Rise Of The True Heir

Chapter 5

The Maybach's leather interior felt suffocating, it felt distinct from Richard's personality as he walked into it.

Richard sat pressed against the door, staring at the city lights streaming past the tinted windows. His phone still glowed with the DNA evidence, the court documents, the undeniable proof that his entire life had been built on a lie.

"You're quiet," Mr. Simpson observed.

"I'm processing the fact that I spent three years swearing I'd destroy the Simpson family," Richard said without looking away from the window. "I promised myself I'd never bow my head to them again, never take another order, never give them another second of my life. And now you're telling me I am one of them."

"You are not one of them. You are above them."

Richard laughed harshly. "That's a convenient distinction."

"It's also accurate."

"Is it?" Richard turned to face him. "The DNA test. You're absolutely certain?"

"I had it conducted by three independent laboratories in three different countries," Mr. Simpson replied without hesitation. "The results were identical each time. Your blood is my blood, Richard. There is no margin for error."

Richard rubbed his face with both hands. "Then how does something like this happen? How do you lose your real heir for twenty-six years and not notice?"

Mr. Simpson's expression darkened. "The nurse who switched the records was employed by the Hartwell family. They wanted to ensure my bloodline produced weak heirs. She succeeded beyond their expectations."

"And her?"

"Dead four years ago. Natural causes, unfortunately."

"So we'll never know everything."

"We know enough."

Richard stared at the ceiling of the car. "You said you found out three weeks ago. What took you so long?"

The old man was quiet for a long moment.

"Because I was ashamed," he finally said.

Richard looked at him sharply.

"I raised that boy. I gave him my name, my resources, my empire's future. I watched him become everything I despised and told myself it was temporary, that pressure would correct his character." Mr. Simpson's voice carried the weight of catastrophic failure. "He is not my blood. But the shame of what I allowed him to become is mine to carry."

"So you watched, when they maltreated me, whether or not you knew I was your grandson then" Richard said quietly. "You watched them treat us like animals and did nothing."

"Your mother's medical bills—"

"You paid them." Richard's voice went flat. "That was you."

"I could not reveal myself without triggering a legal war that would have destroyed everything before I was ready. The medical support was the only assistance I could offer without exposing the situation."

Richard's hands clenched into fists. "You paid for the machines keeping my mother alive while your grandson made me crawl on the ground like a dog. You want me to find comfort in that?"

"No. I want you to understand the full picture before you judge it."

"I understand perfectly." Richard's voice hardened. "You had the power to stop it and chose not to because it was inconvenient. You protected your empire's stability over a child being worse than dogs by people you call family. There is no difference between you and the people you're asking me to replace."

"Richard..." 

"Stop the car."

The bodyguard glanced at Mr. Simpson in the rearview mirror. The old man raised one hand slightly. The Maybach eased to the curb.

Richard reached for the door handle, then stopped. "You know what the worst part is?"

Mr. Simpson waited.

"For three years, I told myself that one day I'd have enough power to make them pay. That someday I'd watch Terry Simpson beg the way he made me beg." Richard's voice was deadly quiet. "And now you're offering me exactly that, and I can't take it because it would make me just like them."

He pushed open the door.

"Richard, wait." Mr. Simpson reached into his breast pocket and produced a plain white card. No logo, no title. Just a phone number. "Take this. Not as an heir accepting his birthright, but as insurance. When you realize the full scope of what you're walking back into, you'll need resources."

Richard stared at the card.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness or acceptance," Mr. Simpson continued. "I'm asking you to keep an open mind."

Against his better judgment, Richard took the card. "Don't expect me to call you."

"I'll expect nothing. But I'll answer."

Richard stepped onto the sidewalk without looking back. The Maybach sat at the curb as he walked away, his worn shoes scraping against the pavement.

He was three blocks away when his phone rang.

City General Hospital.

His stomach dropped.

"Mr. Chen?" The nurse's voice was carefully controlled. "This is the cardiac unit. Your mother was brought in forty minutes ago. She suffered a significant cardiac event, likely triggered by acute emotional distress. Her condition is critical and we need immediate authorization for emergency intervention."

Richard was already running.

"The procedure requires a deposit of two hundred thousand dollars," the nurse continued. "The Simpson Medical Foundation has withdrawn their support. Without immediate payment."

"I'm on my way," Richard gasped, sprinting through the empty streets. "Don't let anything happen to her."

The line went dead.

Richard ran harder than he'd ever run in his life, his lungs burning, his legs screaming in protest. Two hundred thousand dollars. He didn't have two hundred dollars to his name.

The hospital's sliding doors parted as he burst through, chest heaving, still wearing his battered uniform from the night's disasters. The antiseptic smell hit him like a wall.

He rounded the corner toward the intensive care unit and stopped dead.

Two figures lounged outside Room 302 like they were waiting for a show.

Terry Simpson leaned against the wall in a fresh designer suit, not a hair out of place despite the chaos of the night. Bella stood beside him in an expensive dress, scrolling through her phone with practiced boredom.

Terry looked up as Richard approached.

His smile spread slowly, deliberately.

"Look what crawled out of the gutter," Terry announced to the corridor. "The pig is here."

Bella glanced up from her phone. "Took you long enough. Did you walk here, Richard? Couldn't afford the bus fare after your little adventure tonight?"

The nurses at the station kept their eyes fixed on their screens. Nobody in the cardiac wing was going to involve themselves with the Simpson family.

Terry pushed off the wall and walked toward Richard with unhurried confidence.

"Here's the thing about tonight," Terry said conversationally. "The charges against you are still active. One phone call from me and you go straight back to that cell." He tilted his head. "Your mother needs emergency surgery. That surgery requires a deposit you absolutely cannot afford."

Richard's hands clenched at his sides.

"So here's what's going to happen." Terry's smile widened. "You're going to sign the extended service contract my father prepared, acknowledging that tonight's incident was entirely your fault. You do that, and I'll authorize payment for your mother's surgery within the hour."

Bella smiled over Terry's shoulder. "Doesn't that sound reasonable?"

Richard looked at Terry's face. At the casual cruelty in his eyes, the absolute certainty that he had already won.

The white business card felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

Terry leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"This," he said softly, "is going to be so much fun, say no and she wouldn't even be treated at all.”