THE FORGOTTEN HEIR

CHAPTER FOUR — THE SHADOWS STRIKE

It began with a silence.

A sharp, eerie kind that fell over Dawson Tower like a shroud.

Derek sat alone in his new office—the highest floor, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the entire city like a kingdom he never asked for. The weight of the company buzzed in his ears. He’d just stepped into power… but something felt off.

He reread the note.

“Watch your back. Not everyone on the Board voted honestly. One of them wants you dead.”

His first instinct had been paranoia. Maybe this was Victor’s last bluff. But now, seated in the chair his grandfather once ruled from, Derek realized—this was real. And it was only the beginning.

At exactly 9:34 p.m., the elevator light blinked.

Derek glanced up from his files. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Security had been cleared. Alaric had left an hour ago.

The elevator doors opened.

No one stepped out.

Derek rose slowly. “Hello?”

Silence.

Then—the lights flickered.

His pulse kicked up. He reached under his desk where Alaric had shown him the panic button—standard protocol for top execs. Just as he tapped it, the lights cut completely.

Blackout.

Something creaked outside the office door.

He reached into the drawer—Alaric had insisted he keep a licensed weapon there. His fingers brushed the cold metal of a pistol. He loaded it, hands surprisingly steady.

Another creak. This time closer.

And then—CRASH!

The glass wall of his office shattered inward.

Derek ducked instinctively as shards exploded around him. A shadowy figure lunged through the broken window, dressed head to toe in black, a tactical blade gleaming in their hand.

Derek didn’t hesitate. He fired.

The shot hit the intruder’s shoulder—they groaned, dropped the blade, but still tackled Derek to the ground.

They fought—hard. Derek wasn’t a soldier, but the street had taught him how to survive. He slammed his elbow into the man’s jaw, rolled out from under him, kicked the blade across the floor.

The man scrambled to his feet. Derek raised the gun.

“Who sent you?” Derek demanded.

No answer.

The man bolted toward the broken window. Derek fired again—missed.

The assassin jumped.

Derek ran to the shattered glass just in time to see a rope zip down the side of the tower. Seconds later, he was gone.

The building’s lights snapped back on.

Security burst in.

Alaric followed, face like stone. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

Derek touched his temple—blood.

“Who the hell was that?” he asked.

Alaric picked up the blade the attacker dropped. His expression darkened.

“That…” he said, “was a message.”

The next morning, the boardroom was silent.

Derek entered with Alaric at his side. No one spoke.

“Last night, someone tried to kill me,” Derek said bluntly.

Gasps.

“This wasn’t some street punk. This was professional.”

He dropped the attacker’s blade on the table. “Recognize this?”

One of the board members—a man named Ronald Kane—flinched slightly. Too slightly.

Alaric clocked it.

“I’m not asking for sympathy,” Derek continued. “I’m telling you—if I find out one of you orchestrated this, I won’t go to the press. I won’t go to the police.”

He stepped closer, eyes like steel.

“I’ll come for you myself.”

Back in his office, Alaric laid down a dossier.

“This is Ronald Kane,” he said. “Board member. Head of logistics. But before that? Private arms dealing. Connections to three known mercenary firms. He cleans his tracks well—but not perfectly.”

Derek opened the file.

Photos. Financial links. A map with red lines leading straight to the assassin’s suspected handler.

Derek’s hands curled into fists.

“So what do we do?”

Alaric smiled grimly. “We dig deeper. Quietly. But we need to hit first.”

Meanwhile… miles away, in a quiet restaurant booth, Tahlia stared at the screen.

A news anchor was reading the headlines:

“Dawson Corp’s Lost Heir Survives Suspected Assassination Attempt.”

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her ex-husband—broke, invisible, humiliated—was now the most powerful man in the country. And someone had already tried to kill him.

Her hands trembled as she zoomed in on the picture of Derek.

He didn’t look like the man she left.

He looked like a stranger.

Beside her, her current boyfriend—celebrity actor Lance Avery—scoffed. “Figures. Trash finds gold, suddenly he thinks he’s invincible.”

Tahlia didn’t respond.

Because something stirred inside her.

Regret.

And fear.

Because if Derek really had become this powerful… what else was he capable of?

That night, Derek stood at his father’s grave.

It was the only quiet place left.

“Did you know?” he whispered. “That I’d be hunted the second I came back? That this family came with more enemies than friends?”

He lit a cigar—his father’s favorite vice.

“I’m not here for the money,” he muttered. “I’m here to finish what you started. And protect what you died for.”

He turned away, unaware of the hooded figure watching from behind the cemetery wall.

Someone who knew the truth about the Dawson bloodline.

And the war it would soon unleash.