From Rags to Riches: Revenge of the Consortium Heir

003. Young Master... you're alive.

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of my modest apartment, casting a gentle glow on the sparse furnishings.

I stirred awake, instantly reminded of the previous night's events by the soreness in my body. Each movement was a sharp twinge of pain, echoing my emotional agony.

'I should probably get some pain killers from the store,' I thought, trying to push myself upright. The effort sent a jolt of pain through my bruised frame, making me wince.

My gaze landed on the cracked screen of my phone, lying forlornly on the table beside the worn sofa that had doubled as my bed. The web of fractures across the screen was a stark reminder of my current plight.

'So I'm going to have to take from my savings to get a new phone? That sets me back an extra 2 months plus,' I calculated, the harsh reality of my situation sinking in deeper.

A deep, weary sigh escaped me, the weight of my troubles feeling more acute than ever.

The room felt smaller, the walls seemingly closing in, as if to mirror my constricted circumstances.

The mundane objects around me – a chipped mug on the counter, an old pair of sneakers by the door – mocked me with their simplicity, in stark contrast to the complexity of the emotions swirling within me.

Still nursing my aches, I decided to search for some spare change in my old wooden box – a modest treasure chest where I kept my small savings.

As I sifted through the coins and a few crumpled bills, my hand brushed against another, slightly larger box tucked away in the back of the closet.

It was a box I rarely opened, one that held the few keepsakes I had of my mother.

With a mix of nostalgia and sorrow, I pulled out the box. The wood was worn, each scratch and chip a testament to its age and the memories it contained. Inside, amidst old photographs and a few trinkets, lay my mother's old phone – a simple, outdated model, but it held a universe of memories.

My heart clenched as I picked it up. The phone was a relic, a piece of a past that seemed both painfully distant and comfortingly close.

I wondered if it still worked, if it could serve as a temporary replacement for my broken phone. Even if it couldn't connect me to the world as effectively as my modern phone, it connected me to something far more precious – memories of my mother.

I flicked the power button on the old phone, and it sputtered to life, only for the screen to flash a low battery warning. I rummaged through drawers, finally finding a compatible charger.

Plugging it in, I couldn't help but feel a connection to my past sparking back to life. With a few crumpled bills pocketed from my wooden box, I stepped out, my body protesting each movement.

The morning air was crisp, the streets just beginning to stir. I shuffled to the drugstore, each step a reminder of last night's confrontation.

Inside, the fluorescent lights seemed too harsh, too bright. I grabbed painkillers, a pack of ice to soothe my bruises, and on a whim, a bag of chips for breakfast.

Back home, the first thing I did was check the old phone. It had come to life, showing five missed calls. Puzzlement furrowed my brow. "Who would be calling my mom's old number?" I muttered, flipping the phone in my hand.

Just as I reached for my broken phone to start transferring contacts, the old phone rang again, the screen displaying 'Private Number.'

'A spam call? This early in the morning?' I thought, annoyance creeping in. But the persistence of the caller sparked my curiosity. Reluctantly, I answered, not uttering a word, waiting for the caller to speak first.

"Hello, am I on to Elizabeth Harrington?" The voice was aged, seasoned by years, yet carrying a distinct clarity.

"Who's asking?" My reply was guarded, my curiosity piqued.

"I'm Mr. Wisconsin, an old acquaintance. Please, if she's there, can you put her on the phone?" The politeness in the caller's voice made me soften my stance a bit.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wisconsin, but that won't be possible. My mom died two years ago." My voice faltered slightly, a hidden sorrow peeking through.

"Did you say your mom? Hold on, who am I speaking with?" The confusion in Mr. Wisconsin's voice was evident.

"Uhmm... Ethan... Ethan Harrington, son of Elizabeth Harrington. Now if you don't mind, I'd love to... "

"Elizabeth had a son?" Mr. Wisconsin's disbelief was palpable, almost as if my existence was a revelation to him.

"I'm hanging up now." I said, a mix of politeness and irritation in my tone.

"Wait... Just for a second." Mr. Wisconsin's voice held a note of urgency.

