The True Heir Returns

Chapter 6: Using me

The morning of the board meeting dawned cold and gray.

Anthony stood in his cramped west wing room, adjusting the cuffs of his borrowed suit. The butler had delivered it with a sneer. "Master Jonathan insisted you look presentable"

But Anthony didn't care. The suit fit well enough. The man wearing it mattered more.

He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror.

Today, I stop being invisible. Today, I become someone they have to reckon with.

Breakfast was a battleground.

Anthony walked into the dining room to find the family already seated. Jonathan at Reginald's right hand, as always. The sisters clustered together, whispering and laughing. And Carmen, seated beside Jonathan, looking like a porcelain doll in a powder-blue dress.

She saw Anthony enter. Her smile faltered. Then she recovered, her mask sliding back into place.

"Anthony!" Giselle called out, her voice dripping with false cheer. "Come sit. We saved you a spot."

She gestured to a small stool at the corner of the room clearly not meant for the table, clearly meant to humiliate.

Anthony smiled. He walked past the stool, past the empty chairs, and pulled out the seat directly across from Reginald.

Jonathan's eye twitched.

"Is this seat taken?" Anthony asked, his voice perfectly polite.

Reginald glanced up from his newspaper. "No. Sit."

Anthony sat. The sisters exchanged glances. Jonathan's jaw tightened.

Beatrice leaned toward Evangeline. "He's so presumptuous. I bet he's never even sat at a proper table before."

"I bet he doesn't know which fork to use," Evangeline whispered back, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Giselle laughed. "He probably eats with his hands. That's how they do it in the countryside, right, Anthony? Pigs and all?"

Anthony picked up his fork and knife with perfect precision. He cut a small piece of omelet and ate it slowly, deliberately.

"In the countryside," he said calmly, "we learn to work with our hands. We know the value of a day's labor. We don't waste time mocking others because we're too busy building something real."

Giselle's smile vanished. "Was that a dig at me?"

"Was it?" Anthony looked at her, his expression innocent. "I was just describing my upbringing. Why would you think it's about you?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Girls, let's not argue. We're family now."

"Family," Beatrice snorted. "He's not family. He's an obligation."

Anthony continued eating, unbothered. "Obligation or not, I have a seat at this table. And later today, I'll have a seat at another table—the boardroom. I hope you'll all wish me luck."

The room went quiet.

"The boardroom?" Evangeline laughed. "Father isn't taking you to the board meeting. You're not even on the board."

"I know." Anthony smiled. "But I own shares now. As a shareholder, I have the right to attend. I've already submitted my request."

Jonathan's face went pale. "You're bluffing. You can't afford shares."

"I couldn't afford them yesterday. But I can now."

Reginald set down his newspaper. His eyes narrowed. "Anthony, what are you talking about?"

Anthony reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document. He slid it across the table to Reginald.

"Fifteen percent of Styles Industries. Purchased over the past three days. I own more than any single board member except you, Father."

Reginald stared at the document. His hands trembled slightly.

"Is this real?"

"Completely. I can show you the transaction records." Anthony smiled. "I'm not just your son anymore. I'm a partner."

The sisters erupted.

"Impossible!" Giselle shouted. "He's lying. He's a liar!"

"He grew up in the countryside! Where would he get that kind of money?" Evangeline demanded.

Beatrice pointed at him. "This is fraud! Father, check the documents! He's forging things!"

Jonathan said nothing. His face was a mask of barely controlled fury. Carmen stared at Anthony, her mouth hanging open.

Anthony leaned back in his chair. "The money came from a lottery win. I bought a ticket on my way here. The numbers came to me in a dream. It was fate." He looked directly at Jonathan. "Funny how things work out, isn't it? Sometimes luck favors the humble."

Reginald studied the document for a long moment. Then he folded it slowly, deliberately, and handed it back to Anthony.

"You'll be at the meeting," he said. "Consider this your formal introduction to the board."

Jonathan shot to his feet. "Father, you can't be serious! He's unqualified. He knows nothing about business!"

"He owns fifteen percent of the company. That makes him qualified." Reginald's voice was steel. "Sit down, Jonathan."

Jonathan sat. His hands were shaking.

Anthony folded the document and tucked it back into his pocket. "Thank you, Father. I won't disappoint you."

***

The board meeting was held in a glass-walled conference room on the thirty-seventh floor of Styles Tower.

Anthony arrived early. He took a seat at the far end of the long table. This was the same position he'd taken at the family dinner. Far from the center. Watching. Waiting.

Board members filed in, eyeing him with suspicion. Reginald sat at the head. Jonathan sat to his right. The others spread out, leaving empty chairs between themselves and the strange young man in the borrowed suit.

The meeting began.

Reginald spoke first, his voice measured. "We have a new shareholder. My son, Anthony Styles."

