2025-04-23 22:35:25The mansion smelled different that morning.
Not the usual mix of lemon cleaner and cigar smoke, but something tense, sharp—like metal in the air before a storm.
Gregory descended the attic stairs as usual, already mentally preparing for the day’s insults. But today felt different. The halls were quiet. Too quiet. No laughter from the brothers. No barking orders from Mr. Rosewell.
He stepped into the main foyer—and froze.
Every member of the Rosewell family stood there.
All five children.
Mr. Rosewell in a sharp charcoal suit.
And someone new.
A man in his early forties. Neat, clinical, like a hospital administrator in disguise. He held a slim black briefcase and had the kind of smile that made Gregory feel like a lab rat.
“Ah,” the stranger said. “You must be Gregory.”
Gregory instinctively glanced at Mr. Rosewell, who offered nothing but a hard, unreadable stare.
“Gregory is the housekeeper,” Mr. Rosewell said coldly. “We found something of interest last night in the attic. Some… items.”
Gregory’s stomach dropped.
“You went through my things?”
“They’re not your things if they’re in my house.”
The man with the briefcase stepped forward. “My name is Dr. Harold Graves. I’ve been contracted to assist Mr. Rosewell with a matter of paternity verification.”
Gregory blinked. “What?”
Samuel, standing behind his siblings, looked confused too. “Dad, what’s going on?”
Mr. Rosewell cut him off with a raised hand. “Silence.”
Dr. Graves continued, “Due to the recent media attention surrounding Mr. Caldwell’s search for his lost son, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to conduct some… housekeeping of our own. Gregory here seems to be at the center of some curiosity.”
Gregory’s fists clenched. “You stole my things. My birth tag. The wristband—”
Mr. Rosewell raised his voice. “Enough!”
Gregory stood his ground.
For once, he didn’t bow his head. “If this is about Mr. Caldwell, then I should be the one to—”
“You are nothing, boy!” Mr. Rosewell thundered. “You clean toilets in my house. Do not mistake the charity of a roof over your head for significance.”
Seth chuckled. “Let the rat get tested. Maybe he’ll find out he’s just a rat after all.”
Dr. Graves opened his case with a metallic snap, revealing a small DNA swab kit.
“It’s simple,” he said, approaching Gregory. “A quick sample. Then we compare it to the sample provided by Mr. Caldwell’s legal team. Discreet. Confidential.”
Gregory’s chest rose and fell.
This could be it.
He nodded.
Dr. Graves swabbed the inside of his cheek, sealed the vial, and packed the kit like it was nuclear material.
“You’ll hear from us in a few days,” he said. “But I suggest you don’t go anywhere.”
Mr. Rosewell turned to his sons. “Escort him back to his quarters.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a prisoner.”
“You’re nothing unless that test proves otherwise,” Seth smirked. “And if it doesn’t…?”
Gregory didn’t answer.
Because the truth was, he didn’t know.
Back in the attic, Gregory stared at the ceiling.
His mind ran wild.
What if he wasn’t the heir?
What if it was all some sick game?
Or worse—what if he was the heir… and Mr. Rosewell had known all along?
Downstairs, he could hear raised voices. Samuel yelling at his father. A door slamming. Footsteps pacing.
Then silence again.
His pulse wouldn’t slow.
He needed air.
He needed answers.
That night, under cover of darkness, Gregory slipped out through the service door and headed to the local public library.
It wasn’t far. Fifteen blocks. He ran the entire way.
Inside, the night librarian gave him a wary glance, but he nodded politely and went straight to the newspaper archives.
He searched for hours.
Looking up anything on Richard Caldwell. Birth records. Old interviews. Anything about a missing child. A scandal. A loss.
And finally, he found it.
“Tragedy at Sea: Wife of Young Entrepreneur Drowns in Ferry Accident — Infant Presumed Missing.”
The photo of the woman in the article—long brown hair, a kind smile—sent a chill through Gregory.
He’d never seen her before.
But something deep in his chest ached.
His mother?
The article claimed the child vanished after the crash. The body was never recovered. The father, Richard Caldwell, had nothing but a single hospital ID wristband. No trace of the child since.
Until now.
Gregory snapped a photo of the article with his phone.
As he turned to leave, the librarian approached. “Library’s closing, son.”
Gregory nodded, heart still racing.
He was halfway to the exit when his phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
He answered cautiously. “Hello?”
A voice on the other end spoke quickly, almost urgently.
“You don’t know me, Gregory, but they’re watching you.”
Gregory stopped walking.
“Who is this?”
“I used to work for Caldwell’s company. On the inside. You’re closer than you think. But be careful. If they confirm you’re the heir, they won’t let you live long enough to claim it.”
The line went dead.
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Chapter 7: Hunted
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Gregory didn’t move.The attic light buzzed faintly overhead, casting long, crooked shadows across the room. Marcus stood in the doorway, one hand behind his back, his mouth curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.“What do you want?” Gregory asked, voice tight.Marcus stepped forward slowly. “You’ve been busy.”Gregory shifted slightly, keeping the envelope and burner phone hidden under the thin mattress. “If you’re here to threaten me, save it. I’ve had a long night.”“Oh, I don’t need to threaten you.” Marcus pulled his hand from behind his back and revealed… a thick, folded folder.He tossed it on the floor in front of Gregory.“Recognize this?”Gregory stared at it, not moving.“I saw you in Dad’s office,” Marcus said casually, pacing. “You’re not as sneaky as you think. I was watching from the camera in the hallway. The one above the bookshelf.”Gregory’s stomach turned. They'd been watching him even then.“So what?” he replied. “You all knew I was more than a housekeeper
Chapter 5: Midnight at Dock 14
The wind howled through the derelict shipping yard like a warning.Gregory pulled his hoodie tighter and stepped through the rusted gate of Dock 14, heart thudding with every step. The place looked like something out of a thriller—abandoned crates, broken lights, metal chains swaying in the breeze. Perfect spot for a meeting… or a trap.He checked his phone. 11:58 PM.Two minutes to midnight.He waited in the shadows, scanning every flicker of movement. A cat skittered past. A door creaked open somewhere in the darkness.Then a voice: “Don’t move.”Gregory stiffened.From behind one of the stacked containers stepped a man in a long coat, cap pulled low over his eyes, face mostly obscured by the shadows. But his stance wasn’t threatening—just cautious.“You’re Gregory?” the man asked.“Depends on who’s asking,” Gregory replied.The man stepped closer, pulling out a slim envelope. “I used to be Caldwell’s personal assistant. Name’s Jalen. I left the company when things got… dangerous.
