Shattered Mask

CHAPTER 2

A NEW IDENTITY

Jack could not escape the lynching, nor could he retaliate; he only lay there, screaming in extreme agony and rolling from side to side to evade some of the punches being hurled at him.

“Stop.”

The words of hope for Jack finally echoed through the room.

The lynching stopped.

Jack looked up.

Three heavy men, breathing heavily, with angry faces and clenched fists, stared at him, ready to launch another round of attack on order.

He licked his own blood off his lips, moaning in pain.

His broken jaw was a testament to the blows he had received.

He tried to sit up, but his weak body failed him.

The last face appeared, red-eyed, staring down at him with a smirk.

He spat on Jack’s face on the floor.

“You think you are smart, huh? Let us see what you’ve got, loser.” He said, grinning loudly.

Jack tried to clean the spit from his face with his hands, but ended up smearing it all over his face.

The shame, the disgust, the humiliation … he was bearing it silently; he had no other option; he was only a weak, poor repairman.

“Carry him up; I want to talk to him.” The man commanded his guards in a firm tone.

They obeyed, carrying Jack by the shoulders and helping him stand.

They left him alone, and he stood there, staggering.

His face was swollen, his nose and jaw broken, blood dripping from his mouth, drenched in shame, staggering under his own body weight, too heavy for his weak bones to carry.

A mocking smile creased his lips as he stared Jack in the face.

“Now listen, you stupid brat, channel that energy into making money, or focus on women who are the lowlife class like yourself.

Now carry your shit-smelling body out of my house this very minute before another round of beating comes at you.” He threatened Jack, and yet another mocking pinch on his broken nose followed, causing him to scream in pain.

Jack turned and walked towards the door himself, staggering heavily like a drunk, with blood dripping from his mouth onto the polished floor, and guards trailing behind him.

As he reached the door, he stopped.

"Keep the bracelet money, Leslie. Consider it a divorce gift." He said in a slurred, distorted voice, an effect of his broken jaw.

He didn't wait for her response; he turned around and staggered, but it seemed he was not pitiful enough.

“Carry this idiot and trash him away from my sight now.” The man commanded.

The guards obeyed. Two of them held him, one by each shoulder, as they dragged him out of the compound while Jack struggled to free himself from their grip.

Jack was dumped outside the house, on the hard floor, with a loud thud, and the gate was closed shortly after.

Jack gathered the remaining strength he had to stand up, unassisted.

He wiped the spit from his face, causing the same effect as before.

He looked disdainfully at the door, with pain in his eyes.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright. Jack's phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He took out his phone from his pocket; the screen was cracked from the impact of his manhandling.

He answered without thinking. "What?"

"Jack Rothwell?" A crisp, professional voice. "This is Martin Harnes, your grandfather's estate attorney. I have been trying to reach you."

Jack's stomach dropped. He had ignored these calls for years. Ever since he had walked away from the family money, from the expectations, from the life his grandfather had planned.

"I am not interested."

"Your grandfather passed away two weeks ago. The will reading is tomorrow. You are the sole heir to Rothwell Industries and the associated assets, approximately $230 billion."

The number didn't register in his mind.

"I don't want it."

"Mr Rothwell, I understand you have built a life independent of your family, but there are... complications. Your wife's name appears in several recent legal filings. If you don't claim the estate, those filings could..."

"She is not my wife anymore."

A pause.

"Then you will definitely want to attend tomorrow at 10 AM. Rothwell Tower."

The line went dead.

Jack stood on the pavement, staring at his blood-stained hands.

Four years. He had spent four years proving that he didn't need his family's money and that he could be a man on his own terms.

And Leslie had left him anyway.

He pulled up his contacts. Found the number he had kept but never called.

Marcus Chen, Family Attorney.

He typed slowly: I am coming home. Prepare everything.

Then he turned and looked back at the mansion...at the life Leslie thought she had upgraded to.

"You wanted better," Jack murmured. "Let's see how that works out for you."

He pocketed his phone and started walking.

Tomorrow, everything will change.