The Zero-Dollar Heir: The Discarded Son-In-Law’s Revenge

Chapter 5: The Smell of Burning Blood

The broadcast on the massive flat-screen television cut to static as the studio anchor frantically tried to manage the absolute collapse of the Vance Group's press conference. I didn't need to watch any further. The look on Chloe’s face right before the camera feed died—the sheer, unadulterated terror in her eyes—was already burned into my mind. It was a beautiful sight.

"Sir," Lawrence Sterling said, his tablet chiming with a rapid succession of high-priority alerts. "The Vance Group’s stock has been halted on the local exchange after dropping forty percent in less than four minutes. Institutional investors are pulling out their capital, and three of their primary shipping lines have already filed notices to cancel their contracts. They are terrified of being caught in the crossfire of our two-billion-dollar bounty."

"What about Lockhart Financial?" I asked, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the VVIP suite, overlooking the sprawling city below. The storm was clearing, patches of weak sunlight breaking through the heavy grey clouds.

"Old Master Lockhart—Bryan's father—just called an emergency board meeting," Lawrence replied, a clinical, precise edge to his voice. "He has frozen the eighty-million-dollar investment promised to Chloe Vance. He might be arrogant, but he isn't stupid. He knows that honoring that deal means setting fire to his own banking empire."

I let out a low, dark laugh. "So, Bryan Lockhart’s 'eternal love' didn't even survive five minutes against a real financial storm. How predictable."

I adjusted the sleeves of my charcoal suit, the fabric crisp and heavy against my wrists. As I did, the sharp movement caused a sudden, stabbing pain to lance through my left leg. I grunted, shifting my weight.

"Young Master, your leg..." Lawrence stepped forward, his face clouding with deep concern. "The injury from the dog attack. We have the best reconstructive surgeons in the world waiting downstairs. Let them treat the scarring."

"No," I said coldly, holding up a hand to stop him. "Let it throb. I want to remember exactly what it felt like to be treated like an animal by people who aren't even worthy to breathe the same air as me."

My mind drifted back to that horrific night eight months ago. I could still hear the low, guttural growling of Eleanor Vance's massive Tibetan Mastiff echoing in the dark garage. The beast had broken its chain, its eyes bloodshot and feral. When it lunged, its massive jaws sank deep into the meat of my thigh, tearing through muscle and denim alike.

I had screamed in agony, the metallic scent of my own blood filling the enclosed space.

When Eleanor and Chloe finally walked out of the villa, attracted by the noise, they didn't call an ambulance. Eleanor had rushed over to the dog, wrapping her silk arms around its thick neck, checking its paws for any injuries. Then, she had turned to me, her face contorted with pure, unbridled malice.

“Look what you’ve done, you clumsy piece of trash!” she had shrieked, delivering a vicious, ringing slap across my face while I lay bleeding on the concrete. “You agitated my precious Duke! If he develops an infection or gets traumatized from tasting your filthy, low-class blood, I will make sure you pay for his veterinary care with your life! Get out of my sight and wrap that up in the shed. Don't dare track blood onto the driveway!”

Chloe had stood beside her mother, watching me hold my mangled leg. There was no pity in her eyes. No love. Just an immense, suffocating embarrassment that her husband was making such a disgusting mess.

“Go to the garage apartment, Ethan,” Chloe had said, her voice completely detached. “And make sure you wash the concrete before tomorrow morning. The smell of your blood is making me nauseous.”

I had dragged myself to the tool shed that night, my vision fading from blood loss. They refused to give me money for a hospital visit, claiming that a stray dog's life was worth more than mine. I had to take a crude sewing needle, sterilize it with cheap rubbing alcohol, and manually stitch the gaping wound in my thigh, biting down on a rubber hose to keep from blacking out from the sheer, agonizing trauma.

I closed my eyes, shaking off the memory as my phone—the encrypted burner device—began to ring.

The caller ID displayed a number I knew by heart. It was Chloe.

I let it ring for a long time, the mechanical vibration humming against the marble countertop. On the tenth ring, I picked it up, pressing it to my ear. I didn't say a word.

"Ethan!" Chloe’s voice exploded through the speaker, completely stripped of the calm, corporate arrogance she had displayed on television just minutes ago. She was hyperventilating, the background noise filled with the chaotic shouting of her assistants and the frantic ringing of office phones. "Ethan, answer me! Where the hell are you?"

"Why are you calling me, CEO Vance?" I asked, my voice smooth, deep, and completely devoid of inflection. "I thought I was a parasite. A thief who dragged your family's immaculate name through the dirt."

"Stop playing games!" she hissed, though I could hear a distinct tremble of pure panic beneath her anger. "Did you see what happened? The Horizon Group just issued a global liquidation bounty against us! The entire market is turning on the Vance Group! Our stock is collapsing!"

