The Incredible Charlie Maxwell

Chapter 6

The moment Joseph handed the stack of sealed documents to George, the atmosphere in the golden room shifted. George’s wrinkled fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the first sheet and pushed it across the table toward Charlie. His tone was steady, commanding, and emotional all at once.

“Charlie,” George said slowly, “you are my only grandchild. The sole heir to the Maxwell Empire.”

For a moment, Charlie couldn’t breathe. The words hung in the air like lightning, and his heart pounded so hard it drowned every other sound in the room. He looked up at George, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. When he finally found his voice, it was shaky and uncertain.

“Heir? Grandpa, are you sure about this? Do you even know that my mother—she’s… she’s gone?”

George’s eyes darkened with sorrow. He nodded gravely.

“I know, my boy. Joseph has already retrieved her body from the city morgue. She’s resting now—in the Maxwell family’s ultra-modern vault, awaiting the day you decide to give her the burial she deserves.”

Tears welled in Charlie’s eyes. A grand burial for his mother—those words alone made his chest ache. Claire had lived her final years in pain, humiliation, and poverty, yet in death, she would be honored like royalty.

“She deserves that much,” Charlie whispered. “She deserves more.”

George leaned closer, his sharp eyes glinting with something powerful—an unshakable resolve.

“And she will have it, Charlie. But first, you must avenge her. You must bring down everyone who destroyed her life—those who mocked her, humiliated her, and took everything from her. That is your duty now as her son—and as a Maxwell.”

Charlie froze. The word avenge echoed in his mind like a thunderclap. He remembered his stepmother’s smirk, Claudia’s cruel laughter, his father’s cold indifference, and the night his mother cried in his arms. That rage he’d been holding in for years suddenly began to simmer again.

He clenched his fists.

“I made a promise,” Charlie said softly. “They will regret every single thing they did to us.”

George smiled faintly. That was the answer he had wanted. He gestured to the stack of papers.

“Then it’s time you see what you’re fighting for.”

Joseph began flipping through the documents, each page revealing more about the magnitude of the Maxwell dynasty. Every line, every seal, every crest made Charlie’s world tilt. The assets listed weren’t just companies—they were global institutions: banks, defense industries, oil empires, tech conglomerates, and even countries whose leaders owed allegiance to the Maxwells.

By the time they were halfway through, Charlie’s eyes had widened beyond disbelief.

The Maxwells didn’t just control wealth—they controlled civilization itself. Nations bowed to them. Presidents called for their approval. It was said that when George Maxwell sneezed, the stock markets trembled.

Later, Joseph led Charlie on a private tour around the estate. The air smelled of polished metal, expensive leather, and the faint musk of history. They entered the Royal Vault Garage, where hundreds of rare, futuristic, and vintage vehicles gleamed under soft white light.

“These,” Joseph said proudly, “are the family’s toy collection.”

Toy collection? Charlie almost laughed. The least expensive of the cars parked before him was worth twenty million dollars. There were Rolls-Royces used for errands, Bugattis plated in diamond dust, Ferraris made of platinum alloy, and a dozen Lamborghinis whose engines purred like sleeping beasts.

Joseph smiled knowingly at Charlie’s stunned expression.

“Young Master, all of these belong to you now. Your grandfather doesn’t drive anymore. You may take whichever pleases you.”

Charlie chuckled in disbelief. Just yesterday, he couldn’t afford a bus fare or a single meal. Today, he was surrounded by machines worth more than countries. The absurdity made him laugh out loud.

“You mean… these cars are mine?”

“Indeed, sir,” Joseph replied, bowing slightly. “Every single one of them.”

Charlie thought of Claudia and her triplets flaunting their newly bought $250,000 Lamborghinis. ‘A quarter of a million,’ he scoffed inwardly. The cheapest car in his new garage cost eighty times that. ‘Tomorrow,’ he decided, ‘they will see what a real car looks like.’

He laughed again, this time with purpose.

When they returned, George was waiting with another set of documents.

“These,” he said, “transfer the mantle of leadership to you. Upon my death, you will officially become the head of the Maxwell family.”

Charlie hesitated only briefly before signing. Each stroke of his pen felt like sealing a destiny—one carved from pain, blood, and revenge.

George’s voice softened.

“Before then, I want you to begin your journey. You’ll take over Claire Corporation—the company your mother was meant to lead before she left us. It will help you gain experience, and it will honor her memory.”

Charlie’s heart swelled. Claire Corporation. The $5 trillion empire that secretly powered his father’s fortune. The irony wasn’t lost on him. His father’s entire legacy existed because of the woman he despised—and now that empire belonged to her son.

George motioned to Joseph, who handed Charlie a small black envelope. Inside was a golden card, shimmering under the chandelier light.

“This card,” George said, “was once your mother’s. Only three exist—mine, Joseph’s, and now yours. It grants access to the Maxwell wealth. But few places even know how to process it. It’s not for the world to use—it’s for those who own it.”

Charlie turned the card over in his hand. It felt light, but the weight of power it carried was immeasurable.

“However,” George continued, “since you’ll need some liquidity for... simpler needs, I’ve asked Joseph to transfer $100 billion into your account.”

Charlie froze mid-breath.

“A hundred… billion?” he whispered. “For what?”

“For clothes. Jewelry. Pocket expenses,” George said casually.

The phone in Charlie’s pocket buzzed moments later. He checked—and nearly dropped it when he saw the alert.

“Credit: $100,000,000,000.00.”

His hands trembled. Yesterday, he couldn’t afford a hospital bill. Today, he couldn’t even count the zeros in his account.

That evening, the family tailor came and measured Charlie for a custom Maxwell suit, tailored from rare black silk and threaded with microscopic gold fibers. The suit would be delivered before the Grant triplets’ birthday party.

When Joseph told him, Charlie smirked. ‘Perfect.’

The Grants had taken everything from him—his peace, his pride, his mother. Tomorrow, he would take something back. He would walk into that party not as the poor boy they humiliated, but as the heir of the richest family on Earth.

The next morning, Joseph stood beside a gleaming array of cars and asked respectfully,

“Young Master, which vehicle shall I prepare for your return to school?”

Charlie’s eyes roamed the garage before resting on a sleek, obsidian-black Lamborghini La Voiture Noire—one of only a handful in existence. Its price tag: $50 million.

“That one,” Charlie said. “It’ll do.”

Joseph nodded approvingly.

“A fine choice, sir.”

As the car’s engine roared to life, George walked up to him for a final word. The morning sun painted his silver hair in a soft glow.

“Charlie,” he said, “remember this—you are not just my grandson. You are the future of the Maxwell legacy. But above all, you are your mother’s son. Avenge her. Make those who wronged her wish they had never been born.”

Charlie’s eyes burned with emotion.

“I will, Grandpa. I swear it.”

George smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and stepped back.

Charlie slid into the car, gripping the steering wheel. As he drove through the golden gates of the Maxwell mansion, tears blurred his vision. His mother’s face flashed before him—her smile, her pain, her final breath.

Three hundred thousand dollars. 

That was all she needed to live.

And now he had a hundred billion at his fingertips.

He wiped his tears, pressed the pedal down, and the car shot forward with a roar that echoed across the estate.

“It’s payback time,” he muttered, a cold smile spreading across his face.

The new boss was on his way.