The Disgraced Heir: A Trillion-Dollar Revenge

Chapter 2

Adrian’s jaw dropped.

The son of a gatekeeper. Was that really how the Whitmores still saw him after all these years?

“Oh, the gatekeeper’s son,” Daniel Sterling said, almost mildly. “I was under the impression he was Isabella’s future husband. Your son-in-law, in other words.”

Adrian looked at Eleanor, waiting for her to correct the man. She only chuckled.

“You never cease to surprise me, Mr. Sterling. How could a woman in my position make such a tasteless choice of son-in-law?”

He turned to Isabella. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. That silence cut deeper than anything her mother had said. They had never officially ended things. She had given him no reason to believe she wanted to. Yet here she stood among the guests as if he were barely an acquaintance.

Daniel’s expression hardened, though his voice stayed polite.

“I see. Well, I should be going. Not every wealthy family would allow the son of a former gatekeeper to live under their roof for so long. Your generosity is… remarkable, Mrs. Whitmore.”

The words sounded like praise. Eleanor’s smile slipped for half a second. Daniel kissed her on both cheeks and headed for the door. She walked with him, speaking warmly, as if nothing unpleasant had happened.

Adrian watched them leave and caught Isabella exchanging a glance with Daniel’s son, Ethan. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before she looked away.

He wanted to demand an explanation, but the humiliation of the last few minutes had left him reluctant to approach her. He had believed they were building a future together. Now he wasn’t sure she had ever shared that belief.

“It’s amusing, really,” Michael said, sidling up with a sneer. “I wonder what Daniel Sterling saw in you. You’re nothing but trash. Even Max has more value in this house than you do.” He tapped Adrian’s chest, referring to the family’s pet iguana as if the comparison were the height of wit.

Adrian clenched his fists and said nothing. Giving Michael an excuse would only make it worse.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Mikey,” Simon added, joining them. “The poor fellow’s cried enough for one day.”

The brothers laughed and started for the exit. As Gareth followed, Adrian remembered Simon’s earlier warning and called after him.

“Wait. What did you mean when you said I had very little time left?”

Simon glanced over his shoulder, smiling that knowing smile of his.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’m talking to you!”

None of them answered. Gareth gave him one last contemptuous look and disappeared through the doors.

Soon Adrian was alone in the funeral hall.

He was still staring at the empty space where his grandfather’s coffin had stood when hurried footsteps approached. Isabella came in, scanned the room, and walked straight toward him.

“Mrs. Whitmore wants you in the sitting room,” she said.

“Isabella, wait. We need to talk.”

“We will. Not today.”

She was gone before he could stop her.

Adrian watched her disappear, trying to understand how the woman who had spoken so warmly to him that morning could now barely look at him.

“What has Grandpa’s death changed?” he muttered.

“ADRIAN!”

Eleanor’s voice rang down the corridor.

He entered the sitting room. The luxurious space had always reminded him of his place in the Whitmore household—Italian leather sofas, polished marble, crystal chandeliers, expensive paintings. Despite living in the mansion for years, he had never been allowed to feel he belonged.

Eleanor sat in her usual armchair. Michael and Simon stood nearby. Gareth leaned against a sofa. Isabella remained on the far side of the room, eyes lowered.

This is a nightmare, Adrian thought.

“Simon,” Eleanor said.

Simon left and returned moments later with a grocery bag. He walked up to Adrian and threw it against his chest.

“Take your rubbish and get out, loser.”

Adrian caught the bag and looked inside. His clothes and personal belongings had been stuffed in carelessly.

“What is this? Why have you packed my things?”

“Grandpa was the only reason you were allowed to stay,” Michael said. “Now that he’s gone, there’s no reason for you to keep taking up space.”

“I wish you good luck, asshole,” Simon added.

The brothers started for the door. Adrian stayed where he was, gripping the bag.

“What’s happening? Mrs. Whitmore, where am I supposed to go?”

Eleanor rose and turned toward the corridor.

“Where are those useless men?”

Two heavily built security guards, Ivan and Manor, hurried in and stopped in front of her.

