The Incredible Charlie Maxwell

Chapter 5

The silence in the car was thick and unsettling. The man who had introduced himself earlier as Mr. White sat beside Charlie, his posture straight, his eyes forward. His calm, almost reverent demeanor only deepened the mystery that consumed Charlie’s mind.

Finally, Charlie couldn’t hold it anymore. “Sir… who are you, exactly?”

The man turned to him, his voice low but warm. “My name is Joseph White, Young Master. I am the butler of the Maxwell family. I have served them all my life—and now, I serve you.”

“Serve… me?” Charlie frowned, disbelief written across his face. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

Joseph smiled slightly. “Please, address me by my first name, Joseph. You are technically my master now.”

Charlie blinked in shock. “Your master? How? I don’t understand.”

Joseph adjusted his tie before speaking again. “Your mother, Lady Claire, called home before she passed. She told her father—your grandfather, George Maxwell—that she was sending her son to take over in her place. From that moment, I was instructed to wait for your call, Young Master.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. Claire? George Maxwell?

Charlie stared at Joseph, his pulse quickening. The Maxwell name was not just familiar—it was legendary. The Maxwells weren’t just rich; they were the richest family on the planet. The kind of wealth people only read about.

“Wait,” Charlie said, his voice trembling. “You’re saying… my mother—Bethany Grant—is the daughter of George Maxwell? The same George Maxwell who owns half the world’s industries?”

Joseph nodded gently. “Indeed. But your mother’s true name was never Bethany Grant. It was Claire B. Maxwell.”

Charlie leaned back, speechless. None of this made sense. His mother—who had spent years struggling, working double shifts to feed him—had never hinted that she was an heiress.

They drove in silence for another half hour until the car turned into a private lane flanked by towering walls of glass and gold. Beyond the security gates stretched an estate so massive that it could have been a city of its own. Manicured gardens, marble fountains, and sprawling villas lined the drive.

When the car finally slowed, Charlie’s jaw dropped. The mansion before him was unlike anything he had ever seen—grand, glowing, and majestic. The Maxwell Mansion.

The air itself felt heavier here.

“Welcome home, Young Master,” Joseph said as the car rolled to a stop.

Before Charlie could speak, the doors swung open. Elite security personnel stood in perfect formation, bowing in unison. Every servant in sight greeted him respectfully, “Welcome, Young Master Charlie.”

The title made him uneasy. Young Master. Him?

Joseph gestured politely for him to follow. Charlie stepped out, feeling the soft marble under his feet. For a moment, he remembered how he used to run errands barefoot in school just to buy food. Now, men in suits bowed to him.

As they walked through the entrance, Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. The mansion’s interior was pure opulence—gold-plated pillars, diamond chandeliers, and emerald floors polished to perfection. Everything sparkled as though light itself were alive here.

The hall opened into a massive living room where an elderly man sat, poised and powerful, though his age showed in his gentle eyes. The man stood the moment he saw them.

“Grandfather…” The word left Charlie’s lips before he could even think.

The man’s eyes welled up. “Claire’s boy,” he whispered hoarsely, then walked straight to Charlie and pulled him into a trembling embrace. “You have her eyes. Her smile. My dear boy… you’re finally home.”

Charlie froze. He didn’t know whether to cry, to speak, or to run.

George Maxwell—the richest man in the world—was hugging him like a long-lost treasure.

He led Charlie to a seat—one carved entirely out of gold and lined with velvet cushions. Everything shimmered. Even the air seemed richer here.

“Joseph,” George commanded, “bring the wine.”

Within moments, a servant appeared, carrying a crystal decanter filled with deep ruby-red liquid. George smiled. “This wine was bottled in 1780. The last of its kind and costs $500 million. I kept it for Claire’s return—or for her child’s.”

Joseph poured three glasses, the scent rich and ancient.

“To the return of the Maxwell heir,” George declared, raising his glass.

Charlie hesitated, then lifted his. The crystal clinked softly, and they drank.

As the warmth of the wine settled in, Charlie finally spoke, his voice small. “Sir… I don’t understand any of this. My mother—Bethany—she never told me she was a Maxwell. She never mentioned any of this.”

George’s face softened. He reached beside him, pulling out a large leather-bound photo album. He placed it in Charlie’s hands. “Look, and you’ll understand.”

Charlie opened it slowly. The first pages showed a little girl in elegant dresses—smiling beside a tall man who could only be George Maxwell. The girl grew older with each photo, transforming into a striking young woman. Then he saw her—his mother, unmistakably, but younger, radiant, and wearing clothes that screamed wealth.

The caption read: Claire Bethany Maxwell.

Charlie’s hands trembled. “This… this is real.” 

George nodded. “Your mother, Claire, was my only child. After your grandmother passed when she was ten, I devoted everything I had to her. I made her my heir. But when she grew up, she fell in love—with your father, Charles Grant.”

Charlie’s heart ached at the mention of his father.

“She hid her identity from him,” George continued. “I forbade their relationship, but she wouldn’t listen. She used her influence to build him up in secret. Every contract, every business deal Charles ever succeeded in—came from her. She funneled resources from our companies to make his name.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Grant Corporation… it’s under Claire Corporation?”

George smiled sadly. “Your mother owned Claire Corporation. With it, she built Grant Corporation. Charles was only ever a branch of her roots. He never knew the truth. To him, she was just Bethany—a loving, simple woman. He never suspected he was living off the empire she created.”

Charlie could feel tears forming. His mother had carried such weight, all for a man who would later betray her.

“When I tried to bring her back,” George said softly, “she refused. She renounced her inheritance, her name, everything. I was angry, yes—but I respected her love. We could have destroyed Charles for what he did, but that would have broken her. So we waited.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes misty. “Then, this morning, she called. She said she was sorry—for disobeying, for running, for hiding. She said she finally saw the truth about Charles Grant.”

Tears now streamed down Charlie’s cheeks.

George continued, his voice cracking. “She said the only thing she never regretted was you. You were her light, Charlie. Her pride. Her redemption.”

Charlie bowed his head, unable to speak.

George reached across the golden table and took his hand. “Your mother wanted you to come home—to have the family she denied herself. You are her heir now. The heir to the Maxwell legacy. And everything she once renounced… now belongs to you.”

Charlie looked up, his heart pounding. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

George smiled gently. “You don’t have to know yet, my boy. You only need to remember who you are.”

As the golden lights of the mansion glowed around him, Charlie realized his world had shifted forever. The boy who had been mocked for his poverty and humiliated for his lack of worth was in truth the heir to a hundred-trillion-dollar empire.

He wasn’t just Charlie Grant anymore.

He was Charlie Maxwell—the lost prince of the world’s most powerful family.