The Zillionaire's wrath

CHAPTER 4: The Weight of a Legacy

 

A few voices drifted into my consciousness. They were blurred, distant, and disjointed, as if my head was buried in a bubble.

I held my breath suddenly as every muscle in my body was tightening. Kidnapping!

The realization made my insides turn with fear.

The men in black, the SUVs, the white suit man who’d stood over me like a god… my mind raced to assemble the pieces of a nightmare. 

Why me? I was a ghost, a nobody. I had nothing to steal.

An ache rippled through my skull, a rhythmic, pulsing reminder of the night’s trauma.

"He’s awake."

The voice was deep, resonant, and calm. I forced my eyes open, the sudden light that hit me stinging hard. The first thing I saw was the immaculate white suit from the alleyway. I looked up, meeting the gaze of a man with a full, snowy-white beard. 

His nose was sharp, hawk-like, leading toward eyes that were a piercing, cold, and calculating shade of green.

"Mr. Henry Rowland," he said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach those sharp, focused eyes.

I gasped, pushing myself up. I wasn't in a cell, much to my surprise. In fact, it was completely the opposite of a confinement.

I was sitting on a plush, velvet couch in the center of an opulent living room that looked more like a museum than a kidnapper’s den. I blinked, trying to clear the fog. "How… how do you know my name?"

The man snapped his fingers. A maid abruptly materialized from a corner bar, carrying a wine bucket filled with ice and two crystal glasses. She poured a deep crimson liquid and offered a glass to me.

I hesitated, my survival instincts screaming.

"Take it, Mr. Rowland. I assure you, it isn't poisoned," the old man said, his tone amused.

I took the glass, my hand shaking and cold. My throat was totally parched, thirsty enough to drink poison if it tasted like wine. I gulped it down, the expensive vintage hitting my empty stomach with a jolt. 

I let out a long, ragged breath and handed the glass back to the startled maid.

"Pour him another," the man ordered. He crossed his legs, leaning back into the cushions. "I know your name because I have been following you for a very long time, Henry."

"Why?" I asked, my voice raw. "Did Samantha’s mother take a loan and list me as a guarantor? I swear, I had no idea—and I have nothing to give you!"

The man chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "I know all that, Henry. And no, she didn't take a loan from me. In fact, I have everything to give to you. There is so much you don’t know about your own bloodline."

I tried to stand, but before I could find my balance, two heavy hands pressed down on my shoulders, pinning me to the couch.

"I don't intend to keep you against your will," the old man said, signaling for the guards to release me. "But you must listen before you leave. I’m Steve Parker. Ten years ago, a man named Harold Rowland came to me with a message."

My heart stopped and my eyes flickered with shock. "My father?"

Steve nodded. "He showed me an ancient secret hidden for centuries on a remote island. That island is a private estate, originally owned by a man named Muller Flick—a German tycoon from the 1800s. He was obscenely wealthy, but he had no heirs. He left his entire empire to a stranger who saved his life. That stranger was Aaron Rowland Williamory—your grandfather."

I felt the room tilt slightly. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Flick built a massive, secret consortium here in New York," Steve continued, his eyes locked onto mine. "When your father discovered the truth, he knew he was a marked man. He came to me to safeguard the key for you, Henry. This dynasty is yours. You own shares in companies across this continent. As we sit here, you are arguably one of the wealthiest men in the country, though you haven't realized a dime of it yet."

I scoffed, a nervous, scattered laugh escaping my lips. "Stop it. You’re bluffing. I’m Henry, the failure. The nobody. I was homeless hours ago—still am."

"I am not joking," Steve said, his voice hardening. "And that is just the surface. At the center of that island is a vault containing documents that will cement your dominance over every company on this continent. It’s secured by a biometric lock. Only your bloodline can open it, Henry. You are the last of the Rowland line."

I ran my hands through my hair, my head spinning with the sheer impossibility of it. "A trillionaire? Me? No one would believe that, not even me, old man.”

I couldn’t possibly fathom it! I had nothing my entire but the people I had eventually lost. Why would my father live and die as a poor man if he truly owned so much?

Steve leaned forward, his presence suffocatingly intense. "Once you secure those assets and I coach you through the transition, you’ll be a zillionaire within years. The possibilities are endless."

He spoke about zillions, not even trillions!

My pulse skyrocketed, the dormant fire of a sudden ambition in my gut which I never knew I had roared to life—only for it to be instantly doused by his next sentence.

"But now that you’ve been discovered, Henry," he whispered, his eyes hardening into flint, "your life is in grave danger."