him.”

But then he paused.

“Hey… Levi… I think that man is looking at us.”

“What?” Levi turned.

He froze.

Alex—Sir Alex—was indeed looking directly at them.

Not a casual glance.

A focused stare.

Then, slowly, Alex removed his shades.

And it became clear:

He was staring at Levi.

“Hey, hey, look away,” Karan whispered quickly. “Look away before he comes here.”

Karan immediately bowed his head.

Levi didn’t.

For a few seconds, he held eye contact with the powerful man—calm, steady, unafraid.

Only then did he turn away.

Moments later, Alex’s Rolls-Royce vanished, leaving only dust behind. The supervisor exhaled loudly, the tension was too much for him to handle, so he jumped into his car, and sped off. The workers relaxed, returning to normal.

But Levi?

He felt eyes lingering on him long after the man left.

---

San Francisco was full of contrasts—quiet neighborhoods, vibrant streets, artistic districts, wealthy corners—but nothing compared to Silver Leaf Heights.

It was the district of the elite.

A place named for people “born with silver spoons,” though many said “silver” didn’t do their wealth justice.

Some called them Victorians—modern royalty.

The district looked like something built for an emperor:

The neighborhood was an exclusive sanctuary, a quiet enclave tucked away from the bustle of the city but close enough to remain its power center. It was a place where isolation was a luxury, defined not by distance but by total privacy; only the most elite families inhabited this stretch of winding, tree-lined road, where every estate was a fortress of refinement.

The street itself was a gallery of grand architecture, guarded by massive, ornate wrought-iron gates that stood like sentinels at the head of every driveway. These towering gates, accented with gold leaf and anchored by heavy stone pillars, ensured that only those with the proper credentials could glimpse the opulence within.

Behind these formidable barriers, each mansion—much like the Hales’ residence—was set deep within vast, manicured grounds to ensure no two houses were ever truly in view of one another. The air here was filled with the rhythmic splash of multi-tiered stone fountains, which served as the majestic centerpieces of sweeping motor courts and emerald-green lawns.

This was a neighborhood where space was the ultimate currency, and every fountain and sprawling garden wall signaled a legacy of immense, quiet wealth.

And at the far northern end stood the estate of the Hales—the most powerful family among them all.

The Hale mansion was not simply big.

It was incredible. Intimidating. Grand in a way that made every other house seem like it was trying too hard.

The black wrought-iron gate carried a proud signature H in the center.

A guard house by the gate.

Guards—at least seven—stood from the front gate spread around the yard, all the way to the doorway. All in black. Earpieces. Cold expressions. Possibly armed.

Alex stepped out of his car, the driver disappearing instantly.

As he approached the door, it swung open automatically.

He walked inside, moving with the confidence of someone who belonged everywhere.

He walked passed the "waiting room," a space designed to impress.

This vast, circular foyer was centered around a dramatic custom-built, sunken conversation pit, defined by a plush, semi-circular sofa upholstered in a warm, neutral tone.

Overhead, a sophisticated dropped ceiling feature showcased a unique modern chandelier, casting a soft glow over the rich wooden floor and setting a tone of exclusive luxury.

Up the grand staircase.

Down the first-floor hallway.

Into a dim room.

He switched the lights on.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted respectfully.

A weak voice replied from within the shadows:

“Hello, old friend.”

_____