PHILIP SCOTT: THE LOST HEIR

THE LAST HEIR

Philip opened the door and stepped outside, his chest still heaving with the weight of the shocking revelation that he was the last heir of a powerful, notorious and rich family. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of his life now shattered by the sudden news.

He found himself in a stranger’s house, only to discover he was the grandson of Barry Aton, a wealthy and infamous businessman. The realization was as overwhelming as it was surreal.

The garden he wandered into was nothing short of a botanical paradise, teeming with vibrant flowers from every corner of the world. Birds chirped melodiously, their songs weaving an almost heavenly ambiance that was opposite of what stormed inside Philip's mind. The lush greenery and the floral scents should have been soothing, yet they only highlighted the chaos within him.

"Grandson? This can't be possible," he muttered to himself, his hands cold with anxiety. The early morning air, typically refreshing, now felt oppressive, filled with the weight of his newfound identity. Confusion swirled around him, mixing with disbelief and a lingering sense of betrayal.

As he turned to retrace his steps, Barry Aton emerged from the house, followed by two imposing bodyguards. His presence was commanding, yet there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Son, you have to calm down. We can talk about this," Barry urged, his tone gentle yet firm.

"Calm down?" Philip's voice rose, a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Do you know what I have gone through in my life? All my life, I have always lost. I’ve always wished someone would save me. Even if there's a slight chance that you are my grandfather, how could you have not found me all these years?"

Barry's expression softened, remorse evident in his eyes. "I didn't know you were alive," he replied, his voice heavy with regret.

"Didn't know?" Philip scoffed. "You have all the resources to find me, but you didn’t."

Barry sighed, the burden of past mistakes weighing heavily on him. "Honestly, you want to know the truth? I don't believe any of this," Philip retorted, his skepticism growing.

"And… and… how did you find me now?" Philip demanded.

"I saw the news," Barry admitted.

"What news?" Philip asked, he was bewildered.

"The news about your prison. Your face looked so much like your mother, my daughter," Barry explained.

"Oh please, spare me this bullshit. There’s no way a mere resemblance would make you assume I'm your grandson."

"You're smart, Philip. Of course, it wasn’t just the face. I dug deeper."

"What do you mean by that?" Philip interrupted his curiosity immediately.

"I checked your files, traced your parents. At first, they wanted to deny it, but they finally admitted the truth," Barry continued.

"My parents?" Philip echoed, a realization dawning on him that he hadn’t seen them in days. The notion hit him like a punch to the gut. "I don't believe you," he added, his voice trembling.

"You can ask them," Barry suggested gently. "Take all the time you need, Philip. Go back, make your inquiries about who your real parents are, and come back home. I’ll be waiting for you, my son."

Philip stood there, exhaustion and confusion was all over his face. The thought that his entire life could be built on lies left a gaping hole in his heart. He had endured so much—Jessica’s cruelty, the disdain of everyone around him—always hoping for a savior. Could this be real? Or was it another cruel trick life has to offer?

In a surge of disregard and determination, Philip stormed out of the Aton estate. Barry had offered him a car, which he initially refused, but the long distance ahead made him reconsider. Accepting the car and the company of two bodyguards, Philip set off to uncover the truth of his origins.

"Sir, they've gone," one of the bodyguards informed Barry Aton as he settled into an outdoor chair, taking in the serene surroundings.

"Good… good," Barry muttered, his mind clearly elsewhere. "I want you to take a few men and follow them secretly. I don’t want anything to happen to my son."

"But… but… what if he sees us? Wouldn't that be suspicious?" the man queried.

"I know," Barry conceded. "But I can’t take any risks. Andrew Lane is a very dangerous man. We can't afford to take chances."

"Okay," the bodyguard nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation as he turned to leave.

Barry remained seated, as he observed his garden and the workers who carried out their daily activities around it. His past mistakes haunted him, and the fear for Philip's safety gnawed at his conscience. Only time would tell if Philip would return, and if their fractured bond could be mended.

He was betting on the fact that Philip would accept the role of the new chief executive of the Aton empire since he had no time left on him.

PHILIP SCOTT'S HOME

The car continued down the dusty road at fast speed, a trail of loose gravel and dust kicked up in its wake. Philip Scott sat in the back seat, his mind racing faster than the vehicle. The revelation that had brought him here felt surreal and overwhelming. The idea that his entire life might pivot on this newfound knowledge was something he couldn't control.

It was a strange mixture of a blessing and a curse, a twist of fate so unexpected it felt like something out of a novel. But how could his parents have hidden such a life changing secret from him all these years? He was a grown man now; surely they could have told him that he wasn’t their biological child. Yet, here he was, finding out the truth under the most harrowing circumstances—after being locked up for a crime he did not commit. It was a bitter pill to swallow, one that stuck in his throat and weighed heavy on his heart.

"Sir, where to next?" the driver’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

"Just keep moving down the valley. You’ll see a farmhouse," Philip replied, his voice steady despite the tension inside him.

The car descended into the valley, navigating the rutted, unpaved road. Each bump and jolt felt like a punch, but Philip barely noticed. The region was primarily farmland, and the air was thick with dust, which cloaked the car and made it difficult for the driver to see. Cornfields lined the narrow road, their tall stalks swaying gently in the breeze, a contrast to the turbulence within Philip.

Philip’s parents had been corn farmers, making a living from the land. It was their primary source of income, but the yields were never quite enough to lift them out of financial hardship. Despite their struggles, they had built their home here, a modest sanctuary in the middle of vast fields.

As the car approached another intersection, Philip noticed a group of children playing soccer in the street. The sight of the sleek, unfamiliar car brought their game to an abrupt halt. They stood there, frozen, their eyes wide with curiosity and awe. In this small, tight-knit community, such a vehicle was not common. The children stared in awe, and even the adults nearby paused their activities to watch the car pass by.

From his vantage point behind the tinted windows, Philip observed the scene outside. The townspeople couldn’t see him, but he saw them clearly. After a few more minutes of winding through the valley, Philip pointed to a familiar spot.

"Stop here," he instructed, his voice tinged with anticipation and anxiety.

The car came to a halt in front of his childhood home. Outside, his father was hunched over, struggling to fix a tire on his old, battered truck. The arrival of the luxury car caught him off guard. Knowing Philip's financial difficulties, he couldn’t fathom who might be visiting in such a vehicle. When Philip stepped out, his father’s eyes widened in shock, his hands stilled, and the wrench he held fell to the ground.

"Hello, Dad," Philip said, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

Mr. Scott stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe his eyes. He had followed the news closely, learning of his son's incarceration for financial fraud. The sight of Philip, free and standing before him, was almost too much to process.

"Philip… is it really you?" Mr. Scott's voice was barely above a whisper. He dropped the greasy towel he had been holding and moved toward his son, tears brimming in his eyes.

Philip rushed forward, enveloping his father in a tight embrace. "I thought I lost you for twelve years," Mr. Scott murmured into Philip’s shoulder, his voice choking with emotion.

"What happened?" Mr. Scott asked, his hands cradling Philip’s face as if to reassure himself that his son was truly there. He blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

"I was wrongfully accused," Philip said, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. "I didn’t do it."

"I believe you," Mr. Scott replied, his voice firm with conviction. The words were a balm to Philip's soul, a reassurance that he so desperately needed.

Philip nodded, feeling a glimmer of relief at his father's unwavering support. "Where is Mom?" he asked, glancing around for the familiar figure of his mother.

"Your mother... your mother..." Mr. Scott's voice trailed off, his expression shifting to one of profound sadness.

"What happened?" Philip asked, his heart pounding as a wave of panic began to rise.