The Veritas Heir

Rain poured from the sky like the world was weeping. Cold, angry rain. It dripped from streetlamps, splashed in puddles, and soaked through Zane Veil’s thin hoodie as he walked along the cracked sidewalk, heading to his job for the night.

His stomach growled. Loud. Sharp. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

He clutched the paper bag he always carried, his tools: gloves, cleaning spray, and a rusted keycard for the building. Nothing else. No phone. No wallet. No umbrella. Just the bag.

People didn’t look at him as they passed. They never did. He was invisible. To them, he was just “the cleaner.” 

The one who emptied bins and wiped floors at the gleaming glass tower on Holloway Street.

Inside the lobby, everything was quiet. The marble floor shone under soft lights. Big paintings hung on the walls. 

A security guard behind the desk nodded without really seeing him. “Late again, Veil,” the man grunted.

Zane didn’t argue. He just walked to the janitor’s closet. He’d learned long ago, arguing only made things worse.

…

Zane worked alone. Always had. The night shift meant silence. Mops, vacuum noise, distant sirens through windows. 

His hands were fast, his mind faster. As he cleaned, he studied things. Not for fun. For survival.

He had once wanted to be an architect. Now he scrubbed floors designed by architects.

He moved to the 21st floor. The executive level. No one was there at night. Still, Zane moved carefully. Quietly. A ghost in his own life.

He entered Harlan Thorne’s office. The boss. The man had called him trash last week. In front of everyone. “A cleaner who thinks he’s worth more than his mop? You’re lucky I let you sweep where kings walk, Veil.”

Zane hadn’t said a word back. But he remembered. Always.

…

Zane emptied the trash bin. Paper crumpled. A glass of half-drunk whiskey sat on the table. He picked it up. Then, Clink.

A USB drive fell to the floor. Must’ve been stuck under the paper. Zane stared at it.

It was black. Smooth. No label. Ordinary. But something in his gut twisted. He looked at the office door. Still locked.

Zane’s eyes flicked to the computer. The screen was dark. But the power light was on.

He sat. Hands shook. Just a look, he told himself. Just a peek. He plugged in the drive.

The screen blinked. A loading bar appeared. Then words: VERITAS PROTOCOL: EXECUTIVE ACCESS

Zane’s breath caught. Files opened. Charts. Names. Offshore accounts. Hidden meetings. Secret buyouts. Then a document named: “FOR THE HEIR ONLY.”

He froze. “What?” he whispered.

The screen blinked again. "Facial scan in progress."

A tiny camera above the monitor turned red. Zane stood up fast. Panicked. Too late.

“MATCH FOUND. ACCESS GRANTED. Welcome, Mr. Veil.”

His legs nearly gave out. The lights in the office flickered. The computer shut down. Everything went black.

…

The next morning, Zane was fired. Harlan called him in during a staff meeting. Everyone watched.

“You broke into my office?” Harlan asked, smiling. “You touched my computer? You stole from me?”

Zane’s mouth opened. Closed. He had no words. He didn’t steal anything. He hadn’t even saved the files. “I didn’t.”

“I don’t care.” Harlan’s voice cut like ice. “Security footage shows you in my chair. That’s enough. You’re done.”

Layla was there too. His ex. She watched him like he was a worm on a hook. “You always wanted to be something more,” she said coldly. “Turns out you’re nothing.”

Laughter. From the crowd. From people who used to smile at him behind Harlan’s back.

Zane picked up his bag and walked out. He didn’t look back.

…

That night, he walked home again. The city was louder now. Or maybe he was quieter.

His hoodie was soaked again. His shoes were worn out. He passed broken signs, locked storefronts, and a man yelling at a parking meter.

Then he saw it. A black car. No, a convoy. Three cars, all dark, all gleaming, parked in front of his building. The kind you only saw in movies. 

One man stepped out. Tall. Bald. Dressed in gray. “Zane Veil?” he asked.

Zane froze. “Who’s asking?”

“I am.” The man opened a folder. Inside was a paper with Zane’s name, birthday, even his blood type. “You’re needed immediately. It’s about your father.”

Zane blinked. “My father’s dead.”

“Yes,” the man said. “And he left you everything.”

Zane laughed. Bitter. “I don’t even know who my father was.”

The man didn’t blink. “You will.”

…

Zane didn’t remember getting into the car. It felt like a dream. The seat was warm. The windows were black. The city vanished behind him.

They drove for hours. No one spoke. Not the driver. Not the man beside him.

At last, they pulled up to an old manor behind black gates. It looked like something from a forgotten kingdom.

The front door opened. A woman in silver stepped out. She was sharp-eyed. Stern. “Mr. Veil,” she said. “Welcome to House Veritas. Your inheritance has been activated.”

Zane’s lips trembled. “Inheritance of what?”

The woman smiled. “Of the world’s most powerful empire.”

Then she handed him a small silver key, identical to the one he wore around his neck, left by his mother years ago. The match was perfect. And so it began.