RISE OF AN ESTRANGED TRILLIONAIRE SON

Chapter7

The reply came less than twelve hours later.

To: seattleinquirer73@tempmail.net

From: securecomm@reedtech-inc.com

Subject: RE: Urgent Matter – Clara Carter

A private jet will be waiting at Teterboro Airport, Hangar 7B, under the name “Smith.” Departure: 10:00 PM tonight. Destination: San Francisco. A car will meet you.Come alone. Bring everything.

J.R.

There were no greetings nor pleasantries. Just pure command. Adrian felt a grim satisfaction. The hook was set. And now, it was time for the fish to be caught. The fish he had been waiting for. The fish that made him endure all kinds of humiliation for two years. He spent the day moving through New York like a ghost, avoiding security cameras, buying nondescript clothing with the last of his cash.

The night came, and at the said time, Adrian was at the airport when the private jet arrived. It was so sleek that its polished surface reflected the runway lights. Just like scattered stars in the sky.

Entering in, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The cabin felt less like an aircraft and more like the living room of a billionaire’s penthouse. Soft cream leather seats lined each side, with warm golden lights glowing from the ceiling. Everything inside whispered of wealth and power. The kind of life Adrian had only ever seen in movies.

Quickly gaining some self control, Adrian sat on the seat close to the window, directed to him by one of the air hostesses. He was the only passenger. The flight attendants were polite but it was obvious it was only because they were being professional. They served him a meal he couldn’t eat. So he just stared out the window. And even though he was certain the box remained with him, he kept checking if the damning metal box was secured on the seat beside him.

A black SUV with tinted windows was waiting for him. The driver nodded for him to get in. And as soon as he got in, the man took off without uttering a word. The car drive was so silent that he couldn’t tell which was more intimidating between the drive or the driver. Finally they got to their destination and that’s when he realized he had been holding his breath like he was afraid to even let a pin fall. When they stopped, Adrian found himself in front of tall modern gates with moving security cameras.

When they finally drove in, Adrian felt a little bit disappointed. This wasn’t the picture of the mansion he had envisaged. In the middle of the compound was a simple bungalow.

Another silent man met him at the door and led him inside. The place had little furniture. The few pieces there looked like art. But it felt cold and expensive. They walked down a wide hallway to a room at the end. It was a study with big windows. One could see the ocean and the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge far away, from the window. But Adrian’s eyes went to the man in the high-backed chair facing the glass. The chair turned. Jonathan Reed.

He didn’t look like the man In the magazines. The strong and powerful aura was missing. He was thin and his sweater looked loose on him. His face looked pale. An oxygen tube ran from his nose to a small machine beside him. But the eyes were the same—bright blue, watching, sharp, tired.

“So,” from his voice, one could tell he suffered from a patched throat. But still his voice held that command tone . “The ‘Concerned Party’ arrives.” He gestured vaguely to a chair opposite him. “Sit.” He didn’t offer introductions. They weren’t necessary.

Adrian sat, placing the metal deposit box on the floor beside his chair. He met Jonathan’s gaze steadily, letting the silence stretch. He wouldn’t speak first.

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh. He picked up the remote and pressed a button. A panel opened in the wall behind Adrian. A man in a white coat walked in with a small kit. He didn’t speak or look at Adrian. He swabbed the inside of Adrian’s cheek, labeled the sample, and left. The panel closed.

“Paternity test,” Jonathan said. “Standard procedure. While we wait…” He nodded at the box. “Show me.”

Adrian opened it. And without a word, set the birth certificate supplement, the hospital memos about the amendment, and the first page of his mother’s diary, (those with her tear stains) on the table between them.

Jonathan leaned forward. His thin fingers shook a little as he picked up the birth certificate supplement. He read it with a blank face. Then the hospital memo. Amendment processed per J.R. directive. His jaw twitched. He read the diary page last, each page hitching his breath. When he looked up, his eyes looked lost

“Clara,” he whispered. He looked back at Adrian, “She hated me at the end.”

“With good reason,” Adrian stated, with a cold voice.

Jonathan flinched a little and then nodded. “Yes.” I don’t need to deny or excuse anything. She was right to be scared of me and hide you” He looked out. “I was weak and afraid. My world needed a certain image. A certain ruthlessness. A child… an illegitimate child…” He stopped, shook his head. “It was the worst cowardice of my life. And the cost…” He looked back at Adrian, regret in his eyes. “I see it now. In you.”

They sat in silence. The only sound was from the oxygen machine. A chime came from Jonathan’s chair. He pressed a button and the speaker echoed a voice: “Results confirmed, Mr. Reed. 99.98% probability of paternity.”

Jonathan closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, the regret was still there. But it was dominated by something Adrian couldn’t place.. He leaned forward and locked gaze with Adrian.

“Adrian,” he called with more authority. “You are my son. My only living heir.” He paused, allowing the words to settle with the young man. “I am dying. Pancreatic cancer. The doctors give me months. Maybe weeks.” He stated it clinically, without self-pity. “ReedTech… my empire… It needs strong hands. Hands that are not corrupted by the sycophants and vultures who surround me now.” He gestured vaguely towards the door. “Hands that understand what it is to be… outside. To be underestimated.”

Adrian’s mind reeled. Heir? Empire? It was too vast, too sudden. He’d come for answers, for confrontation, maybe for some twisted form of acknowledgment. Not… this.

Jonathan kept going, speaking quickly but clearly. Like he wanted Adrian to understand every word, bit by bit and not miss anything.

“I’m not just talking about owning a company. I’m talking about the kind of reach where a single decision you make could cost or save thousands of jobs. Where one call can move millions of dollars. Where people you’ve never met will suddenly know your name and have strong opinions about you. The people who smile to your face might plot your downfall behind your back. The ones who fear you will seek to break you. My enemies…” He paused, a shadow crossing his face. “They are ruthless. Once they see weakness, whether it’s actually real or just a tiny bit of perception of it, they strike. They will see you as a weakness. They will use you as an opportunity. Every mistake you make will be used against you. You’ll have more than you’ve ever had. But as beneficial as it is, it will come with constant pressure, constant judgment. If you accept this, your life won’t ever be normal again. That’s the reality of what I’m offering you.”

He leaned back, his energy seeming to drain away, replaced by the consuming fatigue. ”Taking this… it is not just accepting wealth. It is stepping onto a battlefield. A battlefield I created. Are you prepared for that, Adrian Carter? Are you prepared to become Adrian Reed?”

The question hung in the sterile, ocean-view room. The proof of betrayal lay on the table between them. The dying king offered a crown forged in lies and cowardice, wrapped in a warning of imminent war. Adrian looked from the gaunt, dying man who was his father, to the vast, dark ocean beyond the glass, then down at his own hands – the hands of a delivery driver, soon to hold the reins of a trillion-dollar empire. The fire in his chest wasn’t just anger anymore. It was the cold, hard flame of purpose. He met Jonathan’s weary, expectant gaze.

“Tell me what I need to do,” Adrian said, his voice low, steady, and devoid of hesitation. The delivery boy was gone. The heir had arrived. The real hunt was just beginning.