“Madam.”

Eleanor pointed at Adrian.

“Throw this piece of trash off my property. He has no reason to remain here, and he has no claim to anything in this house.”

Adrian stared at her.

“You can’t be serious. I have nowhere else to go. Please, Mrs. Whitmore—just give me some time to find somewhere to stay.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can stay with the gatekeeper until I find a place. I won’t disturb anyone. Just don’t throw me out like this.”

Eleanor turned away without answering.

Desperate, he looked at Isabella.

“Isabella, please. You know I have nowhere to go.”

She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

He turned to Gareth.

“Gareth, please. You know me. You can’t let them do this.”

Gareth straightened and approached with a cold smile.

“Who told you I was any different from them?”

Before Adrian could react, Gareth drove the pointed toe of his expensive leather shoe into his face. Pain exploded through Adrian’s cheek. He stumbled sideways. When he touched his mouth, his fingers came away bloody.

“Get out and die on the streets,” Gareth spat.

He walked away as Ivan and Manor seized Adrian by the arms.

“Not outside in the rain, please!” Adrian begged as they dragged him toward the entrance. “Just give me a little time. I have nowhere to go!”

Neither guard responded.

The front doors swung open onto a dark road under a heavy downpour. Adrian barely had time to brace himself before they dragged him through the gates and threw him onto the wet ground. His bag landed beside him, spilling clothes into the mud.

“Listen carefully,” Ivan warned. “If you value your life, don’t ever come back to this property.”

The gates slammed shut.

Adrian scrambled to his feet and rushed them, pressing both hands against the cold metal bars.

“Please! Don’t do this to me! At least let me speak to Mrs. Whitmore one more time!”

Nobody answered. The guards had already disappeared.

He sank to his knees and gathered his scattered belongings. Rain soaked his clothes as he shoved them back into the bag, fingers trembling from the cold.

The Whitmore mansion stood beyond a long stretch of woodland, far from neighboring houses and busy roads. There was nowhere nearby to seek shelter, and he had no money to rent a room.

He had lost his grandfather, watched Isabella turn away from him, and been thrown out of the only home he had known. With nothing but a few clothes and an old phone, he had no idea how he would survive the night.

Then his phone vibrated.

He ignored it until another notification arrived. Annoyed, he pulled the old iPhone 6s from his pocket.

“Who keeps bothering me in weather like this?” he muttered.

He assumed it was someone demanding money he owed. He had nothing to give them, and he was in no mood to explain.

When a call came through, he answered without checking the number.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” a calm male voice said.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Richard Hayes. I’m the manager of Mavelik Bank.”

Adrian frowned. Mavelik Bank was the largest financial institution in Caning Hills—serving the wealthy, major corporations, and some of the country’s most powerful families.

“Horse Bank? What do you want from me? I can’t talk for long.”

“I would prefer to speak with you in person, sir. I’ll make myself available whenever you’re ready.”

Adrian let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Speak with me about what? I’ve never borrowed money from your bank. Someone like me wouldn’t even qualify for a loan.”

A brief silence.

“May I confirm that I’m speaking with Mr. Adrian Cole?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Then I’ve reached the right person.” The manager’s tone grew serious. “Sir, I’m calling regarding a substantial sum of money that has just appeared in your account.”

Adrian stopped moving.

“What money?”

“Have you checked your phone recently? You should have received a notification.”

Adrian glanced at the screen. Several unread messages waited.

“Sir, are you outside in the rain?” Richard asked. “I can hear it in the background.”

“That’s none of your concern. Just tell me what’s happening.”

“I understand, sir, but this matter is too important to discuss over the phone. Please remain where you are. I’m arranging a vehicle to pick you up. Check your messages, and I’ll join you as soon as possible.”

“Wait. You haven’t explained—”

The call ended.

Adrian stared at his phone. Why would the manager of the biggest bank in Caning Hills personally call him? And what money could possibly have appeared in his account?

He opened the first unread message.

CREDIT ALERT

AMOUNT: $1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

SENDER: ANONYMOUS

Adrian stopped breathing for a moment.