The Discarded Heir's Ultimate Revenge

Chapter 2: The Richest Man's Grief

Ethan stared at the old man, his mind refusing to process the words. "Kidman? You're... you're saying you're—"

"Vincent Kidman. Yes." The old man's voice was steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "And you are my grandson. My daughter's son."

"That's impossible." Ethan shook his head, stepping back. "My mother never mentioned—"

"She wouldn't have." Vincent's expression crumpled with old pain. "I made certain of that when I cut her off twenty-three years ago."

The admission hung in the air between them.

"You... cut her off?" Ethan's voice was hollow.

"I was a fool." Vincent gestured toward the car. "Please. Get in. There's so much I need to explain, and this isn't the place."

Ethan's legs moved on autopilot. The interior of the sedan was immaculate—leather seats, polished wood trim, the faint scent of expensive cologne. Vincent settled beside him as the driver pulled away from the curb.

"Your mother was my only child," Vincent began, his weathered hands clasped tightly together. "Sarah. Beautiful, brilliant, stubborn as hell. Twenty-three years ago, she fell in love."

"With Richard Morrison."

"Yes. But I didn't know who he was—not really. She never told me his full name, never brought him home to meet me. She was afraid of what I'd think, afraid I'd interfere. And she was right to be afraid, because when I discovered she'd secretly married him..." Vincent's jaw tightened. "I lost my temper. Accused her of running off with some fortune hunter. Told her she was dead to me if she didn't annul the marriage immediately."

"She refused."

"She refused." Pride flickered through Vincent's grief. "She chose love over everything—her inheritance, her family, her future. I thought she'd come crawling back within months, broke and desperate. Instead, she disappeared. Changed her name, severed all contact. I spent twenty years searching for her, hiring every investigator money could buy."

Ethan's throat tightened. "She never mentioned you. Not once."

"Because I drove her away. And by the time I finally found her..." Vincent's voice cracked. "By the time I learned where she was, what she'd been through, she was already gone. Three months gone."

The timeline clicked into place with sickening clarity. "You found out she died. And then you—"

"I reached out to the Morrison family. Anonymously at first, through intermediaries." Vincent's expression hardened. "I wanted to help you, to support you, even if I couldn't reveal who I was. So I arranged the partnership. Poured resources into Morrison Holdings, elevated their status in the business world."

"The Kidman partnership," Ethan whispered. "That was you."

"I thought I was securing your future. I thought Richard Morrison must have at least cared for my daughter once, that he'd protect you." Vincent's hands clenched into fists. "I was wrong. Again."

Ethan laughed—a bitter, broken sound. "He's been having an affair for years. Brought his mistress and bastard son into the house the moment Mom died. Today, he threw me out like trash."

"What?" Vincent's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"The partnership you arranged? He used it as an excuse. Said I was too ill-bred to associate with the Kidman family. That I'd ruin the deal." The words tasted like ash. "He dissolved my engagement, revoked my accounts, and kicked me out. Told me never to come back."

Vincent's face had gone pale, then red, then deathly calm—the kind of calm that preceded storms. "Richard Morrison threw my grandson out of his home. Called you ill-bred. Used MY partnership as justification."

"It doesn't matter now."

"It matters." Vincent's voice was steel. "It matters more than you know. But first..." He leaned forward, tapping on the partition. "Driver, take us to Riverside Cemetery."

Ethan's breath caught. "That's where—"

"I know." Vincent's eyes glistened. "I need to see her. To apologize. To tell her I'm sorry for every mistake I made, every year I wasted on pride instead of searching harder." He turned to Ethan. "Will you take me to her?"

The question was so humble, so raw, that Ethan could only nod.

The cemetery was quiet in the fading light, rows of marble headstones casting long shadows across manicured grass. Ethan led Vincent along familiar paths, his feet knowing the way by heart. He'd been here just yesterday, saying goodbye one final time before returning to the mansion.

Before his world fell apart.

"It's just ahead," Ethan said quietly. "Around this—"

He stopped dead.

Three men stood around his mother's grave. One held a can of spray paint, red letters already defacing the white marble. Another kicked at the flowers Ethan had placed yesterday, scattering petals across the ground. The third was urinating on the headstone.

"What the hell?" Ethan's vision went red.

"Hey!" The man with the spray paint turned, grinning. "Oh, look. We got company."

"Get away from there!" Ethan shouted, already running.

"Or what, pretty boy?" The second thug stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You gonna make us?"

Ethan didn't answer. He didn't think. He just charged forward, fists raised, rage and grief and heartbreak pouring out in a primal roar.

Behind him, Vincent Kidman's voice rang out sharp with command: "Stop him before he gets hurt! Security—NOW!"

But Ethan was already swinging, already fighting, already determined to protect the one thing he had left—his mother's memory.

Even if it killed him.