Beneath the Burking name

Chapter Four - hope

A soft knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts.

“James?” My mother’s voice called out, quiet as always.

I stood up and opened the door. She stood there in a pale silk robe, her expression calm but her eyes heavy with worry. “Your father is upset,” she said. “You know how he gets when he’s worried.”

I laughed bitterly. “He’s not worried, Mom. He’s angry I might ruin his image again, I mean, that’s all he cares about, and you know it .”

Her lips pressed together, the same way they always did when she didn’t want to argue. “He loves you, James. In his own special way, he might not know how to show or express it, but he does love you unconditionally .”

“I know,” I said softly. “That’s what makes it harder.”

She sighed, reaching up to adjust the collar of my shirt, a gesture she’d done since I was a boy. “You look tired,” she said. “Rough night?”

I hesitated. “Something like that.”

She studied me for a moment, as if she could see the truth beneath the silence. “You have work today, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go,” she said. “Focus on that. Whatever it is that’s troubling you, it’ll make sense in time.”

I wanted to believe her, but past experiences had made me hesitant to do so. I freshened up and headed straight to work. Hoping this time things will be different.

The great Burking Company tower loomed over the city like a monument of perfection. I had grown up walking through its halls, memorizing every frame nailed to the walls, every smiling photograph of my father shaking hands with senators and CEOs. It was the empire I was destined to inherit, whether I wanted to or not.

The lobby smelled of polished wood and money. The employees greeted me with forced smiles, being polite yet distant, as if they were greeting a prince they feared more than they admired.

As I stepped into my office, I caught my reflection again in the glass window. The city stretched out before me, looking busy, beautiful, and uncaring as usual. I should have felt powerful. But instead, I felt trapped; I yearned for freedom and happiness, yearning to be normal.

I loosened my tie and leaned back in the chair, staring at the skyline. My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I frowned, answered. “Hello?”

Silence. Then, there was a soft voice, one I recognized instantly.

“Are you feeling better?”

My breath caught. “Who is this?”

“You don’t remember?” A gentle laugh, low and familiar. “You were a mess last night. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me at all.”

“I—” My throat went dry. “You’re the one who helped me.”

“Yes,” she said. “You looked like you needed it.”

The room seemed to shrink around me. “How did you get my number?”

“You left your phone on the table that night, and there was no password. I called my number on it and deleted it after .” A pause. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Something in her voice made my heart race—the same calm warmth I couldn’t forget.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Silence. Then, softly: “You’ll find out soon.”

The line clicked dead.