"I saw," I replied indifferently.

"Bryan's father just froze our investment credit lines," Chloe gasped, her professional facade completely shattering into desperation. "He said... he said the Horizon Group specifically mentioned our 'corporate practices' as the reason for the bounty. Ethan, your sister... you were begging for her medical bills yesterday. Did you do something? Did you say something to someone at the hospital?"

She still didn't get it. Even now, standing on the edge of a financial volcano, her arrogant brain couldn't comprehend that the man she had treated like a dog was the one holding the leash. She assumed I had simply complained to a passing executive, or that some minor administrative error had triggered the shadow conglomerate's wrath.

"I told you last night, Chloe," I said, leaning my hand against the cool glass window, watching the tiny, ant-like luxury cars moving on the streets below. "You shouldn't have signed those papers. You shouldn't have touched my sister's life support."

"You... you really think this is about your useless sister?" Chloe snapped, her voice rising to a screech. "Don't flatter yourself, Ethan! You're a zero-dollar nobody! The Horizon Group is a multi-billion-dollar empire; they don't care about a vagrant like you! This must be a misunderstanding, a corporate error. I'm going to the Horizon Group headquarters right now to meet with CEO Lawrence Sterling myself. I'll fix this."

"You won't even make it past the lobby," I said softly.

"We'll see about that!" Chloe snarled. "And when I clear this up, I will personally ensure that the police track you down for the jade theft from last night! You will rot in a prison cell, Ethan Cross!"

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my lips. I looked over at Lawrence, who was already preparing my coat.

"She is heading to your corporate headquarters, Young Master," Lawrence said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "She believes she can negotiate her way out of the Syndicate's wrath."

"Then let's give her the meeting she so desperately wants," I said, pulling the charcoal suit jacket over my shoulders. "But I don't want her to see me immediately. Let her crawl through the dirt first. Let her experience what it's like to beg for mercy from an invisible master."

"Understood. The executive boardroom is prepared," Lawrence said, bowing.

Ten minutes later, we were back in the armored convoy, moving silently through the financial district toward the towering, glass-and-steel monolith that served as the headquarters for the Horizon Group. The building structure pierced the sky like a silver needle, a monument to absolute financial dominance.

As my car pulled into the private, restricted underground VIP entrance, I looked at the main plaza outside. Even from here, I could see Chloe’s white Mercedes sports car parked illegally on the curb.

She was sprinting up the granite steps, her hair slightly disheveled from the wind, her face pale as she clutched a leather corporate portfolio to her chest. She looked desperate, frantic, completely stripped of the regal majesty she had flaunted at the banquet.

I stepped out of my vehicle, walking into the private express elevator that led directly to the 80th-floor chairman's suite. The lift moved with an invisible, silent speed, the pressure changing in my ears as I ascended to the peak of the city's economic food chain.

When the doors opened, the executive floor was silent, covered in thick, plush carpets and lined with priceless ancient artifacts. Lawrence walked ahead, opening the double-sided mahogany doors to the central control boardroom. The room featured a massive, panoramic glass wall that looked down directly onto the main lobby eighty floors below through an advanced, high-definition camera array.

"Bring up the lobby feed," I commanded, sitting down in the high-backed leather chairman's chair.

The central digital screen flared to life. Down in the marble lobby, Chloe was frantically arguing with the chief of corporate security.

"I am Chloe Vance, CEO of the Vance Group!" she was screaming, her voice amplified through the directional microphone array Lawrence had activated. "I need to see CEO Lawrence Sterling immediately! My company's entire survival depends on this meeting! Let me up!"

The security guard, a massive man in a crisp black uniform, didn't move an inch. "Madam, as I have already told you three times, you do not have an appointment. Furthermore, the Vance Group has been flagged on our security mainframe as a hostile entity. You are ordered to leave the premises immediately."

"Hostile? That's a mistake! A massive mistake!" Chloe cried out, her eyes wide with frantic terror as she looked around the bustling lobby, where other executives were actively avoiding her like she had the plague. "Please! Just give him my name! Tell him I'm here!"

I watched her through the screen, my fingers slowly tracing the golden dragon crest on my black titanium card.

"Lawrence," I spoke into the desktop microphone. "Let her up to the intermediate reception floor. But make her wait. Let her watch her company's stock ticker completely hit rock bottom before she gets a single word."

"Immediately, Young Master," Lawrence smiled.

Down on the screen, the security guard suddenly paused, listening to his earpiece. He looked at Chloe, his expression hardening. "CEO Vance, you have been granted temporary access to the 50th-floor general reception. Step into the service lift."

Chloe let out a desperate sob of relief, rushing toward the elevator banks like a drowning woman breaking the surface of the water. She had no idea that she wasn't climbing toward salvation—she was walking straight into the heart of my trap.