THE RISE OF DAVID LANCASTER

GETTING CLOSER TO PROF JENNY

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows like liquid gold, warming the edges of my silk sheets. For a moment, I forgot where I was. The mattress beneath me was too soft. The air too still. No honking cars. No neighbors arguing. No scent of fried food wafting in from the street.

Just silence.

Then it all came rushing back—the call, the limo, the mansion… the truth.

I was David Lancaster.

The heir.

I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. A chandelier hung there, elegant and quiet. It looked like it cost more than my entire neighborhood. I ran a hand over my face. The bruises still ached faintly beneath the gauze, but they were healing.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Master David?” Sophia’s voice called gently.

“Yes?” I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

“Breakfast is ready. Should I prepare your clothes for the day?”

“I… I’ll dress myself,” I said quickly, still not ready for that level of pampering.

“As you wish, sir,” she said through the door. “Your schedule for today has been printed and placed on the desk.”

Schedule?

I walked to the massive mahogany desk near the window. A cream-colored sheet of paper lay there neatly, embossed with a golden "L" at the top.

Master David Lancaster’s Day – Wednesday

9:00 AM – Breakfast in the East Dining Room

9:30 AM – Car scheduled for transport to university

12:00 PM – Vincent will meet with you regarding transition plans

4:00 PM – Tailor appointment (formalwear)

7:00 PM – Dinner meeting with Lancaster board member (TBD)

I exhaled. Just reading it made me feel like I was slipping into someone else's life. But no… this was mine now.

I got dressed in simple clothes—jeans and a plain black hoodie. Thankfully, the walk-in closet had more than just suits. I chose the plainest pair of sneakers I could find, hoping I didn’t look too out of place back at school.

Before heading out, I pulled up my banking app—just to confirm.

Another $100,000 had been deposited.

I couldn’t even react anymore. It felt… unreal. But I wasn’t about to get used to it just yet.

As I walked down the grand staircase, Vincent stood waiting in the foyer, dressed in another perfectly pressed suit. His sharp gaze flicked over me.

"You’re really committed to this ‘poor student’ act, I see,” he said dryly.

"It’s not an act," I replied. "It’s who I’ve been my whole life. Just because I have money now doesn’t mean I know how to wear it."

He gave a short nod. "Your choice. For now."

Behind him, a sleek black Rolls-Royce waited just outside the mansion’s grand entrance. I gave him a knowing look.

“I told you, I’m taking the bus.”

Vincent’s jaw twitched slightly. "At least let one of the guards shadow you. For protection."

I paused, then shook my head. “No. If anyone finds out I have a bodyguard, the whole cover falls apart.”

He sighed heavily but didn’t push. “Be back before the board dinner. Tonight’s guest… is important.”

I nodded and turned toward the massive front doors. But as I pushed through them, I caught my reflection in the towering glass panels.

Same face. Same eyes. Same broken kid from the bar.

But something behind those eyes had changed.

Today, I go back into the lion’s den.

But this time, I’m not the prey.

---

At the university gates, the familiar scent of exhaust and damp concrete hit me. I walked across the front lawn, eyes narrowed, hoodie pulled low.

Heads turned.

They always did.

Except today, I wasn’t just tired.

I was dangerous.

I passed Stella in the courtyard—her lips froze mid-laugh as she caught sight of me. Her gaze swept over me quickly, trying to read what had changed. But she couldn’t know. Not yet.

Dylan stood a few feet away, arms crossed, still smug, still king of the castle. He didn’t notice me at first.

That was fine.

Let him keep thinking he’s at the top.

The lecture hall was already half-filled when I stepped in. The familiar stale scent of whiteboard markers and cheap floor polish clung to the air. Students huddled in small groups, laughing, gossiping, sharing notes.

And just like always, the second I entered, the energy shifted.

Eyes flicked my way. Whispers began.

But this time… I didn’t shrink. I didn’t bow my head or avoid their stares. I walked straight to my usual seat at the back of the hall and dropped into it, calm, silent, watchful.

A few of the guys from Dylan’s crew glanced over, smirking like they were waiting for me to limp or wince. I didn’t give them the satisfaction. Let them wonder how I recovered so fast.

From the front of the hall, I heard high heels clicking across the tile.

Professor Jenny Sullivan.

God, even now she looked stunning—chic white blouse tucked into tailored black pants, her chestnut hair falling in effortless waves over her shoulders. There was a quiet power in the way she carried herself, like she didn’t need to command attention—it gravitated toward her naturally.

Her eyes scanned the hall and paused when they reached me.

For the briefest second, her lips curved in the tiniest smile—just for me.

And for a moment, the whole room disappeared.

Dylan noticed, of course. He stiffened in his seat like he’d been slapped. Stella, sitting beside him, followed his gaze—and her expression soured instantly.

Good.

Let the jealousy fester. Let them wonder.

Jenny began the lecture, her voice smooth, articulate, but layered with quiet intensity. She had a way of making every sentence feel like it mattered. Like she wasn’t just teaching economics, but preparing us for war.

I barely took my eyes off her. Not just because of how she looked—but because now I knew something I didn’t before.

Her last name… was Sullivan.

The same as Anthony Sullivan—one of my father's most dangerous enemies.

I didn’t know yet if they were related, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in this game. Not with the timing of her appearance at this university.

And still… she helped me. She defended me. Treated my wounds. Took me out to lunch like I mattered.

Could she really be connected to someone who might have murdered my father?

My jaw clenched.

Another mystery to unravel.

Two weeks. I had to be strategic. I needed answers, not just revenge.

