The Last Inheritance

Chapter Two

Elias walked slowly through Chicago’s freezing wind, but the pain from Mara’s divorce hurt even more than the cold.

He still wore his janitor uniform from work, and it smelled like bleach and failure.

Mara’s cruel voice echoed in his head—“You’re nothing.” He could still feel her family’s cold looks: Trent’s mocking words and Vivian’s disgust.

He had signed the divorce papers and left, but the thing that hurt the most was losing his mother’s silver ring. It was the only thing he had left of her, and Mara had taken it like it didn’t matter.

He reached his apartment, a small, dirty room in a crumbling brick building. The stairwell smelled of mildew, and a buzzing light above kept flickering. Inside, the room was almost empty,just a worn-out couch, a scratched-up table, and a mattress lying on the floor.

Elias dropped onto the couch, head in his hands. Three years ago, he’d been Mara’s hero, pouring his savings into her family’s sinking real estate firm. Now, he was their punching bag, a “janitor scrub” in Trent’s words. His chest ached, not just for Mara but for the life he’d lost. Today was their anniversary, and she’d gutted him.

His phone buzzed, jolting him. Unknown number. “Elias Kane,” a gruff voice said. “I’m Silas Reed. Got a job for you. Meet me at the 47th Street warehouse, noon tomorrow. Do it, and I’ll give you answers about your past.” Elias’s brow furrowed, his breath fogging the screen. “Who are you? What job?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. 

The man let out a low, rough laugh. “Just show up. You need this.” Then the call ended.

Elias stared at the phone, his heart beating faster. Was it a job? Some kind of answer? It sounded suspicious, but after what Mara did, even a small purpose felt like hope.

He dropped the phone, too tired to figure it out.

A fist pounded on his door, loud and sharp. Elias froze. “Open up, loser!” Trent’s voice boomed through the thin wood. Elias’s stomach sank. He yanked the door open, and there stood Trent, blonde hair slicked back, his suit screaming money. 

Behind him was Vivian, Mara’s mother, her fur coat brushing the filthy corridor. Two beefy guys in black jackets flanked them, cracking their knuckles. “Where’s the five million?” Vivian spat, her eyes narrow slits. “Mara’s money, you thief.” Elias’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t take a dime,” he said, stepping into the doorway. “You know that.”

Trent laughed, mean and loud. “Liar. You’re a leech, Kane. Hand it over.” 

He shoved past Elias, storming into the apartment, kicking over the table. It crashed, splintering.

Vivian followed, her heels clicking, face twisted in disgust. “Look at this dump,” she said. “You’re nothing but a rat, stealing from my daughter.” 

Elias’s fists clenched. “I saved your company,” he said, voice low. “Gave you everything I had.”

Trent spun, smirking. “Saved? You’re a janitor. Mara carried us. You’re just dead weight.” He rifled through Elias’s jacket, hung on a chair, and pulled out a small cloth pouch. 

Elias’s heart stopped. The silver ring—Mara hadn’t kept it; she’d sent it back with Carla, a final insult.

“That’s mine,” Elias said, stepping forward.

Trent dangled the pouch, grinning. “This? Mara’s ring, you mean?” He ripped it open, the silver ring glinting as it fell into his palm. “Worthless junk, like you.”

Before Elias could move, Trent threw the ring to the floor and stomped it. The metal crunched, bending under his boot.

Elias’s vision blurred, rage flooding him. That ring—his mom’s last gift, her voice whispering, “Keep it safe,” when he was ten. Now it was twisted, broken, like him.

“You bastard,” Elias growled, lunging at Trent.

One of the goons grabbed Elias’s arm, yanking him back.

Trent laughed, wiping his shoe. “What, gonna cry, scrub?”

Vivian sneered, “Pathetic. Stealing Mara’s money, now throwing a fit.”

Elias wrestled free, breathing hard and heavily. “I didn’t steal,” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “And that ring was my mother’s.” 

Trent stepped close, jabbing a finger in Elias’s face. “Your mom was probably trash too,” he said. 

Elias snapped. He swung, his fist cracking against Trent’s jaw. 

Trent staggered, blood trickling from his lip, and his eyes widened in shock. The two men rushed at Elias, but he ducked and pushed one hard into the wall. The other grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the doorframe.

Vivian screamed, “You animal! You’ll pay for that!” She pointed at the goons. “Teach him!”

They paused, looking at Trent, who was holding his face and spitting blood.

“Hit him!” Trent shouted.

Elias tensed, his heart racing. He wasn’t a fighter, but seeing the ring destroyed lit something in him—a small, burning defiance.

He stared straight at Vivian. “You’re all snakes,” he said. “Mara, Trent, you. You’ll regret this.”

A neighbor’s voice called out, “I’m calling the cops, what's all this noise!”

The goons got ready to hit Elias, but another man shouted, “The cops?!”

Vivian stopped, her face going pale. “We’re not finished, Kane,” she said, grabbing Trent.

The goons took off, and one spat at Elias’s feet before running.

They all disappeared down the stairs, leaving the broken ring shining on the floor.

Elias dropped to his knees and picked up the bent silver ring. His hands were shaking, filled with both anger and sadness.

The ring was crushed, its thin band twisted out of shape. He could almost see his mother’s face again—sick and fading—on the night she gave it to him. “For you,” she had whispered.

Now the ring was ruined, just like his marriage, just like his pride. He shoved the broken pieces into his pocket, his chest aching.

The earlier caller’s voice echoed in his head—something about answers, maybe a job. It might be nothing. But right now, it was the only thing he had to hold on to.

Mara sat in her Voss Tower office as stared at a contract for Victor Dray’s tech deal, her future but her eyes kept drifting to the divorce papers on her desk.

She had sent the ring back, thinking that would end things for good. So why did her stomach feel tight?

She pictured Elias’s face in the lobby, his voice shaking as he said, “You’ll regret this.” Mara shook the memory away and forced herself to focus on the contract. Power—that’s what mattered now, not him.

Still, her finger felt strange without the ring. The spot where it had rested for three years itched.