The One and Only Heir

The day the real heir came to claim his birthright, he arrogantly threw a paternity test in my face. "You've had my life for eighteen years. Isn't it about time you gave it back? If you know what's good for you, you'll leave on your own. "Don't think I'm one of those pathetic heirs from those 'real versus fake heir' trope novels. I got my acceptance letter to Kingsley University this year." The comments cheered him on. [The real heir is finally back. I love this ruthless vibe.] [I can't stand those fake-nice pretty boys who only know how to stage a fall down the stairs and spout sickly sweet lies.] [Bet on when this fake heir takes his tumble down the stairs?] But the commenters and the real heir didn't notice the impassive faces of everyone in the mansion. They all looked like they'd seen this a hundred times before. After all, he was the sixth real heir to show up and claim kinship this month. Chapter 1 Tyler Jones threw the paternity test results down in front of me, then lifted his chin and said with obvious arrogance, "You've had my life for eighteen years. Isn't it about time you gave it back?" Before I could respond, the familiar translucent comments in front of me started pouring in like mad. [The real heir is back. Love it!] [I like this kind of guy who gets straight to the point, none of that wishy-washy nonsense!] Tyler looked thoroughly pleased with his own opening line. He cleared his throat and kept reciting what sounded like lines lifted from some novel. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave on your own. Don't make me force you." Then he added, as if it mattered, "Don't think I'm one of those pathetic heirs from those 'real versus fake heir' trope novels. I got my acceptance letter to Kingsley University this year." The comments got even more excited. [Whoa, the star student trope? I'm obsessed!] [The fake heir doesn't stand a chance now.] [Anyone want to bet when this fake heir takes his fall down the stairs? Bring on the classic plot already!] I pushed up my glasses, feeling nothing in particular. After all, he was the sixth real heir to show up this month with a paternity test in hand. Last month there'd been eight. The month before that, eleven. I could nearly field two soccer teams by now. Behind me, Andy Burns, the household's butler, stood without so much as raising an eyebrow. A couple of maids polishing an antique vase exchanged a quick glance, the corners of their mouths twitching with barely-held-back smiles. The air went a little awkwardly quiet. I said, expressionless, "Are you finished?" Tyler seemed thrown by my reaction. He stiffened his neck and shot back, "What's that supposed to mean? You don't believe me?" "I believe you." I nodded, then took the crumpled test results out of his hand and passed them to Andy beside me. "If it's my father's blood, then he's a Wade." "Andy, please show our new heir to a guest room. How about the one on the third floor facing south? The view's good." Andy gave a slight bow. "Of course, sir." The whole exchange went off smoothly, courteous from start to finish. Tyler was completely thrown. Even the comments went quiet for a few seconds before a few confused lines drifted through. [??? Wrong script?] [Why isn't the fake heir following the usual pattern? Shouldn't he be begging and crying by now?] [That felt like... a punch just landed on a pillow?] I looked at Tyler's red, flustered face and almost wanted to laugh. This round looked like it might be a little more interesting than the last five this month. Andy led Tyler up to the guest room on the third floor. That bought me some peace, at least enough to finish my tea. The next second, my door was kicked open. Chapter 2 Tyler stood in the doorway and pointed at me. "This room! I want this one!" [Here we go, the classic room-stealing scene!] [Told you, now that's more like it!] I looked up and gave him a calm glance. This was the best suite in the entire mansion, the master bedroom. He certainly knew how to pick. "Fine." I closed my book and stood up. "Though I should warn you, this room gets the western sun, so it's hot in the afternoons. The soundproofing isn't great either. When the home theater downstairs is running, you can hear what sounds like shells going off right next to your ear." Tyler hadn't expected me to agree so readily, and the speech he'd prepared stuck in his throat. He froze for a couple of seconds before forcing out, stiffly, "I don't care!" "All right." I nodded. "Suit yourself." I picked up my book, intending to make do in the study next door for the night. Tyler stood rooted to the spot, half the triumphant