Chapter 4: The Titan’s Shadow
Four massive men in black tactical suits flooded into the room like a dark tide. With brutal, calculated efficiency, they shoved Donovan and Brenda backward, pinning them forcefully into the corner.
“What are you doing?! Murder! Help!” Brenda shrieked in terror.
The bodyguards split into two columns, clearing a path down the center of the room. The rubber tires of a wheelchair hissed softly against the linoleum floor. Richard Prescott sat in the chair, dressed in pitch black, his hands resting on his mahogany cane. His eyes, sharper than blades quenched in ice water, slowly swept over Donovan and Brenda before finally landing on me.
In a fraction of a second, the oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate. The terrifying, suffocating aura of a man who spent his life holding the power of life and death over the financial markets filled every inch of the space.
“Grandpa,” I called out softly.
Richard didn’t respond to me directly. He looked at my bloodless face. His fingers tightened around his cane. “Which one is Donovan Hayes?” His volume was low, but it rattled the windows.
Donovan swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand upright. “I… I am. Sir, this is a private family matter.”
“Family matter?!” Brenda, sensing that this old man was somehow related to me, felt her trashy, belligerent nature flare up. Clutching the baby boy like a shield, she shrieked. “Oh, I see! You brought your trashy family to back you up, huh? Listen here, you old fossil, your granddaughter eats our food and spends our money—”
SMACK!
A slap so loud it sounded like a gunshot detonated in the room. Benson, Richard’s Chief of Staff, had moved like a ghost. He backhanded Brenda across the face with devastating force. The impact spun her entirely around in place. She crashed heavily to the floor. The baby rolled out of her arms, shrieking. Brenda’s cheek swelled up visibly in seconds, bright red blood leaking from the corner of her mouth.
“Mom!” Donovan screamed, lunging forward.
The bodyguard standing next to him simply raised a hand and clamped it down on Donovan’s shoulder. His knees buckled, and with a heavy thud, he was forced down onto one knee on the hard floor.
Benson calmly pulled a white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, methodically wiped his hand, and tossed the soiled fabric onto Brenda’s face. “In the presence of Mr. Prescott, you will restrict the volume of your breathing. Say one more word, and I will have your teeth extracted with pliers.”
Donovan knelt on the floor, cold sweat rolling down his forehead. He struggled to lift his head, his gaze bypassing the hems of the bodyguards’ suits, locking onto the face of the old man. Recognition slowly dawned. The billionaire titan who could crash the stock market with a single cough. The absolute ruler of the Prescott Empire.
Donovan’s pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks in a surge of pure, unadulterated horror. He mechanically turned his head to look at me, dressed in a cheap hospital gown. “L…” his voice shuddered violently. “Is this Mr. Prescott? Is he…?”
“You got here fast, Grandpa,” I said.
“Not fast enough,” Richard replied, his eyes lethal. “Any slower, and my granddaughter was going to be thrown out of her hospital room so some bastard child could take a nap.”
“Mr. Prescott is your grandfather?!” Donovan threw his head up, his eyes bulging so hard they looked ready to pop. “That’s impossible! You told me you were from a dead-end town upstate! You argue with cashiers over expired coupons! How could you possibly—”
“Because she was acting,” Benson interrupted, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. He pulled a thick, gold-embossed dossier from his briefcase and hurled it directly into Donovan’s face. The heavy folder clipped Donovan’s nose, drawing a thin line of blood before scattering across the floor.
“Mr. Hayes,” Benson’s voice lacked a trace of warmth. “Three years ago, to marry you, Miss Prescott voluntarily surrendered her status as the sole heir to Prescott Industries. She froze her personal trust fund. She walked away with nothing, just to live the ordinary life you offered her. And you treated her like a broke, useless leech.”
The room was so silent you could hear the fetal monitor buzzing. Donovan stared at the asset summary sheet lying on the floor. The top line was printed in bold, undeniable ink:
Eleanor Prescott. First-in-line successor. Liquid Assets: $5,000,000,000. Status: Frozen.
His entire identity was wrapped up in his $120,000 corporate salary. He spent every night destroying his liver to impress clients. Meanwhile, his wife, who scrubbed his toilets, had left five billion dollars sitting on a desk for him. Donovan’s lips trembled violently. His throat sealed shut.
