The Heir's Revenge

Chapter 3: Fate

The rain hadn't stopped.

Lawrence walked slowly down the long driveway of the Edwards' mansion, each step sinking into thick mud, the headlights from the grand house behind him fading until they were nothing but a faint glow swallowed by darkness.

His clothes clung to his skin, his hair dripped water onto his face. He could still hear Jordan's mocking voice echoing in his head — "she was never really yours to begin with."

The words repeated in his head over and over again, till they were burned into his brain.

He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. The pain helped him stay awake, helped him keep dragging his feet on asphalt. He didn't even know where to go. No home. No friends. No family. And no money.

Only humiliation, shame, disgrace and betrayal.

When he finally reached the edge of the street, he saw his car, his once beloved silver Toyota. He remembered the exact day he got it. Now it was half broken down from years of overuse and lack of maintenance.

One of the side mirrors was cracked, the backseat piled with old files and fast food wrappers. It was the only thing he still owned, the last fragment of the man he used to be.

He opened the door and sat inside, letting the usual smell of damp leather engulf him.

His reflection on the windshield looked nothing like the proud man who had once dreamed of building his own business. The man that stared right back at him was tired, hollow-eyed and soaked to the bone.

"What happened to you Lawrence?" He muttered under his breath.

"You used to have everything. You used to be someone. You had a future. A plan. A wife….."

He laughed weakly, "and now you're sitting in a car that can barely start."

He thought of Rebecca again. Her perfume, her soft laughter, the way she used to hold his hand and tell him, 'we'll make it through anything.'

But now she was inside that mansion, warm and dry, probably sipping wine with that arrogant prick, Jordan Wick.

He gritted his teeth. "You'll regret this," he whispered.

"You all will."

He leaned back in the seat, eyes closing. He didn't even have enough money left to rent a room for the night. His stomach growled violently. His pride was gone.

With nowhere to go, he decided to sleep inside his car and think about his problems tomorrow.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Only eight percent left. The screen was cracked and a few droplets of rain still clung to the edges.

He scrolled through his contacts.

Rebecca—deleted.

Mr Edwards—deleted.

Jordan—blocked.

He sighed. No one left to call, no one to rely on or ask for help.

He was about to turn off his phone when it suddenly vibrated in his hand, which startled him.

Unknown number.

He frowned. At this hour? Probably a scammer. But something in him, maybe desperation or hope, made him swipe to answer.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other side of the phone was calm, deep, older. "Mr Lawrence Stiff?"

Lawrence frowned again. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Kent. Mr Richard Kent, but I prefer you just call me Kent. I am the executive secretary of the late CEO, founder and chairman of LanceCorp, Zurich."

Lawrence's brows furrowed. "I think you have the wrong Lawrence Stiff."

"I assure you, I do not. I have done my digging and I am never inaccurate. You are Lawrence Eugene Stiff, age thirty-eight, born in Dover, England. Foster mother's name: Margaret Stiff, deceased twelve years ago. Father's identity, according to your birth record, unlisted. Correct?"

Lawrence froze. His fingers tightened around the phone.

"How did you know all that?"

"Because we've been looking for you, Lawrence. Far before our CEO's recent passing," he replied evenly.

"This is ridiculous." Lawrence laughed dryly. "What is it you guys want this time? My ID? My soul? Well, sorry, I don't have any money left for you to scam."

He hung up.

A few seconds later the phone rang again, the same number.

He cursed under his breath and answered. "Look, old man, I already told you—"

"Mr Stiff," the voice interrupted sharply this time. "Please listen before you dismiss me again. Our CEO, Thomas Lance, passed away three months ago. And to the shock of everyone in the company, you, Mr Lawrence Stiff, were listed as the sole heir. LanceCorp is the most powerful conglomerate in the whole of Europe. We own seventy-two subsidiaries, with assets spanning over fifty trillion euros. The late chairman's will clearly states that Lawrence Eugene Stiff inherits full control of the group effective immediately."

For a moment all Lawrence could hear was the rain and then he laughed again. "That was really a good one, you almost sound believable."

"I expect disbelief," Mr Kent said, still calm.

"On your right shoulder, there's a birthmark, a crescent shape. Correct?"

"How do you….know about that?"

"Because Mr Lawrence, you are the heir chosen by the late Mr Thomas."

Lawrence was quiet for a long time.

His mind spun. This couldn't be real. Could it?

For years he suffered and tried his best to get over each day with the little he had.

And now some stranger was telling him he was the heir to the richest company in Europe.

"Why now?" Lawrence asked quietly. "Why tell me this now?"

"Because the board has delayed the succession process long enough," Mr Kent said. "They do not believe we can locate you. The late chairman's will becomes void in ninety days unless the rightful heir assumes his position. You must come to Zurich immediately."

Lawrence shook his head. "You're asking me to fly to Switzerland on a random phone call from a stranger in the middle of the night?"

"I understand your caution, Mr Stiff," Mr Kent replied.

"But this is no prank. You will receive an email within an hour with your flight details, verification documents, and my contact information at headquarters. I advise you not to delay, Mr Stiff."

The line went silent.

He wanted to believe it, God he wanted to. But how could he?

He was broke, abandoned, sleeping in his car. And someone was telling him he was heir to a European empire worth trillions?

It sounded like a cruel joke.

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

Maybe this was fate.

Maybe this was his second chance.

He turned the car key slightly, and the dashboard flickered weakly. The fuel light glowed red, near empty.

He opened his phone again, checked his wallet: €90. The last of his money. Barely enough for food, much less for fuel.

But then again, what exactly did he have left to lose?

He leaned back against the seat, staring at the rain running down the windshield and whispered,

"If this is a scam, then I'm ruined. But if not…."

He smiled faintly.

"Then the world is about to remember his name."

He looked down at his hands, calloused, tired, dirty from years of struggle. Soon, these hands would hold power again.

No more begging.

No more being used.

No more humiliation.

No more being disposable.

And for the first time in years, hope danced in his chest.

"LanceCorp," he muttered. The name tasted strange on his tongue. "If this is real, Rebecca…..your family….Jordan…..you'll see me. And you'll realize I'm no longer the man you threw away."

His phone pinged once more, a new email. He opened it quickly.

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Confirmation and documents – Lawrence Stiff

Attachment: CEO_succession_papers.P*F

Lawrence's breath caught, the company seal glared right back at him. Gold and black. Embossed with the LanceCorp insignia. Real. Official.

"So it's true," he whispered, as his heart hammered against his chest.

Outside the clouds began to break. A faint line of dawn touched the horizon.

He looked up at the light and smiled for the first time in months.

"The man you all broke," he whispered, "is about to rise again."

And for those who had mocked him, used him, betrayed him, tomorrow would be the beginning of their end.