excitement already draining from his face. At dinner, Tyler finally got the family reunion he'd been dreaming of. My father, Cody Wade, and my mother, Isabel Stevens, were rarely home to eat together, but tonight they both were. At the long dining table, Tyler sat across from me. He worked himself up for a while, and his eyes finally went red. "Dad, Mom..." His voice cracked, thick with grievance. "You have no idea what kind of life I've had all these years..." He launched into a tearful account of growing up cold and hungry, of the contempt he'd suffered in his adoptive parents' house, and of how he'd fought his way to an acceptance letter from Kingsley University. At the most emotional part, he even squeezed out a few tears. The comments were moved. [Aww, our poor Tyler's been through so much!] [Wades, take a look at your good son already!] But at the head of the table, the two people this was aimed at showed no reaction at all. My father had his Bluetooth earpiece in, murmuring through a transatlantic conference call in a foreign language. My mother held a special pen and marked up a thick art auction catalogue. "This Monet water lily is still priced too conservatively..." she said. In the enormous dining room, Tyler's crying was the only sound, echoing through the space, and it felt increasingly out of place and awkward. I was the only one calmly cutting my steak, and I even offered him a kind reminder. "Your soup's getting cold." Tyler's crying cut off instantly. Finally, my father's call ended. He rubbed his temples, looked up at Tyler, and spoke with a frown. "You," he said, pointing at Tyler, his tone thoroughly impatient, "are loud." My mother looked up from her catalogue too, sweeping him with a cool glance. "Andy, teach him some table manners. No talking while eating." With that, the two of them set down their utensils and left the table, one heading back to the study, the other to the art studio. From beginning to end, neither of them had asked Tyler a single question about how he'd spent all those years. Tyler's mouth hung open, and he forgot to even keep crying. [Wrong , right?] [How are these rich parents so immune to sentiment? Weren't they supposed to hug their real son and cry their eyes out?] [Why do I feel like... everyone in this house is a little abnormal, except the new guy?] I wiped my mouth with my napkin and stood. Passing Tyler, I paused, looked at him looking so lost, and finally said quietly, "Welcome home." He jerked his head up to look at me, his eyes full of confusion. The next afternoon, I got a call from Chelsea Leverett. Chapter 3 The moment the call connected, unrestrained laughter came through from the other end. "Hey, Luis, I hear your family's got a new arrival? How good's the drama this time?" I leaned back on the living room couch, turned a page of the economics journal in my hand, and gave a flat, "Mm. Kingsley University. Pretty spirited kid." "Oh, an honor student too?" Chelsea Leverett's tone brightened even more. "Then I have to come see for myself. Same old address? I'll be right there." She hung up before I could answer. Half an hour later, Chelsea's flashy red sports car pulled into the courtyard. She didn't spot her target and sounded a little disappointed. "Where is he? Hiding?" "Upstairs. Probably still working out how to be a proper real heir." Chelsea burst out laughing. "My dad mentioned it. Said the kid bawled his eyes out at the dinner table and your parents didn't even glance at him?" "Pretty much." I set down my book. "My father thought he was loud. My mother told him to learn table manners." "That's amazing." Chelsea slapped her knee, laughing. "I knew it, an idiot who can't even act out the right. Did he really think rich parents dote on their kids like that?" While we were talking, footsteps came down the stairs. Tyler had changed clothes, but his face still looked rough, probably still reeling from having his worldview rearranged the night before. "And this is..." Chelsea drew the question out at me. "Tyler." Tyler came striding down and planted himself in front of us, his eyes fixed on Chelsea. "You're Luis's girlfriend, right?" [Here we go, the classic wedge-driving move!] [Female lead, get in there and smack him down!] Chelsea raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Taking her silence as an opening, Tyler grew even more pleased with himself. "I'd leave him if I were you. He's just a fraud who wormed his way into this family. He's not good enough for you. Once my parents kick him out, he'll be nothing. Stick with me, and the whole Wade family fortune will be ours." I picked up my teacup and took