THE HIDDEN HEIR'S VENGEANCE

CHAPTER 5 : ALPHA TRANSACTION

“This is going to be an entertaining show,” Carol sneered. “Too bad Viviane isn’t here to witness how pathetic her husband really is.”

Matthew immediately pressed his phone against the payment terminal.

[ALPHA TRANSACTION : ACTIVATED.]

[FEDERAL BANK AUTHORIZATION BYPASS : SUCCESS.]

[INSTANT FUND TRANSFER : $350,000.]

The machine fell silent for two seconds that felt like an eternity. Then, with a soft mechanical sound, the receipt slid out. The word APPROVED was printed clearly across it.

The smile on Carol’s face vanished instantly. Her eyes widened as she stared at the long strip of paper as if she had just seen a ghost.

“I-it went through?” the store manager murmured, his face draining of color. His attitude shifted one hundred and eighty degrees in an instant. His French arrogance evaporated, replaced by the fear of losing a whale client.

He immediately bowed deeply. “M-my sincerest apologies for our discourtesy, Mr. Thomas. The transaction was successful. Perfectly successful. Champagne! Bring Dom Pérignon for Mr. Thomas immediately!”

The rest of the staff sprang into motion. They gathered the items Matthew had selected with trembling hands and exaggerated respect, treating him like an oil tycoon.

Matthew looked at Carol, who still stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. “You called me a parasite, Carol?” Matthew asked quietly as he stepped forward, forcing her back until her spine hit a marble pillar. “A parasite couldn’t buy your entire worth in a single swipe.”

A sales associate carefully took the Himalayan bag from Carol’s limp hands. “We apologize, Mrs. Lane. This bag now belongs to Mr. Thomas.”

“Wait,” Carol choked, staring at the bag, the ultimate status symbol she needed for next week’s charity gala, then back at Matthew. Greed and confusion warred in her eyes.

Her attitude softened dramatically, a nauseating shift of masks. The middle-aged woman forced a stiff, sugary smile.

“Matthew, Darling…” Carol touched the sleeve of Matthew’s dirty suit with the tips of her diamond-ringed fingers. “Y-you bought all of this as a surprise, didn’t you? To celebrate your survival after the accident? I know you’re a good son-in-law. Viviane will be thrilled, but this white bag… you know it’s my taste, right? You bought it as an apology for your mother-in-law, didn’t you?”

Matthew slapped her hand away. The movement was rough, like brushing off filth. “Don’t touch me,” Matthew said coldly.

“Matthew, don’t be ridiculous. We’re family,” Carol coaxed, her eyes glued to the stack of orange and black boxes being wrapped. “Besides, what do you even need all this for? You have no one in this city except us. Just give me the bag, and I’ll… I’ll forget about your disrespect in the boardroom this morning. I’ll tell Viviane you can sleep in the master bedroom again.”

Matthew let out a dry, humorless laugh that echoed beneath the boutique’s high ceiling. “Sleep in the master bedroom?” He took the large shopping bags handed to him by the manager. “You really think I care about that house?”

He leaned in close to Carol’s face, letting her see the cold fire burning in his eyes.

“You tore up the Monolith blueprints right in front of me, Carol. You threw my future away like trash in front of the board of directors,” Matthew whispered sharply. “So why should I give this bag to you?”

“Because I’m your mother. And because without Lane Corp, you are nobody in New York!” All eyes in the luxury boutique turned toward them, whispers spreading through the room.

“You are not my mother. You are just an old woman terrified of losing relevance,” Matthew cut in mercilessly. “And these items? They’re not for you. They’re not even for Viviane.”

“Then who are they for?” Carol screamed, losing control of her emotions again.

Matthew turned and strode toward the exit. The security guard who had blocked him earlier now opened the door with a deep bow. Matthew paused at the threshold and glanced back without turning his body.

“From today onward, our positions are reversed. You’ll be the one looking up, and I’ll be the one looking down. Remember that,” Matthew said, then stepped onto the Fifth Avenue sidewalk, leaving Carol trembling in the middle of the luxury store.

Her face burned red, a mix of profound humiliation and a massive question haunting her mind.

Where did Matthew get that much money? she wondered. How could a man who had been completely broke spend $350,000 without blinking?

“Who are you really, Matthew?” Carol hissed at his retreating back as she dug into her purse and pulled out her phone with shaking hands. She had to call Viviane.

Meanwhile, Matthew stood by the curb as a black taxi pulled up. He tossed all the luxury items into the backseat carelessly, as if they were nothing more than bags of dirty laundry.

“Where to, boss?” the driver asked.

“The Hamptons? No, too far,” Matthew muttered, then met his own gaze in the rearview mirror. “Take me to this address. Lane Manor, Long Island.”

The car cut through the afternoon traffic of New York, heading toward the mansion that had once felt like a prison. Now, it was simply the next square on the chessboard. In the distance, city lights began to glow, as if welcoming a new king.

That night, Long Island was wrapped in a thin veil of fog. Beyond towering wrought-iron gates, Lane Manor stood like an ancient fortress guarding countless secrets. Crystal chandeliers inside the house glowed dimly, casting long shadows across rooms filled with Victorian-era antiques.

Viviane Lane sat on a leather sofa in the main living room. In her hand was a glass of Scotch, the ice already half-melted. She stared at the tablet on her lap, rereading the digital medical report sent by Mount Sinai Hospital two hours earlier.

Patient : Matthew Lane.

Condition : Critical. Severe head trauma. Internal bleeding.

Chance of survival : 15%.

Yet the phone call she had received from her mother, Carol Lane, twenty minutes ago told a completely different story. A story about an arrogant man buying out luxury boutiques on Fifth Avenue and publicly humiliating the Lane family.

The sound of a car engine echoed from the front yard, followed by the opening of the main door.

Viviane did not turn around. She drained the rest of her Scotch in one swallow, letting the burning liquid scorch her throat as she prepared herself for the confrontation.

Matthew’s footsteps approached. Firm, heavy, confident footsteps, not the dragging steps her husband usually had, the man who always came home with shoulders bent under the weight of failure.

Matthew entered the living room carrying five large shopping bags from Maison de L’Or. Without a word, he tossed the bags onto the floor near Viviane’s feet, as if they were nothing more than garbage bags full of laundry.

One of the orange boxes was slightly dented. Viviane merely glanced at the bags, then lifted her gaze to Matthew’s face without saying a word. The room fell silent.

Her eyes narrowed as she searched his body for bandages or bruises. There were none. Not a single sign remained of the man who had supposedly been pulled back from the jaws of death.

Matthew stood there wearing a torn suit stained with dried blood, yet the skin beneath the rips was smooth and flawless. His face looked refreshed, his eyes sharp and clear, radiating a cold, unfamiliar aura.