The board members murmured. Some nodded politely. Others stared with open hostility.

Anthony stood. He walked to the front of the room, pulling out a folder.

"Thank you for having me. I know this is sudden. But I've been studying Styles Industries for the past three days, and I have some observations." He flipped open the folder. "Our logistics network is outdated. We're losing market share to Apex Industries—"

Jonathan stiffened.

"—and we're vulnerable to a hostile takeover if we don't modernize. I've prepared a proposal for a new partnership that could double our efficiency and cut costs by twenty percent."

He began laying out the plan. Clear. Detailed. Brilliant.

The board members leaned forward, their suspicion slowly turning to interest.

Jonathan interrupted. "This proposal is flawed. The partnership you're suggesting would conflict with our existing contracts. We'd be sued."

Anthony smiled. "Which contracts? The ones with Apex Industries? I reviewed them. They're non-binding. The partnership hasn't been finalized." He looked at Jonathan. "Unless you know something I don't."

Jonathan's face flushed. "I—I'm just saying—"

"The logistics deal is dead," Anthony said firmly. "It's been dead for months. We need a new direction. My proposal gives us one."

Jonathan gripped the armrests of his chair. His knuckles went white.

Reginald nodded slowly. "The proposal has merit. We'll vote on it next week."

Anthony returned to his seat. He caught Jonathan's eye and smiled a small, knowing smile that said: I see you. I know about Apex. And I'm not afraid.

After the meeting, Jonathan cornered Anthony in the hallway.

"Who are you?" Jonathan's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. "You're not a farmer. You're not some idiot from the countryside. You're something else."

Anthony turned to face him. "I'm your brother. The one you've been trying to destroy since I arrived."

Jonathan laughed bitterly. "Destroy you? I haven't even started. You think a few shares and a proposal matter? I own this company. I own my father. I own everyone in that boardroom. You're a temporary inconvenience."

"If that's true, why are you shaking?"

Jonathan's hands were trembling. He shoved them into his pockets.

"This isn't over," he spat. "You might have won today. But I win in the end. I always win."

Anthony watched him walk away.

Keep telling yourself that, Jonathan. Keep believing you're in control.

I've already turned your fiancée into my spy. I've already bought my way into your world. And every time you attack me, I learn more about you.

The game has only just begun.

That evening, the sisters and their boyfriends descended on the mansion.

Giselle arrived with Marcus Webb, a tall, broad-shouldered financier with a permanent smirk.

Evangeline brought Damian Croft, a fashion designer with a sharp tongue and sharper suits.

Beatrice, the youngest, trailed behind with Tristan Hale, a trust fund baby who'd never worked a day in his life.

They gathered in the sitting room, drinks in hand, their laughter echoing through the marble halls.

Anthony sat in a corner, reading a book.

Marcus spotted him first. "Well, well. The country mouse. I've heard about you."

Anthony looked up. "I hope you heard good things."

"I heard you won the lottery. Lucky." Marcus smirked. "But luck doesn't last forever. Soon you'll be back where you belong, shoveling manure in some village."

The group laughed.

Damian circled Anthony, his eyes critical. "The suit is wrong. Too big. And the shoes—good Lord, are those from a thrift store?"

"They were a gift," Anthony said calmly.

"From who? A homeless man?"

More laughter. Beatrice clutched Tristan's arm, giggling.

Tristan stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "You should leave, country boy. You don't belong here. These are our people. Our world."

Anthony closed his book. He looked up at Tristan with a small, sad smile.

"You're right. I don't belong here. But I'm not leaving. And neither are any of you."

Tristan's face reddened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I own fifteen percent of this company. I have a seat on the board. I'm not going anywhere." Anthony stood, towering over Tristan despite his smaller frame. "So you can keep mocking my clothes. You can keep calling me country boy. But every time you do, I'll remember it. And one day, when I'm at the top and you're begging for scraps, I'll wonder—"

"You'll never be at the top!" Marcus snarled. "You're nothing!"

Anthony smiled. "We'll see."

He walked out of the room, leaving them fuming.

In the corridor, he found Carmen lurking near the stairs.

She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. "I told you I'd report. Jonathan is meeting with someone from Apex Industries tomorrow night. He's panicking. He's going to push the deal through early."

Anthony nodded. "Good. Keep me updated."

"How long do I have to do this?" she whispered. "How long before you expose me?"

"Expose you?" Anthony tilted his head. "I'm not going to expose you, Carmen. I'm going to make you a promise."

"What promise?"

"When this is over—when Jonathan is destroyed, I'll give you money. Enough to start over. Enough to stop pretending." He looked at her. "But only if you keep doing exactly what I say."

Carmen's eyes filled with tears. "You're using me."

"Yes. But I'm also giving you a way out. That's more than Jonathan ever would."

He walked away, leaving her alone in the dimly lit corridor.