"I said, 'My mom, who you want to speak with, is dead. Except you want to go speak to her in her grave, I think that will be all.'" My patience was wearing thin.

"Young Master... You're alive." The words from Mr. Wisconsin were spoken with a mixture of shock and something that sounded like... hope.

As Mr. Wisconsin's words hung in the air, a flicker of curiosity stirred within me. "Young Master? What do you mean by that?" I asked, my irritation giving way to intrigue.

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Ethan, how much do you know about your father?"

I paused, reflecting. Since my earliest memories, I had no knowledge of my father. My mom always implied that he was out of the picture, practically non-existent in our lives.

"My father?" I echoed, a tinge of confusion in my voice. "I never knew him. My mom never talked much about him. As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't exist."

"I see," Mr. Wisconsin said, his tone carrying a hint of something I couldn't quite place – was it regret? Understanding? "Ethan, the reason I'm asking is that I actually work for your father."

My heart skipped a beat. "You work for my father?" The words felt foreign, almost unreal.

"Yes, Ethan. And he has been trying to locate you for quite some time now. It's a complicated story, one that I believe you deserve to hear in full."

I felt a mix of disbelief and a strange sense of anticipation. "What are you talking about? My mother always said..."

"I understand this must be a shock," Mr. Wisconsin interrupted gently. "Your mother had her reasons for keeping this from you. But your father, he's been trying to find you for years."

This revelation sent my thoughts into a whirlwind. "Why now? And why should I believe any of this?"

"Your father has been searching for you for a long time. For you and your mother. This line wasn't deactivated for this reason, in case it was ever used again, and that's how I found you. I can't say much over the phone, but your father is a man of considerable means and influence. He wants to meet you, Ethan. He wants to be a part of your life."

I sank onto the sofa, my mind racing. "I... I need some time to process this."

"Of course, I understand. But please, Ethan, don't go anywhere. I'm coming over to meet with you so we can discuss and arrange for you to see your father."

As I hung up, the room seemed to spin around me. I had lived my whole life without a father, believing he didn't exist. And now, out of nowhere, not only was he alive, but he was searching for me, eager to meet.

The prospect was as daunting as it was intriguing. ‘What kind of man was he? What did he want from me? And why had my mother kept his existence a secret?’

Lost in these thoughts, I didn't notice the time slipping by. The painkillers must have made me drowsy, because the next thing I knew, two hours had gone by.

I dragged myself up and headed for the bathroom. After a shower, I dressed in worn-out jeans and a polo shirt, preparing to leave for the grocery store – the last job I had left.

"I should go job hunting. Or maybe Mr. Phil, the owner of the grocery store, will let me work overtime," I muttered to myself as I locked my apartment and started walking.

It wasn’t far, so I decided to go on foot. My mind kept wandering back to the call I'd received earlier. He had told me to wait for him. 'Well, I can't just keep waiting and risk losing my only source of livelihood.'

It wasn't long before I got to the store. Alexa, with her bright red hair and striking green eyes, was the first to greet me at the grocery store. She wore a vintage band tee and blue jeans, her style simple yet distinct. "Hey Alexa," I said.

"Ethan? What the hell happened to you? You look like..." She paused, searching for the right words.

"A piece of shit?" I offered, completing her sentence. "Yeah, I know."

"That was not what I was going to say. Who did you get into a fight with?" she asked, concerned, examining my black eye and swollen cheeks.

"It doesn't matter," I said, trying to dismiss her concern. "I'm fine, you don't have to worry."

"And I'm sorry about your girlfriend," she added as I walked away, stopping me in my tracks. 'My girlfriend? What does she mean by that?'

I turned back to her. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Knew what, Alexa?" I pressed, my patience thinning.

She pulled out her phone and showed me an I*******m post. It was from that night at Sophia's place, with her rejecting me and my gifts.

'Shit! Those idiots didn't just record it for fun. They posted it online?'

But what really hurt were the comments:

- "Dude got rejected so hard, I felt it through my screen 😂"

- "Imagine thinking cheap gifts would win her over. #Pathetic"

- This guy really thought he had a chance with Sophia? 😂"

- "Imagine being that deluded and desperate... cringe."

