She Left When I Was Broke, Regretted When I Was King

Chapter 11: The Grandfather's Warning

Ethan's POV

The Sterling estate's dining room could have fit my old apartment three times over. Crystal chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with scenes I didn't recognize. Probably something historical. Probably worth more than I'd ever earned in my life.

I sat across from my grandfather, still getting used to calling him that. Sterling Cross. My blood. My family.

He looked smaller tonight than he had this morning. Frailer. The overhead lighting cast shadows under his eyes that made him look ancient.

"You're not eating," he said, gesturing at my plate. Some kind of fish with sauce I couldn't pronounce. "The chef will be offended."

"I'm still not used to this." I picked up my fork. Heavy. Silver. Real silver, probably. "Two days ago I was eating ramen in a hotel room. Now I'm here."

"You belong here." His voice was firm despite his age. "This is your birthright, Ethan. Everything you see, everything Zenith Corporation owns, it should have been yours from the beginning."

I took a bite of the fish. It melted on my tongue. Of course it did.

"I want to show you something," Sterling said. He stood slowly, using his cane. "Something I've kept hidden for twenty-three years. Something only five people in the world have seen."

I followed him through hallways lined with paintings of people I didn't know. My ancestors, probably. People whose blood ran in my veins but whose faces were strangers.

We stopped at what looked like a regular bookshelf. Sterling pressed something, I didn't see what, and the entire shelf swung inward like a door.

"Dramatic," I said.

"Necessary." He led me down a narrow staircase. "What I'm about to show you, Ethan, it will change everything. You'll understand why I've spent twenty-three years searching. Why I've spent millions. Why I'll spend millions more to protect you."

The basement was smaller than I expected. Just one room, lit by fluorescent lights that buzzed softly. Filing cabinets lined the walls. A large table dominated the center, covered in folders and photographs.

"This is the evidence," Sterling said. "Everything I've collected about your kidnapping. About the people who took you. About what they did to your parents."

He opened a folder. Inside were photographs of a car crash. Twisted metal. Shattered glass. Dark stains on the pavement that could only be blood.

"Your parents," he said quietly. "Richard and Catherine. My son and his wife. This is how they died."

I stared at the photos. My parents. People I'd never met. Never known. Dead in a heap of metal and blood.

"The police called it an accident," Sterling continued. "A truck ran a red light. Hit them broadside. Driver fled the scene. Never found." He pulled out another photo. "But look at this."

The new photo showed the truck. Or what was left of it. Abandoned in an industrial area.

"The truck was reported stolen three hours before the accident. The steering column was professionally bypassed. The license plates were fake." Sterling's hands shook slightly as he shuffled through more photos. "And this, this is what convinced me."

He showed me a close-up of the truck's interior. Someone had circled something in red marker. A small device attached under the dashboard.

"A remote control system," Sterling said. "The truck was being driven remotely. Someone staged the entire accident from a safe distance. Killed my son and daughter-in-law without ever being in danger themselves."

My chest felt tight. "Who?"

"I have theories. Strong theories." He moved to a different folder. "The Blackwell family. Business rivals. They stood to gain the most from our family's destruction." He pulled out financial documents. "When you disappeared, certain provisions in my will became active. Portions of the Sterling fortune went into trust for other relatives. Relatives connected to the Blackwells through marriage and business deals."

"They killed my parents for money."

"And took you to ensure the inheritance stayed divided." Sterling's voice hardened. "With you gone, they could slowly acquire pieces of the Sterling empire through proxies and shell companies. They've been doing it for twenty-three years."

I looked at the evidence spread across the table. Photos. Documents. Bank records. A conspiracy spanning decades.

"Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I did. They found nothing. The Blackwells are powerful, Ethan. They have connections in law enforcement, in government, everywhere." He closed the folder. "I needed absolute proof before I could move against them. Proof I still don't have."

"But you have all this."

