The Heir They Humiliated

CHAPTER 4

 

“Have a seat, Master Carter,” Adolph said politely, gesturing toward a sofa that probably cost more than my entire life's earnings.

I sat, but my mind was a storm. How was this possible? I had gone from a reject—a man cheated on, humiliated, and kicked out of a company like a stray dog—to the heir of the Van Alen fortune. Was it luck? Or was fate playing a cruel joke before the punchline?

“This is too much to process, Mr. Van Alen,” I said, looking at the frail man in the wheelchair. “No one ever mentioned my parents. I’ve lived my life thinking I was a ghost from nowhere.”

The old man coughed, a ragged, wet sound that shook his thin frame. “Of course. I do not expect you to bridge two decades of silence in an hour. But I assure you, Carter… my grandson… it is all true. And everything I have built is yours.”

I resisted the urge to ask for the exact figures, but looking at the marble pillars and the silent army of guards, I knew I hadn't just hit a gold mine. I had inherited the treasury.

“You said my parents died in an accident,” I said softly. “Were they buried here?”

Mr. Van Alen leaned back, his eyes misting over. “That was the last time I ever cried. But seeing you today… I might just break that streak.” A guard stepped forward, offering a silk napkin which the old man used to dab his eyes. “They are buried here, in the private gardens. Let us go to them.”

Adolph handed me a bouquet of white lilies as we exited the mansion. The estate was a fortress of luxury.

“This is one of the most famous residences in the country,” my grandfather said with a spark of pride. “The magazines speculate about what’s behind these gates every week. The paparazzi would kill for a glimpse of where you’re standing right now.”

We arrived at a secluded garden where the air smelled of damp earth and expensive blooms. Beside a weeping willow stood an elaborate tomb of white marble, etched with gold filigree. It was a monument to the wealthy dead.

“Patrick and Elena Van Alen,” I whispered, reading the names. I turned to my grandfather. “Why is there only one grave?”

“It was your father’s last wish that they never be parted. His last words were a plea to find you,” he replied, his voice cracking. “It was a dark night, Carter. I am glad you were too young to feel that pain.”

I laid the flowers on the cold stone and said a few silent words to the parents I never knew. As we began the slow walk back to the house, my grandfather dropped a bombshell that froze the blood in my veins.

“I am glad I found you, son,” he said, a peaceful smile on his face. “Because I am dying. The doctors say if I last another month, it will be a miracle.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What? How can you say that so casually?”

The old man’s smile only broadened. He looked like a man who had finally put down a heavy burden. “Don’t be shocked. Yesterday, I was a bundle of nerves and terror. But now that you’re here, I can finally accept the hand death has been offering me. I can die with a smile.”

I was silent, a swirl of conflicting emotions tearing at me. I was a stranger to this man, yet I had brought him the ultimate peace.

“You must stay by my side for the next few days,” he continued, his voice sounding stronger, fueled by a final burst of adrenaline. “To tour the full scope of the Van Alen consortium, we would have to travel through sixty percent of the globe. All my assets are being transferred into your name. You’ll have your own limitless black card within forty-eight hours.”

disbelief clouded my vision. I didn't know the scale of what was happening. I was entering the one percent of the one percent. The Van Alen Dynasty owned primary residences in every major city in Europe, vacation estates in the Hamptons, the French Riviera, and Aspen. There were fleets of cars, private jets, and yachts that were essentially floating hotels. But more than that, there were the shares—the controlling interests in the companies that ran the world.

Back inside the house, exhaustion finally began to claim him. He gripped my hand, his fingers like parchment.

“Carter, I don’t care what sort of life you lived before today. Screw all of that. You are a Van Alen. The world is in your hand, and everything you desire can be yours with a snap of your fingers. That is what it means to carry this name. There are no limits.”

“I’m still in awe, Mr. Van Alen,” I admitted.

He frowned, though his eyes remained kind. “Bullocks. Call me Grandpa. You’ll get used to the power soon enough. It’s in your blood.”

I offered to help him to his room, but he waved me off, letting his medical staff take over. “It’s a clear night, son. Drink, explore, do whatever you want. It’s all yours.”

As I stood alone in the massive living room, the weight of the situation crashed down on me. I was excited, yes. I had a family, however short-lived it might be. I had wealth that defied logic. But beneath the euphoria, a cold, sharp fear began to take root.

No matter how expensive the suit was, I was still the "useless designer" who had been stabbed in the back by Julian and Elara. How was a man who had been treated like trash supposed to run a global empire?

I was terrified of failing. I looked at my hands, steady now but pale in the moonlight. I couldn't just be a billionaire. I had to become something else. I had to become the Architect of their destruction. I wouldn't fail. I would make sure that by the time I was done, Julian and Elara would wish they had stayed in the Maw.