The Heir Returns
1066 Words
Third-person POV
Dawn had barely broken when the flight landed.
Two men exited the airport side by side.
One carried himself with an unreadable sternness — the kind of face sculpted from the pages of business magazines, the type of man people fantasized about when imagining ruthless, untouchable CEOs. The other walked beside him with an easy smile, lighter in presence.
A car waited at the curb.
An elderly driver stood beside it. The moment he spotted them, he offered a slight bow.
The smiling man bowed back politely. The stern one simply inclined his head.
For a brief second, the old driver found himself staring.
It felt like looking at someone he had once known — someone long gone — standing before him again in a different body.
He quickly opened the rear door.
“Welcome home, Sir.”
The gentleman gave a single nod and stepped inside. His companion took the front seat.
The drive was quiet. Only low music from the radio filled the silence.
From the back seat, he watched the road carefully. He knew this route too well to mistake where it was leading.
His throat tightened.
He coughed lightly and looked away from the window.
He hadn’t been here in twenty years.
He still didn’t fully understand why he had been summoned back. But he knew better than to ignore a summons from this house.
He closed his eyes briefly.
An hour later, the car slowed and stopped in front of a house that time had refused to touch.
The exterior was unchanged.
For a moment, he wondered whether the inside had remained just as frozen.
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
“Sir,” he said respectfully, gesturing for him to step out.
He exited the vehicle slowly.
The air felt heavier here.
Inside, the house was just as he remembered — polished floors, framed history, silence that carried memory.
He glanced toward the staircase.
For a fleeting second, he imagined someone standing there, waiting to welcome him home.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.
“The Old Master would like to see you before you retire to your room,” the driver informed him.
He gave a small nod and followed him down the corridor.
The driver knocked on the study door.
“Enter.”
The room smelled faintly of leather and old paper.
An elderly man in his eighties sat behind a desk, glasses perched low on his nose as he reviewed documents. He looked up.
And smiled.
“Everett…” he said warmly, rising from his chair.
Everett held his gaze.
“Hello, Grandfather.”
The driver quietly excused himself, leaving grandfather and grandson alone.
Old Diamond gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
“Sit.”
Everett took the seat without hesitation, his gaze scanning the study. Nothing had changed. The same heavy curtains. The same mahogany shelves. The same portraits staring down like silent judges.
“I am so happy you h—”
“Why am I here?”
The interruption was calm. Flat. Direct.
The old man’s smile faltered for half a second before he composed himself.
“Well,” he said smoothly, folding his hands over the desk, “I am not getting any younger. As my heir, it is time you begin learning the ropes at the company.”
Everett leaned back slightly.
“I’m busy,” he replied. “And tired.”
He stood.
“We can discuss business after I’ve rested.”
The old man’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Have the driver take me to a hotel,” Everett added. “I need distance before I need memories.”
For a moment, silence thickened between them.
Old Diamond clenched his fist beneath the desk, out of sight.
He could not push him.
He knew better than anyone that Everett did not respond well to force. The boy — no, the man — had been forged in something harder than obedience.
“Very well,” the old man said finally, masking his irritation with cold dignity.
“But you will report to the company at noon.”
Everett paused at the door.
Without turning back, he answered, “We’ll see.”
Then he left.
The old man remained seated for several seconds after the door closed.
He exhaled slowly.
The grudge still lived in him.
And perhaps, he thought, it was time that grudge found a purpose.
“Do you need anything, sir?” the butler’s voice came softly from the doorway.
Augustus shook his head slowly. His gaze remained fixed on the photograph resting on his desk, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“He is his replica, isn’t he, Julian?” he said quietly.
The butler stepped closer, already knowing who his master was referring to.
“Yes, sir,” Julian replied with a respectful nod. “It is like looking at Master Brighton himself.”
Augustus opened one of the drawers of his desk and took out another photograph. This one was older, slightly worn at the edges.
It was a picture of three generations — himself, his son, and his grandson.
He remembered the day clearly.
It had been Everett’s first rugby practice. The boy had been only ten years old then, proud in his oversized uniform. Brighton Diamond had insisted they take a photograph together for the school’s Legacy Day.
Three generations of Diamonds.
Augustus traced the edge of the picture with his thumb before placing it carefully on the desk.
“Julian, don’t forget to arrange a car to pick him up from the hotel after lunch. He needs to be at the board meeting.”
“I have already informed Alex to remain available for him, sir,” Julian replied.
The old man nodded in approval.
“Have you heard from the Wright family yet?” Augustus asked.
“I received word that they arrived in Norwood City yesterday afternoon,” Julian answered.
“Good.”
Augustus leaned back in his chair.
“The sooner this marriage happens, the better.”
Julian hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
“Have you considered how you will break the news to the young master?”
A slow smile crossed the old man’s face.
“One problem at a time, my old friend,” Augustus said calmly.
“One problem at a time.”
- Writer