"Circumstantial. Suggestive. Not enough for a conviction." His eyes met mine. "That's why I need you alive. Why I need you strong. Together, we'll find the proof we need. And then we'll destroy them."

The basement door opened above us.

"Mr. Cross?" A voice called down. Female. Cultured. "Dinner is about to be served in the main dining room."

"We'll be right up, Helen," Sterling called back. He turned to me. "Come. There are people you need to meet."

We climbed back up. The bookshelf closed behind us with a soft click.

The main dining room was even more elaborate than the one we'd left. A table that could seat twenty people. Five individuals already seated, all watching as we entered.

"Ethan," Sterling said, gesturing around the table. "These are my most trusted advisors. The Inner Circle. They've protected the Sterling legacy for decades. Without them, Zenith Corporation would have fallen years ago."

He introduced them one by one.

"Helen Marsh, my chief financial advisor. She's been with me for thirty years."

A woman in her sixties nodded. Sharp eyes behind designer glasses.

"Thomas Brennan, head of security operations."

A man built like a tank. Former military, I'd bet money on it.

"Richard Chen, legal counsel."

Sophia's uncle. I recognized the resemblance in the eyes. He smiled politely.

"Dr. Sarah Kim, chief medical officer and head of our pharmaceutical division."

A Korean woman in her forties. She looked at me with open curiosity.

"And Douglas Crane, our senior strategic advisor."

An older man, maybe seventy, with gray hair and a face that had seen everything.

"Welcome, young master," Helen said. "We've waited a long time to meet you."

We sat. Servers appeared, placing dishes in front of each person. The same fish I'd eaten earlier. Wine was poured. Water. Everything precise and choreographed.

"To family," Sterling said, raising his glass. "To the future of the Sterling legacy."

Everyone drank.

We ate in relative silence for a few minutes. Small talk. Comments about the weather. The kind of nothing conversation rich people probably had at every meal.

Then Sterling set down his fork.

His hand went to his chest.

"Grandfather?" I said.

His face had gone pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I, I don't feel well." His words came out strained.

He tried to stand. His legs gave out. He collapsed back into his chair, clutching his chest.

"Someone call a doctor!" I jumped up, rushing to his side.

"I am a doctor," Dr. Kim said, already moving. She pressed fingers to Sterling's neck, checking his pulse. "His heart rate is erratic. Pupils dilating."

"What's wrong with him?" My voice came out too loud.

Thomas Brennan was already on his phone. "Medical team to the main dining room. Now."

Sterling's hand grabbed my arm. His grip was weak. Trembling.

"Ethan," he whispered. His eyes were wide. Frightened. "They've already made their move."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Trust no one." His fingers dug into my skin. "Not even—"

His eyes rolled back. His body went limp.

"Grandfather!" I shook him. "Stay with me. Stay awake."

Dr. Kim pushed me aside. "Give me room."

She tilted his head back, checking his airway. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency.

A team of people in medical uniforms burst through the door. They surrounded Sterling, moving him to the floor. Someone produced a defibrillator. Another started an IV line.

I stood there, useless, watching my grandfather fight for his life.

"Clear!" Dr. Kim shouted.

Sterling's body jerked as electricity shot through him.

The heart monitor they'd attached showed an erratic rhythm. Then it steadied. Weak but steady.

"We need to get him to the medical wing," Dr. Kim said. "Now."

They loaded Sterling onto a stretcher. The medical team rushed him out of the room at a controlled run.

I started to follow.

"Let them work," Helen Marsh said, her hand on my shoulder. "You'll only be in the way."

I turned back to the dining room. The five advisors remained at the table. All watching me.

Sterling's plate sat in front of his empty chair. Half-eaten fish. A glass of wine, mostly full.

Trust no one, he'd said.

Not even—

Not even who? Not even them? Not even me?

My eyes moved from face to face. Helen. Thomas. Richard. Sarah. Douglas.

One of these people had just poisoned my grandfather.

And I had no idea which one.