The Chosen Heir

Chapter 20: What a lie?

Indide, Hawthorne International was alive with its usual buzz, assistants scurrying across polished floors, phones ringing, deals being struck in hushed voices. Ash felt out of place, a ghost drifting into a world that wasn’t his.

And there he was. Mr. Langston.

Adjusting his cufflinks with precise, measured movements, Langston didn’t immediately look up. He didn’t have to. His presence alone commanded silence.

Ash swallowed hard.

“Sir,” he managed, bowing slightly, as if respect alone could mask the panic rushing through him.

Langston eyes lifted, icy and calculating. “You’re late.”

Ash's throat closed. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Langston stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the marble. He brushed an invisible speck of dust off his suit sleeve before tilting his head. “Keys.”

Ash froze, but forced himself to nod. He pulled the keys from his pocket and placed them carefully in Langston’s waiting hand, praying, begging silently that fate would be merciful.

Langston walked past him, towards the car parked outside. The silence inside the building was suffocating. Even the assistants had paused, their gazes darting nervously between the car and Ash.

Ash's knees threatened to buckle.

Langston circled the Mercedes slowly, hands clasped behind his back like a judge examining evidence. Then, he stopped. His gaze landed on the scratch.

A long, ugly, undeniable scratch.

The silence broke. A sharp, derisive laugh cut through the air. One of the executives standing nearby chuckled under his breath. A whisper followed, then another, until it was a chorus of low murmurs.

Langston turned back, his expression unreadable. “Do you know,” he began, his voice smooth and dangerous, “what this car costs?”

Ash licked his lips. “Sir, I—I—”

“Do you know?” Langston snapped, his voice rising like a whip.

Ash flinched. “N-no, sir.”

Langston took a step closer, eyes boring into him. “More than your entire life’s earnings. That’s what it costs. And yet, here we are. You’ve managed to ruin it in a single afternoon.”

A ripple of laughter swept the hall. Some covered their mouths politely, others didn’t bother.

Ash's face burned.

Langston wasn’t done. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a cold whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “You think this is a charity? You think we hand out responsibilities so boys like you can play chauffeur and wreck million-dollar assets?”

Ash wanted to disappear. To vanish into the floor. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

Langston straightened, smoothing his tie. Then, with a calculated cruelty, he turned to the gathered staff.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let this be a lesson. Some men aren’t built for responsibility. Some are born to fail.”

The words hit Ash like a punch. The smirks around the room carved into his pride, each one a knife twisting deeper. He wondered if the man of yesterday was real or wasn't seeing what was happening here.

Langston held up the keys. “You have until Friday. Two days. Replace this, or…” He let the pause linger, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “…don’t bother showing your face in my company again.”

The keys landed at Ash’s feet with a sharp clatter. He bent down slowly, hands trembling as he picked them up. He didn’t dare look at anyone. His vision blurred, whether from shame or tears, he couldn’t tell.

“Dismissed,” Langston said, adjusting his cufflinks once more as though Ash’s existence was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“No. Let me be clearer.” He took another step, until his shadow draped over Mike like a mantle of judgment. “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”

“All I need from you is a replacement of this mess you caused. Else you'll face the consequences.” He moved away pulling his phone from his pocket, probably to call his assistant.

The assistants went back to work, but not without glances, smirks, whispers. Mike could hear them even as he turned and walked out, each word slicing into him like glass.

“Pathetic…”

“…should’ve never been hired…”

The doors spat him out into the cold night air.

He stood there, clutching the keys so tightly they dug into his skin. The Mercedes loomed behind him, the scratch gleaming mockingly under the lights. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. He couldn't help but wonder if this was really the empire that the man was talking about himself being the heir.

He sighed. What a lie.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white, one thought scorched his mind:

Friday.

Two days to prove he wasn’t the failure they thought. Two days to claw his dignity back from the ashes. Two days to turn humiliation into something else.

But for now, he was finished.