---

When the class ended two hours later, the murmurs began again. People shuffled out in packs, whispering about Dylan’s latest party, Stella’s new ‘glow-up,’ and whatever drama was trending on social media. I took my time packing up.

As I stood, I felt a shadow move behind me.

“Hey, poor boy.”

I turned, already knowing the voice.

Dylan.

He stepped in close, arms folded, fake smirk tugging at his lips. His boys flanked him like hyenas, but this time, I didn’t even flinch.

“Nice face,” he sneered. “I heard the bar got wrecked last night. Real shame.”

I gave him a slow, measured look. “Yeah… shame.”

He squinted, like trying to figure out what was different. Why I wasn’t snapping. Why I wasn’t begging or swinging.

Because I didn’t need to.

Now, I could crush him without lifting a finger.

“You’ll see me real soon, Dylan,” I said quietly, stepping around him. “Enjoy the throne while you still can.”

He blinked. Confused. Nervous, maybe.

I smirked before walking out if the hall. Outside, my phone buzzed, and I checked it to see a text from Vincent:

Meeting rescheduled. Come home. There’s something you need to see.

I took one last look at the school behind me, the halls where I’d once been nothing but background noise, then I slipped my phone into my pocket, turned toward the city, and walked away without looking back.

I stepped into the morning sunlight, the brisk air waking me sharper than any alarm ever could. The university gates closed behind me with a gentle clang, and I began walking home, wondering what Vincent wanted me to come see.

---

The limousine waited obediently at the mansion’s entrance when I arrived. Its driver stepped aside as I approached, but before I climbed in, Vincent emerged from the shadows of the foyer.

“There’s something you need to see,” he said in a quiet tone.

Inside the limo, I took the seat across from him, bracing for whatever awaited.

Vincent pressed a button on a crystal decanter, pouring two fingers of Scotch into heavy tumblers. He slid one across to me.

“Your father’s files,” he said, passing an embossed folder into my hands. “They’re what I’ve promised you—detailed documentation of his dealings, legal disputes, and some sensitive dossiers tied to Montgomery and Sullivan.”

My heart pounded. I hadn’t expected this. I flipped it open, finding genuine board minutes and redacted email chains—proof of corporate sabotage, secret mergers, threats, entire deals scuttled at the last minute.

Yet nothing explicitly naming someone ordering the hit.

Vincent continued, voice low: “There’s a pattern here, David. Close partnerships between Montgomery Enterprises and Sullivan’s Dominion. A shell company that trickles millions through offshore accounts.”

I ran my thumb over the folder’s edge. “Enough to build a case?” I asked.

He nodded. “Enough to start. Enough to use your two-week plan strategically. After that, you’ll step into your role.”

My pulse surged. Power I never dared dream of, now in my hands.

My phone buzzed and I checked it to see a message from professor Jenny:

“Where are you David? I was hoping to speak to you after the lecture but I couldn’t find you. Come see me in my office whenever you’re free.”

For a moment, I forgot about the files clutched in my hand. About the empire I was expected to inherit. About the war I was preparing to fight.

Then reality crashed back in.

Wait. How did she even get my number?

I didn’t remember giving it to her. Maybe she’d pulled it from university records. Right now, I didn’t care.

Vincent was watching me, his fingers steepled, eyes dark with unasked questions.

"I have to go," I said, already reaching for the door handle.

Vincent’s voice was a blade. "Where?"

I exhaled, slow, bracing myself. "Professor Sullivan wants to see me."

A beat. Then his gaze sharpened—too sharp. "Sullivan?"

The way he said it made my skin prickle. I knew what he was thinking. The same thing I had.

“She bears the name, yeah,” I said before he could speak. “Sullivan. The same surname as Anthony Sullivan. But it might just be a coincidence.”

Vincent’s jaw flexed. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Neither did I.

But right now, I didn’t want to believe it. Not when just the thought of seeing her again sent a jolt through me.

Vincent’s voice was low, grave. “David… in this world, there’s no such thing as coincidence. Especially when enemies are—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I cut in, sharper than I intended. “But Professor Jenny is different. Even if Anthony Sullivan is her father—or uncle—or whatever—she’s not him. She’s the only person at that university who’s ever really looked at me like I mattered. Who treated me like a person. I… I like her.”

Vincent leaned back slightly, watching me with unreadable eyes.

“I’m not saying she is related to your father’s enemy,” he said after a moment. “But if she is—even distantly—that makes her a vulnerability. A pawn. If Montgomery or Sullivan find out you have a soft spot for her, they’ll use her to get to you. That would be a disaster.”

I let out a long sigh.

He wasn’t wrong. And I knew he wasn’t going to let it go. Vincent was the kind of man who lived in worst-case scenarios. Who had backup plans for his backup plans.

“I’ll find out,” I said quietly. “I’ll get close to her. Closer than I’ve ever been to anyone at that school. I’ll make her trust me—enough that she’ll tell me the truth herself. And if she is connected to Anthony Sullivan… I’ll know.”

Vincent studied me in silence for a beat, then said, “How do you plan on getting close to her when you’re still pretending to be poor?”

I smiled. A slow, knowing smile that came from deep inside.

“That’s the most interesting part of all this,” I said. “I think she likes me. Maybe not romantically—though I wouldn’t bet against it—but she likes me. Even though she sees me as some underprivileged charity case... she sees me.”

I tucked the folder beneath my arm and stepped toward the door.

“So leave the rest to me.”

Vincent didn’t answer right away.

Then, finally, he gave the smallest of nods. “Two weeks, David. No more.”

I stepped out into the sunlight, her message still lingering on my screen. Professor Jenny might possibly be the key to everything. Or the blade at my back.

Either way, I was going to find out.