The Housekeeper’s Legacy

Chapter 5: Midnight at Dock 14

The wind howled through the derelict shipping yard like a warning.

Gregory pulled his hoodie tighter and stepped through the rusted gate of Dock 14, heart thudding with every step. The place looked like something out of a thriller—abandoned crates, broken lights, metal chains swaying in the breeze. Perfect spot for a meeting… or a trap.

He checked his phone. 11:58 PM.

Two minutes to midnight.

He waited in the shadows, scanning every flicker of movement. A cat skittered past. A door creaked open somewhere in the darkness.

Then a voice:

“Don’t move.”

Gregory stiffened.

From behind one of the stacked containers stepped a man in a long coat, cap pulled low over his eyes, face mostly obscured by the shadows. But his stance wasn’t threatening—just cautious.

“You’re Gregory?” the man asked.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Gregory replied.

The man stepped closer, pulling out a slim envelope. “I used to be Caldwell’s personal assistant. Name’s Jalen. I left the company when things got… dangerous. Caldwell doesn’t know I’m contacting you.”

Gregory’s brow furrowed. “Why now?”

Jalen glanced around. “Because if that family you live with finds out you’ve got this—” he held out the envelope—“you’re dead.”

Gregory took it with trembling fingers. Inside were copies of original hospital records, birth ID tags, and a photo—a baby in Caldwell’s arms, wearing the same hospital wristband Gregory had kept hidden his whole life.

He felt like the ground beneath him cracked.

“It’s real,” Jalen said quietly. “I’ve been comparing those records with the files the Rosewells submitted. They forged their request for a fake heir. They’re trying to plant someone before Caldwell finds the truth.”

Gregory’s throat was dry. “They knew I was the real son.”

Jalen nodded. “They’ve known for months.”

“Why not just kill me?”

“They need to delay. As long as Caldwell never meets you face to face, they have a shot at installing a fake heir and siphoning the empire before he dies.”

Gregory gritted his teeth. “How long does Caldwell have?”

“Maybe weeks. Days, even. He’s deteriorating faster than his doctors predicted.”

Gregory felt a cold fist wrap around his spine.

He had no time.

Jalen stepped closer. “You need to leave that house. Now. You need to go to Caldwell directly. If you wait for the DNA test, they’ll rig it or erase it.”

Gregory’s fists clenched. “I have no money. No access. They watch everything.”

Jalen looked around and handed him a burner phone and an old ID badge.

“This will get you through the back gate of Caldwell’s estate. 48 hours from now. After that, the security protocols change. You miss that window… you’re out.”

Gregory nodded slowly.

Then they both froze.

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy.

Coming from behind the containers.

Jalen cursed. “They followed me—run!”

Gregory didn’t need to be told twice.

He bolted through the maze of crates as flashlights burst to life and voices shouted behind him.

“Stop him!”

Gunshots cracked through the night.

Gregory zigzagged through the shadows, leaping over rusted rails and ducking under chains. One bullet hit a crate beside him, splintering wood like thunder.

He burst out of the gate, sprinting through the alleyways, not daring to look back.

He didn’t stop running until he reached a subway station. Breath ragged, chest heaving, he ducked into the bathroom and locked himself inside.

His reflection in the mirror was pale, blood splattered from a graze on his shoulder. He didn’t even feel it until he saw it.

But it didn’t matter.

He’d seen the records. He had the photo. He had the proof.

He was Richard Caldwell’s son.

And someone was willing to kill to make sure he never got to claim it.

Back at the mansion, it was pitch black.

Gregory slipped through the shadows, avoiding every creaking board and security camera. He returned to the attic like a ghost, clutching the envelope and burner phone like his life depended on it.

Because it did.

He collapsed on his mattress, mind racing.

He had 48 hours.

Forty-eight hours to get to the estate, to meet the man who unknowingly held the key to everything Gregory had never had—power, identity, family.

But as his eyes fluttered shut, he heard something that turned his blood to ice:

The click of his attic door unlocking.

It creaked open slowly.

A figure stepped inside.

Tall. Silent.

And holding something metallic.

Gregory’s breath caught—

Then the light snapped on.

It was Marcus.

Smiling.

Cold.

“Time to talk, Gregory.”