Mr. Graham
1073 Words
“But Brian, I have nowhere to go!” Claire cried, her voice trembling with desperation.
Brian stared at her, his heart heavy with empathy. He knew all too well what it meant to have no safe place to lay your head. It wasn’t long ago that he had faced the same harsh reality—sleeping under bridges or in unfinished buildings, where the cold and uncertainty haunted him. During his freshman year, he had desperately sought a spot in a hostel, only to find that all the spaces were filled.
He had ended up squatting with a friend, but as is often the case with human nature, their relationship soured, and he was eventually kicked out. The streets had become his home, and the struggle for survival had been tough.
“You can stay with me for now, until you save enough money for accommodation,” Brian said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart.
Just then, his phone buzzed, an unknown number flashing on the screen. It rang persistently, cutting through the tension in the air. Brian hesitated, unsure if he should answer the call.
The phone rang four times before he decided to pick it up. “Hello, am I speaking to Brian Taylor?” a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the other end.
“Good day, sir! I’m Brian Taylor,” he replied, glancing at Claire, who was watching him with concern.
“Come to Everest Hotel,” the elder man commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Brian opened his mouth to ask a question, but the call had already ended.
“Brian, who was that? And why do you look so gloomy?” Claire asked, her brow furrowed.
“It’s a call from a stranger. He said I should meet him at Everest Hotel,” Brian explained.
“Everest Hotel? Oh! Wait, I know the place. Did he tell you the room number?” Claire asked, her curiosity piqued.
“No, he didn’t. And besides, I know the place, but I’m a bit scared. What if it’s the Maxwells? You know they can do the extraordinary,” Brian admitted, his anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.
Just then, his phone buzzed again with a notification from the same number. “I just received the room number,” Brian said, showing Claire the message.
“Brian, my advice is to go. Don’t worry—the Maxwells can’t do anything to you because you’ll be inside one of the Morris’ priceless buildings,” Claire suggested, her voice firm.
“How did you know?” Brian asked, surprised by her confidence.
“I know many things you don’t, Brian. Don’t waste your time; go now!” Claire encouraged.
With a deep breath, Brian jotted down the address of his apartment and then booked a cab to Everest Hotel.
As he approached the hotel, he was struck by its breathtaking exterior. The architecture was unique, and the atmosphere exuded calm and serenity, making him feel a bit more secure.
Upon entering, Brian admired the elegant decor of the lobby, but in his distraction, he collided with a waitress. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” she exclaimed, stumbling back from the impact.
“I’m so sorry!” Brian apologized, rushing to help her up. But she waved him off, eyeing his shabby attire with disdain.
“I can stand up by myself,” she said, brushing off the encounter with a forced smile. “Please, I’m looking for Room 101,” Brian said, trying to regain his composure.
“Second floor, to your left,” the waitress replied curtly before returning to her duties.
Brian approached the elevator, but his path was suddenly blocked by the hotel manager and a couple of guards. “Who let you in here?” the manager demanded, his eyes narrowing.
“Sir, I was invited here,” Brian replied, confusion creeping into his voice.
“By whom?” the manager pressed.
“I don’t know the name, but—” Brian didn’t finish before the manager grabbed him roughly and threw him out of the hotel.
Stunned, Brian stumbled onto the sidewalk, unsure of what to do next. He had lectures at 3 PM and a growing sense of dread gnawed at him.
As he walked along the dusty road leading home, the bright sun warmed his skin, but it did little to ease his worries. The road was narrow, forcing him to step aside for passing cars. Suddenly, a Maybach blocked his path, and a second car stopped behind him, pinning him in.
*Why are these cars blocking my path?* he thought, anxiety creeping in.
The door of the Maybach swung open, and a group of men in black suits emerged, their expressions blank and unreadable.
Brian’s heart raced as they surrounded him, leaving him no escape. *Please don’t kill me; I’m the only child of my poor mother, and my family is counting on me,* he pleaded silently.
Then, from the front seat of the Maybach, an elderly man stepped out, dressed impeccably in the latest Tom Ford loafers and a limited-edition Stuart diamond suit.
In an instant, Brian’s mind raced. *The Maxwells have come to seek revenge for what Claire did to Mabel and her friends.*
“Brian Taylor, right?” the elderly man asked, his voice smooth yet commanding.
“I’m Brian Taylor, sir,” Brian replied, fear gripping his heart, though he tried to sound bold.
“I’m Mr. Morris Graham, your grandfather,” the man introduced himself, extending a hand.
“Sir, I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m Brian Taylor, and my surname doesn’t end with Morris,” Brian stammered, confusion clouding his thoughts.
“Brian, when I see my blood, I recognize it immediately. You are one of the Morris,” Mr. Graham insisted, his eyes piercing through Brian’s defenses.
“Let me pretend to believe you,” Brian said with a smile, relief flooding through him. *Wait! I’m the grandson of the Morris family? Wow! I never believed it.*
Mr. Graham handed him a photograph—a faded image of two young faces, his parents from their high school days. “Are these not your parents?” he asked, his voice softening.
“That’s my mom for real, but this person looks like my dad,” Brian replied, astonished.
“That’s my dad for sure,” Brian added, still coming to terms with the revelation.
- Writer
