THE HEIR THEY BURIED ALIVE

THE FAMILY THAT WANTED HIM DEAD

POV: DORIAN

The thing that hit Dorian first about Ardent Dominion was how much it didn’t feel like a company at all.

It felt like its own country.

The headquarters towered over the financial district, a wall of glass and steel pushing up into the morning clouds, way above the city. Down below, hundreds of employees moved through a lobby that gleamed—black marble, gold trim, and that big polished emblem: ARDENT DOMINION.

He stopped beneath it, looking up.

For twenty years, people told him he was just a lucky nobody, some orphan who got a second chance with the Vale family. Now here he was, standing under a family name that was supposed to have been his since the start.

August stood next to him.

“You all right?” he asked.

Dorian kept looking at the sign. “No.”

August almost smiled. “Good.”

Dorian shot him a sideways glance. “Good?”

“If you were comfortable, I’d have to worry,” August said.

They walked inside, took the private elevator up. Octavian had ordered everyone to keep Dorian’s visit quiet. Officially, he was just a consultant, some outsider called in to review a few oddities in the books. Not Cassian Ardent. Not an heir. Not Octavian’s grandson. Not yet.

The elevator chimed at the thirty-second floor.

Dorian stepped out. He could feel the change right away.

A big conference table. Executives in expensive suits hunched over documents, tossing around terms like “acquisition,” “quarterly earnings,” “international operations.”

The moment Dorian walked in, they all stopped.

Not a gradual pause. The room froze, just for him.

One guy went white as paper. Another’s pen slipped right out of his hand. A woman at the end of the table tried to keep staring but caved after a few seconds and looked away.

Dorian saw it all. Reading people was how he’d lasted so long in the Vale finance department. Nobody ever hid what they really felt. Not with their faces.

And these people were scared.

He leaned just a bit toward August. “You seeing this?”

“I see it,” August replied.

“Who are they?”

“Senior execs.”

“So why do they look like they just saw a ghost?”

August kept his mouth shut.

Dorian walked deeper into the room. The pale executive bolted upright. “I need to take a call.” He left so quickly he nearly tripped.

No one tried to stop him.

Another woman started packing up her things. Dorian stared.

“You leaving too?”

She froze. “No.” She set her papers back down.

Dorian didn’t say anything else, but his suspicion only grew.

Then the doors swung open.

Octavian entered. Every executive got to their feet in unison. The air went solid.

Octavian didn’t blink at the tension. “Sit.”

Everyone did, almost too quickly.

He looked at Dorian. “This is Dorian Vale.”

A few people traded looks.

“Mr. Vale will review certain financial operations here at Ardent Dominion.”

Every word was carefully chosen. Not Cassian. Not heir. Not grandson. Just Dorian Vale, outside consultant.

Octavian sat down. “You’ll cooperate.”

One exec swallowed. “Of course.”

The doors opened again.

A man stepped in, and Dorian didn’t need an introduction. Lucien Ardent.

There was something about Lucien. Late forties, silver at his temples, perfect suit, friendly-enough expression. But the way he held himself—like he’d never once asked for permission in his life.

Lucien noticed Dorian, smiled, and offered his hand.

“So you’re Dorian.”

Dorian shook it. “Yes.”

Lucien’s grip was solid. For a split second, something flickered across his face. Recognition? Disbelief? Then it vanished.

“Welcome to Ardent Dominion.”

“Thank you.”

Lucien let his hand go. “I hear you’re good with numbers.”

“That’s the rumor,” Dorian said.

Lucien grinned. “I like people who don’t buy into their own hype.”

Dorian didn’t smile. “Then we’ll get along.”

A few execs shifted in their seats.

Lucien laughed quietly. “I like him.”

Dorian didn’t trust a single thing about this man. Everything seemed too precise. Too staged. Maybe he was going for ‘pleasantly surprised,’ but Dorian knew acting when he saw it.

He’d learned something over the last two days: the truly dangerous ones never look dangerous.

Lucien sat across from him and leaned in. “If you’re Adrian’s son, this entire empire is yours.”

All noise vanished.

Dorian watched him. “You believe I’m Adrian’s son?”

Lucien tilted his head. “Blood never lies. Not forever.”

“Even if it threatens your own place here?”

Lucien’s smile didn’t fade. “If you’re truly Cassian, I’ll be the first to welcome you.”

Dorian held his eye. “And if I’m not?”

“Then we’ll find out what’s true.”

Dorian nodded, slow and careful. “Fair enough.”

Nothing about this felt fair.

Octavian interrupted, rapping his knuckles on the table. “Enough.” He slid a thick file toward Dorian.

“This is what you’re here for.”

Dorian glanced down.

Veyron Logistics.