- "Can't believe someone would embarrass themselves like that."

Then there was Sophia's comment, the one that felt like a dagger:

- Sophia's comment: "Some people need to learn, love isn't bought. #MovingOn"

Then James’ reply underneath hers: A dropout like him can't learn that and he can't even afford love, not to talk of yours.”

I was humiliated, not just in front of her friends, but now in front of the world. Students at our university would have seen this. My world seemed to collapse around me. The hurt, the betrayal, it was all there for the world to see and mock.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I handed the phone back to Alexa and headed for the closet, my usual refuge.

There, the emotions morphed into something darker. Hate, anger, and an overwhelming desire for revenge consumed me.

Revenge. That was the only thing on my mind. That was all I could think of, how to make them all pay.

I didn’t realize how long I was there until I heard Alexa calling my name. She knew where to find me.

"Ethan, are you okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'm okay," I lied, trying to control my emotions.

"You don't sound okay. Can you come out and let's talk?" she urged.

Silently, I wiped my face and emerged to find her waiting with a handkerchief and a drink.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," she said with a smile.

I nodded, acknowledging her kindness. Alexa and Mikey, my other colleague, were perhaps the only ones who seemed to understand and care for me. Mikey had once suggested I ask Alexa out, saying she was into me, but after everything, love was the last thing on my mind.

All I could think about was rebuilding my shattered life, trying to make something of what was left.

"Come on, let's go back before Mr. Phil starts looking for us," Alexa urged, pulling me gently by the hand.

I followed her back into the store, where Mr. Phil was at the front, behind the counter, attending to customers. Mr. Phil, a kind-hearted man in his late fifties, with a gentle demeanor and a constant twinkle in his eye, always had a way of making everyone feel welcome.

"Hey you two, care to give a helping hand here?" he called out, and we both nodded. Alexa joined him at the counter, while I went to assist a customer – a woman struggling with a baby in one arm and trying to balance her grocery bag in the other.

"Let me help you with that, ma'am," I offered, rushing to her aid.

"Oh, thank you so much. My car is just around the corner," she said gratefully.

After helping her load the groceries into her car and receiving her thanks, I turned to head back to the store. That's when I saw it – a convoy of the most extravagant cars I'd ever laid eyes on.

Forget your run-of-the-mill Lexuses and Mercedes; these were the kind of vehicles that sent jaws to the floor at auto shows.

I'm talking about the latest model of the Rolls-Royce Wraith, not your regular one also.

But one that seemed like it has been kissed by Midas himself. The black color was as dark as the night, adorned by golden details on the hood, rim and other areas.

And in the centre of all of the 4 Wraiths, was a Rolls-Royce limousine, a huge and grand car with a black and gold outside. It had a long and nice body, like a boat or a castle.

Yeah, I know cars enough to know that these were no ordinary vehicles. It was an extravagant display of wealth, the kind you'd expect in a high-profile presidential convoy, or see in a high-end magazine, not in our quiet neighborhood.

I stood there, momentarily lost in admiration. 'Could the president be visiting?' I wondered.

But before I could come up with a logical explanation, the convoy smoothly entered the grocery store's parking lot and began to circle around me, as if I were a roundabout. They then parked neatly, forming an almost perfect circle with me at the center.

My heart raced, pounding against my chest. A mix of awe and fear gripped me. 'What's going on? Why are they here?' I thought, frantically trying to piece together a reason for such an extraordinary display.

The doors of the cars began to open, and I braced myself for what was about to happen next.

One by one, well-dressed men stepped out of the cars, their sharp suits and sunglasses painting a scene straight out of a movie. They stood beside their vehicles, their posture rigid, eyes scanning the surroundings. My mind raced with questions and a sense of unease.

The last to emerge was from the limousine. The door opened slowly, and out stepped a man who seemed to command the air around him. He was tall, with an air of authority that was almost tangible. His gaze locked onto mine as he approached, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Ethan Harrington?" he inquired, his voice deep and resonant.

"Yes, that's me," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Young Master." He started and gave a bow of respect. “I'm Mr. Wisconsin. We spoke on the phone earlier today."