“No… no, this isn’t real.” Donovan suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the metal bed frame. “L, you’re just mad at me, right? You hired actors! I know you’re mad I missed your ultrasound yesterday, but I really was in a meeting! I do everything for this family!”
I looked at a man who was moments away from execution, still trying to gaslight the executioner.
“The watch on your left wrist,” I said, my voice utterly devoid of emotion.
Donovan froze. He reflexively glanced at his empty wrist. “I sent it in for repairs last month. Why are you asking about that?”
“It was a Patek Philippe Grand Complications,” I said softly. “I took it from my father’s vault before I left. It’s worth $350,000. You thought it was a Canal Street knockoff.” I stared dead into his terrified eyes. “You pawned it at a shady jeweler for four thousand dollars. And then you turned around and bought Khloe a Chanel bag.”
Donovan’s knuckles instantly turned paper white. He had thrown away a $350,000 masterpiece for the price of a used Honda Civic.
“No, I didn’t know!” Donovan’s body started shaking uncontrollably.
“Last Thanksgiving, the purple clay pot I used to make stew,” I didn’t stop. “The one you accidentally knocked off the counter and shattered. You yelled at me for buying thrift store junk.” I took a breath. “That was an authentic Ming Dynasty porcelain vase. The only one of its kind.”
Donovan felt a massive, invisible hand clamp down on his throat. “L… I’m sorry.” His knees completely gave out. He dropped to both knees, slamming onto the tiles, and began viciously slapping himself across the face. “I’m an animal! I’m blind! I didn’t know those things were so expensive!”
“Shut your mouth,” the bodyguard barked.
Donovan crawled forward, desperate. “L, forgive me! Just this once! I just had a moment of weakness. It was her!” He whipped his head around, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Khloe, who was shivering in the corner. “It was this slut! She seduced me! L, I don’t even love her! I only love you!”
Khloe’s eyes went wide. “Donovan, what are you saying? You were the one who called her a barren cow!”
A piercing shriek cut them off. Brenda launched herself off the floor like a rabid animal, tackling Khloe, grabbing her by the hair, and delivering a brutal backhand to her face. “You shameless homewrecker! You cursed my son! I’ll kill you!”
They brawled viciously on the floor, tearing at each other’s hair. Half an hour ago, they were the picture-perfect, loving family. The second five billion dollars entered the room, they turned into feral dogs ripping each other’s throats out.
I slowly turned my head, looking at Donovan. “You just said… you only love me?”
“Yes! Only you! I swear to God!” Donovan held up three fingers. “I’ll fire Khloe today! I won’t even claim the kid!”
“Last April,” my voice remained soft, “you told me the company was sending you to Chicago for a three-month intensive training.” My gaze drifted down. “Your first week in ‘Chicago,’ you were standing right here in St. Jude’s Medical Center, signing Khloe’s maternity admission papers.”
Donovan stopped breathing. His eyes stretched to their absolute limits.
“This morning, when I was dilated to five centimeters, the pain was so bad I chewed through my own lip,” I said, my voice dripping with an icy terror that made his bones ache. “The nurse called you sixteen times. Your phone was off. When I signed the surgical consent form, my hands shook so badly I dropped the pen.”
I leaned forward. “In that moment, I promised myself: when I get off this operating table alive, I am going to make you, your mother, and your precious bastard son vomit up every single thing you ever took from me. With interest.”
“No, you can’t!” Donovan snapped, lunging off the floor with the desperation of a madman, diving straight for the bed. “I’m your husband! The babies need a father!”
The second his fingers brushed the bedsheet, Benson stepped in. He raised a polished dress shoe and delivered a devastating front kick directly into Donovan’s chest. THUD. Donovan flew backward like a broken ragdoll, slamming violently into the wall. He crumpled to the floor, coughing up a string of blood.
Richard sat in his wheelchair, his eyes lethal. “Touch her again, and I’ll have your hands severed.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against my pillows. “Throw them out,” I commanded quietly. “Spray some bleach. It smells like cheap perfume in here. I hate it.”
