The Adopted Heir

Adam's phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the nightstand, dragging him out of a rare, dreamless sleep. He groaned, rubbing the crust from his eyes. The sun was already slicing through the blinds, too bright for someone who had only gotten three hours of rest. He reached for the phone, ready to throw it against the wall. "Hello..." he dragged with sleep on his tone. “Geez Adam, where the hell are you?” Becky’s voice was sharp, panicked and very awake. Becky is his father's secretary and the only one who managed to keep him from completely losing his mind most days at the office. “The press conference starts in twenty minutes!” she yelled. “Wait, what?” Adam shot up from bed. “Twenty minutes?!” “Yes, i***t! Twenty! Your father is already losing it. You need to be here. NOW.” "I thought the press conference was scheduled for tomorrow?" "Change of plans" Becky hissed, clearly surprised from her own end. He ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced around his apartment. Empty whiskey glass on the table, suit jacket crumpled on the floor, shoes kicked off near the door, files and paperwork scattered on the bed—his entire life in a snapshot. “I’m on my way,” Adam said, already swinging his legs out of bed. “Adam, this is not just some meeting. I think he’s announcing the new product today. Do not screw this up.” Becky hung up before he could respond. "Fuck..." He cursed under his breath. Of course his father would drop a bombshell today. That is Andrew Duvall for you—ruthless, calculated, and always ten steps ahead. Andrew is fifty years old but looking thirty, He is the Patriarch of the Duvall family and running the empire like a warlord. People didn’t say no to him—ever. Adam unlocked his phone peeping at the notifications and time. 8 Missed Calls ~ Dad 10 Missed Calls ~ Becky 5 Missed Calls ~ Mom 2 Missed Calls ~ Nathan He looked at the time which said 11:52 Am "s**t, s**t, Shit..." He cursed, stumbling into the bathroom, splashing water on his face, trying to wake up. The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like the polished CFO of a billion-dollar empire. He looked like a man haunted by his own life. The faint shadows under his eyes were a reminder of the nights he spent poring over numbers, fixing mistakes his younger brothers made and, of course, drinking himself into numbness when memories of his ex-wife crept in. Diana. Her name flashed like a ghost. The woman who almost burned the Duvall family to the ground. He still didn’t know if she ever loved him, or if she married him just to get closer to the empire. Probably the latter. She left scars he couldn’t see in the mirror but felt every time he tried to trust someone new. He shoved the thought away, pulled on a crisp black suit from his closet, and headed out the door. *** The ride to the Duvall Empire was chaos. New York traffic was a nightmare, Becky called him three times every five minutes, her voice getting sharper each time. By the time he pulled into the underground garage, he was already bracing himself for his father’s wrath. The Duvall Tower rose like a monument to power—fifty stories of glass and steel, the beating heart of their fashion empire. Inside, assistants in sleek black outfits buzzed around like bees, clutching tablets and phones, whispering nervously as he strode through the lobby. Heads turned, eyes followed him. That was the thing about being a Duvall, no matter how messy your life was? people still looked at you like royalty. The elevator ride felt like a countdown to hell. When the doors opened onto the press floor, chaos greeted him. Reporters lined the stage area, cameras flashing, microphones in hand. The Duvall crest was displayed on a massive screen behind the podium, and his father stood near it, sharp in a custom navy suit. Clara Duvall, his mother and family Matriarch, sat elegantly in the front row, her face a perfect mask of grace and control. No one would guess that the woman in diamonds and silk was as ruthless as her husband. “Adam” his father barked as he approached. The tone was low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. “Late… again, I see” he said while wearing a fake smile for the press. “Traffic...” Adam muttered. “Fix your tie. You look like you just rolled out of bed.” Andrew said, eyes narrowing. Adam bit back a retort and adjusted his tie. Clara stood, gliding toward them like a queen. She kissed her son’s cheek, her perfume overwhelming the atmosphere. “Darling, smile...” she whispered. “This is a big day.” “Yes mom, I know. Anything I should be worried about?” he asked, scanning the room. “I’ll let you know if any,” she said, with a smile that never reached her eyes. His brothers were already seated. Richard sat straight-backed, looking like he owned the place. Jason slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t care less about the empire he was set to inherit one day. Billy whispered to Eva, his manipulative girlfriend—both of them looking like they were plotting their next scheme. And Nathan… Nathan wasn’t even pretending to care. He was fiddling with his phone too, probably texting his secret admirer. They were the picture-perfect family to the public, but Adam knew better. They were a ticking time bomb. The press conference began with his father stepping up to the podium, his voice booming and confident. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for joining us today. The Duvall empire has always stood for excellence, ambition, and innovation. We have built a legacy that spans decades, and today, I want to share something personal.” The room fell silent. Adam leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk. “My family is my greatest achievement,” Andrew continued, his eyes sweeping over them like a king surveying his heirs. “The Duvall Luxury Group has always been more than a brand. It is a symbol of power, ambition, and excellence. For decades, we’ve set the standard in fashion. And today, we raise it higher.” The screen behind him lit up, revealing a slow-turning 3D image of a sleek black shoe. The reaction was dramatic—gasps rippling through the room as if he’d just cured cancer. “This...” Andrew continued, gesturing like a magician revealing his greatest trick. “is the Duvall finest. The Étoile Noir. A design years in the making. Hand-stitched Italian leather. Custom black detailing. Precision craftsmanship. This is not just a footwear. It’s a statement.” Adam had to admit—his father knew how to sell. Reporters scribbled furiously while photographers snapped away, trying to catch every detail. “The Étoile Noir represents evolution” Andrew went on, his voice dropping just enough to draw them closer. “It represents legacy. For decades, we have dressed presidents, icons, A-listers, and leaders. The Étoile is designed for the next generation of power. Because true power...” he paused, letting the words sink in “...is rare.” The applause was deafening. Flashes lit up the room like fireworks. Clara leaned back in her seat, smiling like a queen, fully satisfied with the spectacle. His brothers all sat stone-faced, but Adam knew exactly what they were thinking: another way to remind the world that the Duvall's weren’t just rich—they were untouchable.