a slow sip. Chelsea smiled, a smile both dazzling and cutting. "Kid, have you read so many novels your brain's actually rotted?" Tyler's face went red instantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means," Chelsea said, stepping closer, her heels adding to her already commanding presence, "first, I'm not his girlfriend. "Second, even if he's a fraud, the business cases and financial models in his head are worth more than your acceptance letter. "Third, and most importantly," she held up a finger, "you can't even tell who actually runs this house, and you've got the nerve to sell someone a fantasy? You're not even fit to carry his shoes." Chelsea finished with a contemptuous snort and turned to sit back down beside me. "Crawl back upstairs," she added without looking back, "and stop being an eyesore down here." Tyler glared at me for a long moment, then spun around and stomped his way back up the stairs. The living room went quiet again. Chelsea swirled the coffee in her cup and glanced at me sideways, a mocking little smile still on her lips. "That's the opponent you found for this game? How boring." I looked at her, pushed up my glasses, and smiled too. She was right. Tyler was just an appetizer. But whatever other monsters showed up after this, one thing, at least, was already certain. In this game that was only going to get messier, Chelsea was the one ally I trusted completely. Chapter 4 After the dressing-down Chelsea gave him, Tyler stayed quiet for several days. He spent all his time sulking in the room he'd claimed, apparently tinkering with something. I was glad for the peace and quiet, and went back to my usual reading and handling my emails. That calm lasted exactly three days. On the fourth day, I went downstairs for a glass of water and found Tyler pacing back and forth near the second-floor landing. One moment he'd study how steep the stairs were, the next he'd tap the edge of a step with his toe, muttering to himself the whole time. I leaned against the living room wall with my water and watched with real interest. [Here it is! The classic stairs tumble!] [I'll guess: the fake heir pushes the real one, gets caught by the parents, and gets disowned on the spot!] [Wrong read up there. Clearly the real heir's about to stage a fall and pin it on the fake one!] [Anyone want to bet when this fake heir takes his fall? It's finally happening! My heart's racing!] So that was it. I pushed up my glasses, finally understanding. It seemed Chelsea's lecture hadn't sunk in at all. Over the next two days, he spent hours near the stairs every day, rehearsing. Even from a distance, I could feel him wrestling with the question of whether landing headfirst looked more dramatic, or whether tumbling down looked more convincing. Finally, the day he'd chosen arrived. That afternoon, my parents were both out, leaving just me, him, and a few of the staff in the whole mansion. I was about to head downstairs from the study when I saw him camped out at the top of the stairs, wearing a look of grim resolve. He spotted me, and his eyes lit up as he snapped into position, one foot hovering in midair, body tilted slightly forward, in the pose of someone ready to fall the moment they were touched. I kept walking toward him. The comments had already gone wild. [Go on! Push him! You're not a real man if you don't!] [This is it! Come on, I can't wait to watch him tumble!] Tyler watched me get closer, his expression shifting from tense to expectant, even tinged with a kind of grim heroism. Just as I got within three steps of him, my phone buzzed. I stopped and pulled it out. It was a message from Andy. [Sir, there's a man by the name Sebastian Anders at the door asking for you. He says he's your... brother.] Another one. I gave a polite nod toward Tyler's rigid pose, then turned and walked past him toward the other side of the staircase. Tyler froze solid, still holding his one-legged stance, watching in disbelief as I calmly turned and walked away. By the time I reached the living room, Andy had already brought a young man inside. He wore a plain white shirt and jeans, and looked quiet and delicate. His gaze swept past me and locked straight onto Tyler, still frozen at the top of the stairs. Tyler finally snapped out of it too, staring at this uninvited guest with a mix of wariness and confusion. Sebastian walked straight up to Tyler and pulled a document out of the canvas bag slung over his shoulder, slapping it across Tyler's face. The paper met his skin with a sharp crack. Tyler was stunned. Sebastian's voice came out soft, but startlingly clear. "You're a fraud. You should get lost."