The Graham Heir—I Am Not An Adopted Nobody

Chapter 2: Begging at the Gates

Robert stood at the entrance of the faculty leisure lounge, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack as though it could somehow make him look less out of place. The building itself screamed wealth—polished marble floors, imported furniture, soft jazz humming through concealed speakers. It was a space meant for men of status, power, and money.

Not for someone like him.

Still, he stepped in.

Professor Chinney sat at the center of the gathering, a thick cigar between his fingers, laughter booming as he entertained three other professors. They were all men well past their forties, each one a titan in his own right—billionaires, business moguls, and academic elites whose influence stretched far beyond the school.

The moment Robert entered, the laughter dipped—then resumed, louder than before.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite fallen angel,” Professor Chinney drawled, eyes scanning Robert from head to toe with unconcealed disdain. “The student who fell from grace himself.”

The others chuckled knowingly.

“Ah yes,” another professor chimed in. “The Emmett Adopted Bastard.”

Robert stopped a few steps away, hands clasped politely in front of him. He bowed his head slightly. “Good afternoon, sirs.”

Professor Chinney laughed. “Look at him. Still has manners.”

“Old habits,” Professor Darby sneered. “Probably learned them while he was pretending to be an Emmett.”

That one stung—but Robert didn’t flinch.

Before all this, before Dylan died, before the world turned its back on him, this same room would fall silent when he walked in. Not because of him—but because of who stood behind him.

Dylan Emmett.

A man worth twenty-five billion dollars. A man from the Emmett family—a family whose combined net worth exceeded fifty billion. A family that ruled industries, governments, and lives.

Back then, Robert was respected. Smiled at. Courted.

Now?

He was trash.

Professor Chinney leaned back. “So, Robert. What is it today? Washing my cars? Cleaning my house? Feeding my dogs? Or do you want to help mark scripts for free again?”

The professors burst into laughter.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any jobs for you today,” Chinney continued lazily. “Unless…” He smirked. “You want to be our doormat.”

More laughter.

Robert remained silent.

He had endured too much already today—Malcom, Chloe, the call from home. These insults were background noise compared to the storm raging inside him.

“I came for something else,” Robert finally said, voice calm but tight.

Professor Chinney raised a brow. “Oh? This should be entertaining.”

Robert inhaled. “I need a soft loan.”

The room exploded.

“A soft loan?” Professor Darby repeated incredulously. “Did you hear that?”

Chinney wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “From us? Oh, this is rich.”

Robert pressed on. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

The laughter returned, louder, harsher.

“Fifty grand is soft?” one professor mocked. “For you?”

“To us, that’s pocket change,” Chinney said smugly. “But to you? That’s a fortune.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll pay it back.”

Chinney waved his cigar. “And what exactly is this financial challenge of yours?”

Robert hesitated—but answered honestly. “My baby sister was sent home from school. Her fees weren’t paid. My mother is sick. And I have school expenses I can’t avoid.”

Silence followed.

Then Darby laughed. “Why don’t you go to your uncle, Morris Emmett?”

The room hummed with amusement.

Robert looked away.

They all knew.

Morris Emmett was not just his uncle—he was their friend. Their business partner. Their peer.

Darby leaned forward. “Oh wait,” he added casually. “I forgot. You and your wretched mother and sister were expelled from the Emmett family.”

He smiled thinly. “After all, Morris would be a fool to accommodate people who killed his brother and father.”

Robert’s head snapped up. “We didn’t kill anyone!”

Brendon Emmett—the Emmett patriarch—had died of a heart attack. The shock of losing his favorite son, Dylan, in a plane crash was too much for him.

Darby scoffed. “Why wouldn’t Dylan die? He brought a bastard of no origin into the Emmett family despite all warnings.”

The words pierced deeper than any slap.

Robert’s vision blurred.

Of everything he had endured today, this… this broke him.

Tears rolled down his face.

“I’m not a bastard,” he whispered. “I just—”

Darby cut him off. “Save it.”

Robert felt his eyes burn. He wasn’t a bastard. He just… hadn’t told anyone the truth yet. He couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.

Then, grinning cruelly, Darby added, “Why don’t you auction your baby sister for child labor? You’d make far more than fifty thousand.”

The professors roared with laughter.

