The Urban God Of Riverdale

Chapter 5: The Heirloom

Shockwaves ran across their pale faces and their eyes sank deeper into their sockets.

Rowen—the man they had all dismissed as worthless—actually knew Hagen.

Joel turned to Rowen, barely daring to look at him directly. He now saw him as someone entirely different, someone almost godlike.

When their eyes met, Rowen returned a quiet smirk. It wasn't hostile, yet it made Joel's blood run cold for no reason he could name, his heart freezing in place.

He shivered. Memories crashed through his head. He had been working with Fred and knew Rowen well.

He knew just how pathetic Rowen had seemed, how he ran around with Patrick like an obedient dog.

Joel had always despised it—seeing someone like that hovering around his boss. He believed people as pitiful as Rowen deserved no place in the world.

He had always craved the day his master would give him permission to break Rowen's bones to his satisfaction. And when that day had finally come, it turned out Rowen was someone of immense power.

So he had been hiding his identity all along. All the boasts he made were true! Joel wanted to believe it.

However, it was still too difficult to process. The weight of the truth was crushing him.

The act had been too convincing not to be real. The way Rowen had carried himself, the way he barely ate just so he could buy Emma a few cheap trinkets—that level of commitment went beyond extreme.

He gathered himself, still trembling, and turned to Hagen with all the confidence he could muster.

"You must be making a mistake, my lord. There's no way—"

Before he could finish, Hagen's hand crashed into his jaw with devastating force, completely shattering it. Blood poured down Joel's face.

Then Hagen seized him by the face and held firm.

"Are you trying to say I don't recognize the one who picked me off the street, fed me, and gave me a life?"

Their eyes instantly widened.

The way Hagen spoke—with absolute certainty and conviction—left no room for doubt. He was completely sure of what he was saying.

At that, Joel's head dropped to the ground and his body went slack.

He was as good as dead and there was no point fighting it.

Everything was beginning to make sense now. The way Rowen moved through the building with steps barely audible, like those of a trained assassin. His manners were unmistakably refined. At first Joel had assumed it was simply Rowen trying too hard to impress Emma.

If only he hadn't been so blinded by contempt, he might have seen that those qualities had always been too natural to be performed.

Hagen turned to Rowen, and his once severe expression softened completely.

"I apologize for arriving late, young master. How do you wish for them to be punished?"

"Hmm," Rowen murmured, stroking his chin as though weighing the question.

Meanwhile, Joel and the rest of the gang kept their heads bowed. They didn't dare speak or argue. They deserved whatever was coming and could only hope for a merciful end.

"Lock them up. I'll have use for them in the future. And I don't want them running their mouths about who I really am—at least not yet, not until I've uncovered the truth." He paused, and something flickered behind his eyes before vanishing.

Hagen bowed.

He clapped once and his guards moved in to seize the men. Joel was still stunned, his jaw slack despite the pain.

He had been expecting the worst form of torture and death imaginable, yet Rowen had shown them mercy—for now—despite everything they had done to him.

Though Joel said nothing as they dragged him away, something passed across his face as his eyes found Rowen one last time. Gratitude.

Then Hagen turned back to Rowen. The dangerous, imposing presence from moments before had receded entirely, replaced by the bearing of a devoted servant who understood the value of silence.

"We heard about your... wife. What do you intend to do now? I could—"

"No." Rowen cut him off before he could finish, as if he already knew what was coming.

His hands tightened at his sides. If Hagen already knew, that meant his grandfather knew too.

"The old man, always monitoring my every move," he muttered.

"Call my father and tell him to prepare the welcome he's always wanted to give me. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of that 'I told you so' look when I make the call myself."

Hagen bowed without a word.

He didn't bother offering the young master a ride, already knowing he would refuse. That knowledge drew a slight smile from Rowen.

His next stop was Emma's place. He needed to retrieve something precious he had given her—his mother's ring, a family heirloom he had handed over the day she had once saved him. Now that they were no longer together, he needed it back.

Meanwhile, Emma and Fred wore matching expressions of cold satisfaction.

"I'm sure he's as good as dead already," Fred said.

"He deserves it," Emma added, speaking about the man she had lived with for years without a trace of remorse.

Just then, Mr. Kane, the hotel manager, rushed into the room. He had heard that Mr. Rowen was in his hotel and wanted to welcome him personally.

When he stepped inside, Fred immediately straightened, recognizing the young man who controlled such a powerful portion of the city.

Emma was barely containing her excitement. Very few people in the city had ever seen the multibillionaire in person, and to her, it was all thanks to Fred's connections.

Fred quickly stepped forward with a broadening smile and extended his hand.

"Welcome—" he began, but Mr. Kane looked straight past him without acknowledgment. The person he had come for was Rowen, and Rowen wasn't there.

His expression fell and he turned to leave.

"He must not be much for conversation or handshakes. But at least he came here because of you. You could even visit his headquarters to propose a business deal, since he clearly considers you someone important," Emma suggested.

At that, Fred's ego settled back into place and his posture straightened.

"You're right."

Meanwhile, Mr. Kane's attention caught on the ring Emma was wearing. Everyone in Rowen's circle recognized that ring on sight.

That has to be his wife, he thought. Or someone close to him.

He stepped toward Emma, and she nearly lost her composure entirely. He shook her hand, then paused.

"That ring—it belongs to Mr. Hart, doesn't it?" He used the family name by which Rowen was known in the business world.

"Keep it safe. It means a great deal to him." With that, he smiled and left.

Both Fred and Emma stood frozen. They knew perfectly well that the ring belonged to Rowen—who was not Hart.

Confusion washed over them like ice water, settling deep into their bones as they tried to process what they had just learned.