Pages of revenue, expenses, operating costs, debt, assets shifting gears.

At first, it all looked fine. Veyron was one of the smaller regional arms, not exactly thriving, but not falling apart, either.

Dorian dug deeper, turning a few pages. His eyes narrowed. He flipped back and forth.

“What’s this?”

A nearby executive leaned over. “Veyron’s latest numbers.”

“I can see that.” Dorian tapped a line with his pen. “Why did administrative expenses shoot up forty-three percent?”

The exec paused. “Expansion costs.”

“Expansion into where?”

“Several new distribution routes.”

“Which ones?”

The exec glanced at another man. Dorian caught it, made a mental note.

He dug in again. “Who approved these contracts?”

Dead silence.

Dorian kept reading.

Then he caught something: a cluster of payments. Small, not enough to make headlines. Big enough to matter if you knew what to look for.

He circled them. “These payments. All going to three companies.”

“Service providers,” someone offered.

Dorian shook his head.

He circled the addresses. “These three companies share the exact same registered location.”

No one said a word.

He flipped another page.

“And they also share a financial controller.”

Now Lucien’s mask slipped, just a fraction.

Dorian kept going. “Why?”

The CFO cleared his throat. “We use external contractors—”

“That’s not what I asked.” Dorian spun the report around. “Why hire three companies to do one job?”

Silence.

He looked over at Octavian. “How much has Veyron lost?”

The CFO answered, voice stiff. “About eight million.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “About?”

“Eight point four. Over sixteen months.”

Eight million. Not enough to sink Ardent Dominion—so, just the right size for someone to hide an ongoing theft.

Dorian scanned the transaction dates, and then he stopped cold. One date jumped out at him.

“Show me the older records,” he said.

The CFO frowned. “How far back?”

“Twenty years,” Dorian said.

The room went still.

Lucien stared at him. “Why?”

Dorian kept his eyes on the page. Three companies. One controller. Money bounces through subsidiaries, loops back on the books through property deals.

He knew this pattern. He saw it before—not here, but in the documents August had shown him, the files from his father’s investigation. Same tricks. Same structure. Different shell companies.

Dorian stood up. “Bring me the archived records.”

The CFO hesitated. “Those files are restricted—”

Dorian pinned him with a look. “Restricted by who?”

The CFO glanced at Octavian.

Octavian’s face darkened. “Give him the records.”

They brought out a dusty box, old files inside.

Dorian flipped them open, heart thudding harder.

Twenty years ago, money disappeared from Ardent Dominion through a tangle of dummy companies. Now it was happening again, same methods, this time through Veyron.

He compared the numbers. The timing, the way invoices were structured, everything—almost a perfect replica. The only thing new was the names.

Dorian looked up from the papers. “This isn’t some average embezzling.”

Lucien kept quiet.

Dorian pointed at the documents. “Someone’s copying the same exact system they used before my father died.”

The room reacted—the disbelief rolling off them in waves.

“That’s impossible,” one exec blurted out.

“Why?” Dorian shot back.

The man just stared, jaw working, but nothing came out.

He turned to Lucien. “Unless someone here knows how the old trick worked.”

Lucien stayed cool, not giving an inch. “You’ve been here less than an hour.”

“I only needed ten minutes.”

Lucien smiled, just barely. “You’re confident.”

Dorian deadpanned, “I pay attention.”

Then he saw something else. At the bottom of a form—a signature. His father’s signature. Dated three months after Adrian Ardent’s death.

Dorian felt ice climb up his spine.

“Who signed this?” he demanded.

Nobody answered.

He held it up. “Who forged my father’s name?”

Octavian stood. “Let me see that.”

Dorian handed the paper over.

Octavian’s face turned hard as stone. “This shouldn’t exist.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is the transaction Adrian started investigating before he died.”

Dorian stared at the file. He realized Veyron wasn’t just stealing from Ardent Dominion—it was the missing piece; the same scheme his father tried to trace before he was killed.

Lucien spoke suddenly. “Maybe it’s time we stopped digging up twenty-year-old ghosts.”

Dorian looked at him, steady. “Why?”

Lucien’s smile was gone. “Some things are better left buried.”

Those words—he’d heard them before. His whole life, people whispering warnings not to look back.

Dorian looked around the table, saw the fear. Saw the lies. Saw Lucien. Saw Octavian.

For all those years, they thought everything ended with Adrian’s death. But it hadn’t. Someone was still running the same scam, right under their noses. Someone was keeping the machine alive, and covering for it.

Dorian closed the file.

“Then we’re going to find out who’s been feeding this thing all these years.”

Lucien met his eyes, and this time, every trace of friendliness vanished.

Now Dorian really understood: Lucien didn’t fear the past.

He feared what Dorian might uncover inside it.