The Heir Behind the Wheel

Chapter 7. Buried Secrets

The office sat on the top floor of The Grand Meridian, all glass and polished steel. Arthur Cole stood at the window, his reflection ghosting across the pane. Below him, Crestview crawled with morning traffic, horns blaring, lights blinking in the gray dawn.

Behind him, a man in a dark suit stood rigid. Hands clasped. Head bowed. Waiting.

Arthur didn't turn around.

"Did you send the hair samples?" His voice was flat. Cold. The kind of calm that came before a storm.

"Yes, Mr. Cole. Both yours and the young man's. They arrived at the lab an hour ago." The man paused. Swallowed. "Results should be ready by tomorrow morning."

Silence. The city hummed beyond the glass.

Then Arthur's voice dropped lower. Heavier. Like a blade being drawn slowly from its sheath.

"Now explain something to me." He turned. Just his head. His eyes locked onto the man like a rifle sight. "How did my people fail to track my daughter for *decades*? How did she end up in a grave, and I didn't even know she was dead?"

The man's throat worked. He bowed deeper. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cole. Miss Evelyn... she covered her tracks well. She disappeared deliberately."

"But that's not the only reason, is it?"

The man hesitated. Drew a breath. "No, sir. There's something else. Someone... actively concealed her location. Every lead we found was redirected. Records were falsified. Addresses changed. Key files deleted from the system." He kept his eyes on the floor. "Whoever did this was always one step ahead of us."

Arthur's jaw tightened. A muscle twitched beneath his skin.

"And the worst part, Mr. Cole..." The man's voice shrank. "Miss Evelyn wasn't far. She lived on the outskirts of this city. For years. A simple life. No protection. No watch. No one."

The words hit like a slap. Arthur's hand curled into a fist at his side. The knuckles went white.

"And you never found her."

It wasn't a question. It was a verdict.

"We failed, Mr. Cole."

Silence stretched. The air in the room felt thick, pressurized, like the moment before lightning strikes.

Then the man spoke again. Quieter. Hesitant.

"There's one more thing you should know."

Arthur's eyes snapped up. Sharp. Dangerous.

"We found evidence regarding Ethan's father. David Cole." The man paused, choosing his words like a man walking through a minefield. "He didn't leave, sir. The evidence suggests... he was killed."

The room went still. Even the city outside seemed to hold its breath.

"Neither Miss Evelyn nor Ethan ever knew. They believed he simply walked away. Abandoned them."

Arthur closed his eyes. One second. Two. When he opened them, the anger had changed. Darker now. Colder. Something with teeth.

"David," he whispered. Then his voice rose, cracking with regret and fury. "I should never have given her to him! He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone protect my daughter and grandson!"

He turned fully, pacing toward the man, who still hadn't dared to look up.

"And there's one more possibility, sir," the man continued, barely above a whisper. "David's death... it may be connected to whoever buried Miss Evelyn's records."

Arthur stopped. His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Meaning..."

"Someone didn't just hide your daughter, sir." The man lifted his head slowly. His face was pale. "They also eliminated anyone who might have uncovered the truth."

***

Across the city, in a cramped apartment that smelled like old coffee and damp walls, Derek sat on a sagging sofa. His tailored suit looked absurd against the faded cushions. His eyes moved quietly over the room — the chipped paint, the wobbly shelf, the single window letting in thin morning light.

This was where Ethan Cole lived. The grandson of Arthur Cole. The heir to a fortune he didn't even know existed.

Ethan walked in from the kitchen carrying two cans of cold coffee. He tossed one to Derek and dropped into the chair across from him, cracking the tab open with a sharp hiss.

"Bit warm in here, huh?" Ethan said, gesturing vaguely at Derek's suit jacket. "Your own fault for wearing all that to a place like this."

Derek offered a tight smile and shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly across his knee.

"Is there anything you need to pack?" he asked, shifting back to business. "Mr. Arthur asked me to bring you to him. He'd like you to stay at the same location. The penthouse."

Ethan went quiet. The can sat in his hand, unopened now. Condensation beaded on the metal.

"And what's the guarantee?" he asked flatly. "That I'm actually his grandson? That this isn't some mistake?"

Derek met his eyes. Steady. Patient. "The DNA results will be ready tomorrow morning. That'll be the definitive proof."

Ethan gave a thin smile. Not happy. Not bitter. Just tired.

"So right now I'm just... a possibility."

"If the test confirms it," Derek said calmly, "you'll be the legitimate heir. No one can challenge that. Not his business rivals. Not the extended family." He paused. Let the words settle. "And regardless of the result, Mr. Arthur owes you his life. Accept his generosity. This could be your chance to turn everything around."

Ethan said nothing. He stared at the can in his hands.

Derek leaned forward slightly. His voice dropped, sharper now. "Including showing that woman from this morning that you're not someone to be looked down on."

Silence.

Then Ethan's eyes flicked up. "How long were you listening?"

Derek shrugged. Easy. Unapologetic. "Your voices carried. Honestly, it wasn't just me who heard."

Ethan turned his face away. Heat crept up the back of his neck. Shame. Simple, stupid, burning shame.

He didn't say another word. Just lifted the can and drank. Cold. Bitter. The kind of cheap coffee that tasted like metal and regret. He swallowed it all in one long pull, hoping the bitterness would drown the tightness in his chest.

It didn't.

The can hit the table empty. And the pressure in his ribs only grew worse.