THE FORGOTTEN HEIR

CHAPTER 5 : BLOOD DEBTS

Derek sat in the backseat of the sleek, matte-black SUV as it cruised silently through the heart of Havencrest. He stared out the tinted window, barely blinking, his hand clenched around the letter from the Dawson Foundation—his father’s last words, hidden for decades.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Marcus said from the passenger seat, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

Derek’s voice was low. “I just found out my real father might have been murdered.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “There’s something else you need to know.”

Derek turned his full attention to him.

“The Dawson Foundation was never just a charity,” Marcus said, pulling out a sealed brown envelope. “It was a front for something much older… and much more dangerous.”

Derek opened the envelope. Inside were photos—old crime scenes, bloodied letters, and a worn-out journal. In the center was a newspaper clipping: Billionaire Philanthropist Dies in Fire—Suspected Arson.

His heart hammered against his ribs. The date matched his eighth birthday. That was the day he’d stopped remembering anything before the orphanage.

“Someone didn’t want you to ever find out who you were,” Marcus said.

Derek turned the page. There it was again: Edward Dawson—CEO, Visionary, Father. Dead. Burned alive in his own mansion.

“My mother told me my father left us,” Derek muttered, voice hollow. “She made it sound like he didn’t care.”

“Your mother was trying to protect you. After the fire, she disappeared from the public. Changed names. Hid you.”

Derek’s hands shook. Everything he believed about his past was a lie.

Marcus continued, “There’s more. The one who orchestrated your father’s death… is still alive. And close.”

“Who?” Derek’s voice came out raw.

Marcus hesitated. “Victor Kane.”

Derek blinked. “The CEO of Kane Industries? The man investing in half the companies in this city?”

“The same. He was your father’s right-hand man. Until greed turned him. He wanted Dawson Industries, but your father refused to sell. So… he took everything by fire and blood.”

Derek leaned back, pulse pounding. His breathing quickened. His fists balled.

Marcus looked back at him. “You can walk away now. Live the quiet life. Or… you can claim your place. And make him pay.”

Derek stared out the window. Havencrest glittered outside—beautiful, cold, full of snakes.

“I’m done hiding,” he said. “He stole everything from me. From my father. I want it back.”

—

Later that night, Derek walked into the estate his father once owned. A towering mansion of glass and steel now swallowed by decades of silence. The Dawson crest still hung on the rusted gate, barely visible under grime.

He took a step inside the ruined foyer. The scent of ash still lingered.

In the corner, a figure emerged from the shadows.

“Welcome home, Mr. Dawson,” said a woman in her forties, dressed in black. Her eyes were sharp. Familiar.

“You know me?” Derek asked.

“I served your father. He trusted me with the estate. And with you.”

He stepped closer. “Who are you?”

“My name is Evelyn. Your father’s lawyer. But also… the one who carried you from this house the night it burned.”

Derek swallowed. “You were there?”

“I saw Victor Kane with the canister. I saw your father trying to protect the vault. But it was too late.”

Derek’s voice broke. “Why didn’t you come forward?”

“Because we didn’t know who we could trust. Everyone was paid off. But now… you’re old enough. And strong enough.”

She handed him a small, iron key. “The vault survived.”

They moved to the study. Behind the charred remains of a bookshelf, Evelyn inserted the key. A faint click, and a hidden panel opened. Inside—documents, codes, blackmail files, audio recordings.

Derek stared. “This… this is enough to destroy Victor Kane.”

Evelyn nodded. “But you’ll need help. He controls the media, the justice system. And your enemies will multiply.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said, his voice steely. “I will bring down everything he’s built. Brick by brick.”

—

Meanwhile, across the city in a glass tower overlooking the skyline, Victor Kane stood in his office. His assistant handed him a report.

“He knows,” she said.

Victor turned slowly. “Derek Dawson?”

“Yes. He opened the vault. He’s coming for you.”

Victor smirked. “Good. Let him come. I want to see if he bleeds like his father did.”

—

Back at the ruined mansion, Derek was alone, staring at a worn family portrait—himself as a boy, his mother, and his father, Edward Dawson.

A tear slid down his cheek.

“This time,” he whispered, “they’ll remember the name Dawson.”

He turned away, unaware that outside the gate, a black van was parked. Inside, a man with a scarred face watched him through binoculars.

He picked up his phone. “Target confirmed. The heir is alive.”

The voice on the other end said coldly, “Then make sure he doesn’t stay that way.”