Born to Be Wealthy

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its hands pointing to half past seven. For Nathan, that meant it was time to leave for work. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his shirt collar and smoothing down the creases in his trousers. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic. He wanted to look neat, respectable—even if his life was far from glamorous. Once satisfied, he turned toward the small living room where his aunt, Dasy Stuart, sat quietly. She was the only family he had left. His uncle, her husband, had passed away a year ago after a sudden illness. Nathan still remembered the day vividly—the hospital’s cold explanation that it was a heart attack, though something about it had always felt strange, unresolved. “Aunt,” Nathan said softly, using the affectionate term for aunt, “I’m heading to work now. Please take care of yourself. If anything happens, just call me.” His tone carried respect, almost reverence. After all, it was his aunt and late uncle who had raised him, who had given him guidance when his own parents had vanished from his life. Dasy nodded slowly, her eyes warm but weary. “Yes, Son. Be careful on the road. Work honestly, and don’t let anger consume you if people insult you. Remember, we are poor. Don’t fight against the rich, Nathan. It will only bring trouble.” Nathan forced a smile, though her words cut deep. “I understand, Aunt. I’ll be careful. I’ll go now.” He stepped out of their modest house on the edge of the city, climbing onto his old scooter—a relic gifted by his uncle. The scooter was worn, its paint chipped, but to Nathan it was priceless. It carried memories of his uncle’s kindness, of simpler days when life felt less heavy. --- At the office parking lot, Nathan carefully maneuvered the scooter into its usual spot among the rows of shiny motorcycles. He had barely turned off the engine when laughter erupted nearby. “Hey! Look who’s here—the loser with the junk scooter!” one of the employees sneered. Others joined in, their voices dripping with mockery. “Still riding that piece of trash? Hahaha!” Nathan’s jaw tightened. Anger flared inside him, not because they insulted him, but because they insulted the memory of his uncle. That scooter wasn’t trash—it was a symbol of love, of sacrifice. But Nathan swallowed the rage. He remembered his aunt’s words. He couldn’t afford to lash out. He walked past them silently, his focus fixed on the day ahead. He wasn’t here to win their approval. He was here to earn money—for his aunt, for survival. --- Nathan had been working since finishing high school, juggling jobs and classes to support his family. After his uncle’s death, he became the sole breadwinner. His life was a cycle of work and study, with little room for rest. That morning, he threw himself into his tasks, working quickly and efficiently. By noon, he had already finished most of his assignments. As he tidied his desk, something caught his eye—a small flash drive lying beneath the chair. Curious, he picked it up. Plugging it into his computer, he discovered files inside. His eyes widened as he clicked on one video. It was scandalous—an explicit recording of the manager’s daughter with none other than the man who had mocked him earlier. Nathan froze. His mind raced. What is this? Why would someone leave this here? Then, a thought sparked. A dangerous, tempting thought. “Aha,” he whispered. “I know how to make him pay for insulting my uncle’s scooter.” He hesitated, doubt gnawing at him. “But… is this right? Am I crossing a line?” He stared at the computer screen, torn between morality and vengeance. Finally, he clenched his fists. “No. This is for Uncle. For everything they’ve done.” Minutes later, a sly grin spread across his face. “Hahaha… I did it. Let’s see how you like being humiliated.” Nathan uploaded the video to the office’s internal system, disguising it as CCTV footage from the parking lot. The scandal spread like wildfire. --- The reaction was immediate. Whispers filled the air. Employees exchanged shocked glances, their eyes darting toward the man who had mocked Nathan. The man’s face turned pale as realization hit—everyone had seen. He tried to slip out of the room, but the manager intercepted him at the door. Fury burned in the manager’s eyes. “You bastard!” the manager roared. “What have you done to my daughter? How dare you touch her!” He signaled to the guards, who seized the man and dragged him away. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed through the hallway as the guards beat him mercilessly. The entire office watched, stunned. Nathan stood among them, his expression calm but inwardly satisfied. Justice, in his eyes, had been served. --- The scene triggered a memory. Nathan recalled his school days, when he had once received poor grades. His uncle had scolded him harshly, even striking him to drive the lesson home. At the time, Nathan had cried, feeling unloved. But later, he realized it was discipline born of care. It pushed him to study harder, to graduate with top marks. Now, as he watched the downfall of his tormentor, Nathan felt that same sense of stern justice. Actions had consequences. --- That evening, Nathan returned home. His aunt greeted him warmly. “Aunt, today I received my salary. Here, take it for your needs,” Nathan said, handing her the money. Dasy shook her head. “Nathan, this is your money. Keep it for yourself. I don’t need it. I’ve already cooked something delicious for you.” Nathan insisted, his voice firm. “Aunt, I work for you. So you can cook, so we can eat every day.” But she refused again. “No, Son. The money you gave me last time is still enough.” Nathan sighed, slipping the money back into his pocket. He would save it for emergencies. After dinner, he offered to wash the dishes. “Aunt, let me do it. You must be tired from cooking.” She smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Nathan.” Later that night, Nathan sat by the window, gazing at the stars. Questions swirled in his mind. Who are my parents? Why don’t I have a complete family like others? Yet amidst the longing, gratitude filled his heart. He still had his aunt. He still had memories of his uncle. That was enough—for now. Eventually, sleep claimed him. --- The next morning, Nathan woke to the buzzing of his phone. Dozens of missed calls and messages from unknown numbers filled the screen. One message stood out: “Young Master! This is Dylan Farrow. I’m glad to have finally found you.” Nathan blinked. Young Master? The title was strange, foreign. Who was Dylan Farrow? He typed back cautiously. “Who are you? Do I know you?” The reply came swiftly. “Of course, Young Master. I am Dylan Farrow, personal assistant to the William family.” Nathan’s confusion deepened. The William family was the wealthiest in Reymore Vile. Why would their assistant contact him? “What do you want from me?” Nathan asked. Dylan’s response was chilling. “I only wish to inform you, Young Master, that your twin brother, Mac William, has just passed away. You are now the sole heir of the William family.” Nathan’s heart pounded. Shock rippled through him. Me? An heir? A twin brother? This must be a trick. It can’t be real. But Dylan insisted. “Yes, it is true. The mysterious young master of Reymore Vile is gone. And you, Nathan, are his twin. The rightful heir.” Nathan’s hands trembled as he typed. “If you are truly Dylan Farrow, prove it.” “Very well,” Dylan replied. “I will come to you now.” --- Hours later, Nathan heard the rumble of engines outside. A convoy of sleek black limousines pulled up in front of his modest home. Security guards in suits stepped out, their presence commanding. From one of the cars emerged Dylan Farrow, distinguished and confident. Aunt Dasy stepped outside, her eyes widening in shock. “Dylan? Is that you?” Dylan smiled politely. “Hello, Aunt Dasy. It’s good to see you again. Where is the young master?”