Robert felt buried alive.

“Get him out of here,” Chinney ordered coldly. “We don’t give trash our hard-earned money. What if he runs away with it? Or worse—dies suddenly. That seems to be his fate.”

Security escorted him out.

Robert walked blindly, humiliation crushing his chest, when his phone rang.

“St. James Hospital.”

“Hello?”

“Mr. Robert Emmett?” The nurse’s voice was calm, too calm. “Your mother was brought in after an accident. She’s in critical condition. We need you here immediately.”

Robert didn’t wait for more. He ran.

Twenty minutes later he burst through the hospital doors, chest heaving. Anna was already there, sitting in the waiting area, face streaked with tears. She ran to him and buried herself in his arms.

The doctor met him halfway. “We’ve stabilized her for now, but she needs emergency surgery. There’s internal bleeding. We can’t proceed without a deposit of $75,000.”

Robert’s knees almost buckled. “I… I have $15,000. Take it. Please. I’ll get the rest. I swear.”

The doctor shook his head. “Not enough. We need the full amount upfront. Go find the money, or…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Anna sobbed harder. “She kept saying your name, Robert. She wouldn’t stop.”

Robert knelt in front of his sister. “Listen to me. I’m going to get the money. I’m going to save Mom. No matter what it takes. You hear me?”

Anna nodded, wiping her eyes.

They took the last of his cash for a taxi and headed straight for the Emmett residence.

The compound looked the same as always—massive iron gates, marble pillars, security cameras on every corner, armed guards in crisp black uniforms. But the feeling was different. Cold. Hostile.

The guards recognized them immediately.

“Well, look who crawled back,” one of them sneered. “The bastard and the little princess.”

Another laughed. “Thought you were banned for life.”

Robert kept his head high. “We’re here to see Morris. Family business.”

The guards exchanged looks, then opened the gate just enough for them to slip through.

They were led to the main mansion’s waiting parlor—gold-trimmed chairs, crystal chandelier, paintings worth millions. Robert and Anna sat. They had sat in this same room countless weekends when Dylan was alive. Laughing with Grandfather Brendon. Playing board games with cousins. Now the chairs felt like they might burn them.

Before Morris appeared, Jane and Edward strolled in.

Jane—thirteen, same age as Anna—crossed her arms. “Who gave you permission to sit on our chairs? Does this look like your filthy slum apartment?”

Edward, twenty-two, same age as Robert, stepped closer. “Get up. Now.”

Robert stood slowly. “We’re not damaging anything. We’re still family—”

Edward’s hand cracked across Robert’s face so fast Robert barely saw it coming.

The slap echoed.

“Never talk back to us again,” Edward hissed. “You’re not equals. You’re an adopted bastard who ruined everything. Dylan’s death, Grandfather’s death—all because of you.”

Anna jumped up. “Don’t touch him!”

Jane grabbed Anna’s arm, hard. “Shut up. You’re only safe because you have Emmett blood. Unlike this gutter trash.” She sneered at Robert. “And because Daddy has plans for you, little cousin. Big plans. We don’t want any marks on that pretty face… yet.”

Anna shrank back, eyes wide with fear.

Robert stepped in front of her. “What plans? What are you talking about?”

Edward and Jane only laughed.

Before Robert could press further, the double doors opened.

Morris Emmett entered—tall, silver-haired, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed power. He looked at them like they were insects.

“What do you want?” he asked flatly.

Robert took a breath. “Uncle… Mom’s in the hospital. Accident. Critical condition. They need seventy-five thousand upfront for surgery. Please. I’m begging you. Just this once. For her.”

Morris stared for a long second.

Then he laughed—a deep, satisfied sound.

“The witch who killed my brother is finally dying?” He clapped slowly. “Beautiful. Perfect timing.”

Robert’s stomach twisted. “She didn’t kill anyone—”

Morris waved him off. “I’m purging the family, boy. Cleaning house. Only Anna has real Emmett blood. She can stay. The rest of you?” He looked at Robert with pure disgust. “Your mother can rot. And you—you’re going back to the gutter where Dylan dragged you from.”

Tears stung Robert’s eyes. “Why? Why do you hate us this much? We were family. Dylan loved us. Grandfather loved us.”

Morris’s smile was ice. “You’ll never understand. And you never will.”