The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed

Chapter 037

Silas staggered through the polished glass doors of his penthouse, each step a testament to sheer willpower.

His tailored suit hung in tatters, one sleeve torn, a dark stain blooming across his crisp white shirt.

Moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows danced on the marble floors and chrome accents, illuminating the oasis he’d barely recognized in his moment of terror.

“Master!” Isaac, his chauffeur, rushed forward, relief and anxiety in equal measure.

He’d already summoned a small search team—security staff and private investigators—who now filed into the expansive foyer, coats flapping behind them as they halted at attention.

“I’m so sorry I failed to protect you,” Isaac panted, voice trembling as he helped Silas lower himself onto a plush leather settee.

Silas pressed a hand to Isaac’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault,” he rasped. “They ambushed us… outnumbered. You did everything you could.”

At that moment, Charles entered from the adjacent hallway, sober as ever in his black tailcoat.

The butler’s arrival surprised Silas—he’d expected the household staff to be evacuated during the crisis.

“It was Isaac who called me,” Charles explained quietly, kneeling beside Silas.

He examined the fresh bruises along Silas’s jaw and the welt forming on his shoulder. “I came as soon as he reported your return.”

“Incredible timing,” Isaac added, straightening to attention.

Charles stood and called softly through the open archway. “Mrs. Okoye?”

Moments later, the housekeeper appeared, carrying a silver tray laden with first-aid supplies: antiseptic wipes, gauze, and a small vial of pain-relief serum.

She knelt at Silas’s side, her practiced hands steady as she cleaned and dressed his wounds.

Charles waited until Lancaster’s only heir had a fresh bandage and a cooling compress for his shoulder. Then he turned to Silas, his gaze both probing and concerned.

“Master,” Charles asked, voice as gentle as the shaded lamps overhead, “do you remember anything from the incident? Anything at all about who they were—where they took you, what they said?”

Silas closed his eyes, drawing in a ragged breath. The memory of the warehouse crawled through his mind—rusted girders, shattered windows, the sharp tang of fear in the air.

“They wore masks,” he began, voice low. “Their leader… a scar painted on his mask in blood-red. They called me a fraud… an imposter.” He winced as Mrs. Okoye applied a sterile dressing.

“They gave me… forty-eight hours,” Silas continued, each word weighed with gravity. “Forty-eight hours to step down—and disappear—for good.”

Silence rippled through the penthouse suite. The only sound was the distant hum of the city below.

Isaac pressed a hand to his mouth; Mrs. Okoye’s brush paused in mid-air; Charles cleared his throat.

Silas’s chest tightened as he stared at the polished marble floor. After a few seconds, he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… considering actually stepping down.”

At once, Charles shot to his feet, eyes wide with alarm. Isaac and Mrs. Okoye exchanged worried glances.

“You can’t do that, young master!” Charles exclaimed, voice firm but laced with fear. He moved closer, folding his hands behind his back.

“House Lancaster has just been revived—your return breathed life into it again. You are its rightful heir. Stepping down now would hand victory to those who wish to destroy us.”

Silas met Charles’s gaze, nodding slowly. “I understand your concern, but forty-eight hours… it’s not much time. Perhaps disappearing—laying low—might buy the company a chance to reorganize.”

Isaac shook his head. “Master, you stepping aside won’t stop them. They’ll come for the company regardless. We need a countersolution.”

Mrs. Okoye added, “Leaving would sow panic among the staff and partners. They look to you for leadership.”

Silas rubbed his temples, the cool compress soothing the ache in his shoulder. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

Charles looked between them thoughtfully. “We have exactly forty-eight hours before they act. Time enough to plan our response—and perhaps expose them first.” He set his jaw, voice resolute.

“We should gather every company asset: security footage from the warehouse vicinity, witness statements from the team, and any digital breadcrumbs—phone pings, vehicle tracking. Then we can identify these masked men, uncover their motives, and neutralize them.”

Isaac nodded vigorously. “I already deployed our private investigators. They’re combing the docks for that warehouse—and tapping into traffic cams.”

Mrs. Okoye reported, “The medical team is on standby if you need hospitalization, young master.”

Silas took a slow, steady breath. “Good,” he said, resolve flickering in his eyes. “We’ll meet tonight—at midnight—in the boardroom. I want every department head present. We’ll need legal, security, PR, and finance. We’ll draw a line under this—turn their threat into a demonstration of our strength.”

Charles inclined his head. “An excellent plan.”

Silas pushed himself upright, wincing but steady. “No more talk of disappearing,” he said firmly. “House Lancaster will not be intimidated.”

Isaac closed the distance to help Silas to his feet. “I’ll inform the team. We’re with you, sir—every step.”

Mrs. Okoye folded away the medical tray. “And I’ll prepare whatever you need for the boardroom—documents, refreshments, whatever it takes.”

From the panoramic windows, the city spread like a constellation—bright and indifferent. But inside this penthouse, a new determination crackled through the air.

Charles placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “We stand together, young master. For the family. For the legacy.”

Silas met his butler’s gaze, gratitude and steel in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

They moved toward the grand elevator, stepping across the marble floor now carrying their shared purpose: forty-eight hours to strike back, to protect everything the Lancaster name represented.

And under the watchful glow of the city lights, they walked onward—united, resolute, ready to reclaim the night.