TRASH TO TITAN

Chapter 2: The Letter That Changed Everything

The underground tunnel was silent, save for the hum of the SUV’s engine and the low thrum of power humming through reinforced steel walls. Aiden sat stiffly in the plush leather seat, the golden-sealed envelope still clutched in his hand like a live grenade.

Every instinct screamed that this was some kind of elaborate scam. But no scam came with this level of precision. Or intimidation.

Across from him, Veylor remained unreadable back straight, hands folded, gaze fixed forward like a soldier on a mission. His suit didn’t wrinkle, and his watch black and silver, no brand tick-ticked louder than the engine. Aiden swallowed hard. “So… you said I’m an heir.” Veylor nodded once.

“Why? I’ve never even heard of Julian Vallion outside the news. My parents were nobodies.” “Your parents were hidden,” Veylor replied. “For your protection. Your mother was… special to Mr. Vallion.” Aiden blinked. “Wait. Are you saying he was my?”

“Biological father,” Veylor confirmed, as if announcing the weather. “Conceived in secrecy. Protected from enemies. It was the only way.” Aiden felt the breath leave his lungs.

Julian Vallion. Billionaire ghost. Architect of the world's shadow economy. The man behind oil deals, political coups, and digital empires. That man was his father? “No. That’s not That can’t be” Aiden gripped the edge of the seat. “I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in East Row. My mom worked at a laundromat. We struggled to eat.”

Veylor turned his head slowly. “Yes. And every night, a silent payment ensured she had a job. That your landlord left you alone. That your school records stayed clean, regardless of incident.”

Aiden went still. “Everything was arranged,” Veylor said. “But when your mother died… the chain of protection began to collapse.” “I thought she died in an accident…”

Veylor was silent. The SUV took a turn, descending deeper. Fluorescent lights lined the tunnel in rhythmic blinks. “You’re not telling me everything,” Aiden said quietly.

“I’m telling you what you need to survive your first night,” Veylor answered. The tunnel ended in front of two massive steel doors, ten feet high, carved with the Vallion insignia. They opened with a hiss of hydraulics and parted like a secret being revealed. Beyond was something out of a billionaire’s fever dream.

A private underground terminal. Planes. Helicopters. A hangar large enough for a Boeing 747. Staff in silent formation. Men in tactical suits. Women in business attire holding folders and earpieces. A silent machine of efficiency and all of it snapped to attention the moment Aiden stepped out of the car.

“Mr. Cross,” a tall woman with short silver hair greeted. “Welcome to Base One.” She handed him a leather dossier. His name was engraved in gold on the front. “Please sign the confirmation of acceptance,” she said. “Once you do, the consortium is yours.”

Aiden looked at the page. So many zeroes. So many conditions. Line One: "You acknowledge that by signing, you accept the full inheritance and burden of the Vallion legacy." He hesitated. Was he really ready for this? Power. Money. Revenge. But also danger. Blood. Enemies.

And still… something pulled at him. A fire rising in his chest. A voice from deep within: They called you trash. Now show them what trash can become. He signed. Later, in the jet’s private suite, Aiden sat alone with the dossier spread before him. Outside the window, the city sparkled like a memory he had already outgrown.

Inside the folder were the full estate records: corporations, assets, bank accounts, surveillance networks, secret shares in weapons companies and media empires. And then… a second envelope. This one, handwritten. Old. Worn. His name on it in black ink. “Aiden.”

He opened it with shaking hands. My son, If you are reading this, I am already dead. But I’ve watched you. Not in person too dangerous. But through the people I trusted. You are my greatest creation. Not the companies. Not the trillions. 

You will be hunted. Hated. Tested. But you will not break. You are a Vallion. And the world will kneel to your name. But never forget your mother. She made you human. I made you powerful. It is your job to become something more. J.V.

Aiden folded the letter, hands trembling. His chest ached not from grief, not from confusion, but from the burning knowledge that everything had changed. And that someone, somewhere, was going to try to rip it all away.

Later That Night… The jet soared through the clouds. Aiden sat back, new phone in hand. It had only one contact installed: Echelon. He tapped it. A voice answered. Robotic, genderless. “Command ready.”

“…I want a full report on Damien Clark.” Pause. “Confirmed. Target: Damien Clark. Compiling dossier. Would you like it delivered to your private terminal?” “Yes. And his bank account. Freeze it.” “Understood.” Aiden stared into the night sky as lightning flickered in the distance.

No more rain. No more dirt. No more begging. Tomorrow, the world would wake up to a new name at the top of the pyramid. And the first to fall… would be the ones who laughed.