She stood up at her father’s funeral and said I deserved to be in the coffin. I stayed silent… until I held the one thing she never thought I’d take away.
Chapter 1: The Curse at the Grave
The November rain in Connecticut was biting cold. Heavy raindrops lashed against the black umbrellas surrounding the newly dug grave at the Sterling family’s private cemetery.
I, Julian Vance, stood at the edge of the crowd. I wore a simple black suit, my hands clasped, my head slightly bowed. I wasn’t a member of the Sterling family by blood. I was an orphan Arthur Sterling had taken in from a dilapidated orphanage when I was 10, raised and trained to be his “right-hand man,” or as people whispered behind my back, “his loyal guard dog.”
Arthur Sterling—the real estate and media mogul—had died three days earlier from a sudden heart attack in his study.
Standing right next to the coffin was Victoria Sterling—Arthur’s only daughter. She was thirty, beautiful and elegant in her Haute Couture mourning dress, but her bright blue eyes were dry, devoid of tears. Victoria hated me. She always saw me as a parasite, a rival for her father’s affection (and inheritance).
The pastor had just finished his eulogy. According to tradition, the family would throw the first handful of earth into the coffin.
Victoria stepped forward. She picked up a handful of earth, but didn’t throw it immediately. She turned, her sharp gaze piercing through the crowd of officials and business partners, stopping right where I stood.
“Before my father rests in peace,” Victoria said, her voice resonant and cold. “I want to say one thing.”
The space fell silent.
“Julian Vance,” she pointed directly at my face. “You’re standing there with a fake expression. But we all know the truth. You’re a burden to my father. You’ve been a parasite clinging to this family for the past 20 years. My father died of exhaustion from cleaning up the mess you created at the company.”
The crowd murmured. I remained silent, not moving.
Victoria stepped closer, pressing her face close to mine. Her expensive perfume was overpowering.
“The one in that coffin should be you, Julian. My father deserves to live. And you… you deserve to die, out of my sight.”
She spat on my shoe.
“After this funeral, I want you out of our lives. Out of the company. Out of the mansion. You’re not in the will. My father told me that before he died. You’re nothing.”
I looked down at the spit on my shoe, then looked up at Victoria. In her eyes, I saw cruel triumph. She believed Arthur was dead, and now she was Queen.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t polish her shoes. I just nodded slightly, a nod she interpreted as submission, but in reality, as pity.
Because she didn’t know that I held in my hands something she never thought I would take away.
Chapter 2: The Victor’s Feast
After the funeral came a cocktail party at Sterling Manor. It was a tradition of the upper class: turning grief into a networking opportunity.
I sneaked into the manor through the back door. I needed to pack my personal belongings in the staff quarters – where I had lived for the past 20 years despite holding the position of Vice President of the corporation. Arthur always wanted me nearby to call at any time, but Victoria never allowed me to sleep in the main house.
As I was packing some clothes into a suitcase, the door to my room was kicked open.
Victoria stood there, a glass of red wine in her hand, her face flushed with the intoxication of victory. She was accompanied by her despicable private lawyer, Marcus, and two burly bodyguards.
“You’re still not leaving?” Victoria sneered. “I thought you’d be ashamed and gone by now.”
“I am leaving, Victoria,” I replied calmly.
“Leave the laptop and the company phone,” Marcus said. “All intellectual property belongs to Sterling Corporation. You are fired, Julian. Effective immediately.”
I placed the phone and laptop on the table. “Fine.”
Victoria stepped forward and kicked my old suitcase. Clothes scattered across the floor.
“Look at you,” she scoffed. “Without my father, you’d just be a street brat. Do you think my father loved you? He only used you. The night he died, he re-signed his will, leaving the entire $2 billion to me. I’m the only one he trusted.”
I stopped. I looked at Victoria.
“Are you sure about that, Victoria?”
“Absolutely. I was there. I saw him sign it with my own eyes. And I saw him take his last breath with my own eyes,” Victoria said, a cruel glint in her eyes.
“You were there when he took his last breath?” I asked again, my voice low. “The police report says the housekeeper found him dead the next morning. You said you slept in your Manhattan apartment that night.”
Victoria paused for a second. She realized she’d spoken out of turn because of her drunkenness. But then she shrugged, confident that no one could do anything to her in this house.
“So what? Who would believe a fired adopted son instead of the legitimate heir? The police concluded it was a heart attack. The body is buried. The evidence has turned to dust.”
She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I won, Julian.”
“Now get out of here.”
I looked at my watch. 8 p.m. The perfect time.
“I’ll go, Victoria,” I said. “But before I go, I have a condolence gift for you.”
I bent down to the messy pile of clothes on the floor and picked up a small object. It wasn’t money, it wasn’t jewelry.
It was an old smartwatch, its screen cracked, its strap made of cheap plastic. It was the watch Arthur wore daily to monitor his heart rate because of his heart condition.
Chapter 3: The Heartbeat of Truth
Victoria looked at the object in my hand and burst out laughing.
“What is that? You’re trying to steal my dad’s rubbish watch? I threw it in the trash right after he died because it was beeping so annoyingly. You’re rummaging through the trash to get it?” “Terrible.”
“Yes, I took it from the trash,” I nodded, gently wiping the cracked glass. “You threw it away because you thought it was just a regular fitness tracker. You thought it only measured steps and heart rate.”
I pressed a button next to the watch. The screen lit up.
“But you forgot one thing, Victoria. Arthur is paranoid. He doesn’t trust anyone, not even you. Two years ago, he asked me to install a secret recording software on this watch. It would automatically activate recording when his heart rate exceeded 120 – a sign of extreme stress or danger.”
The smile on Victoria’s face vanished. Marcus took a step back.
“You… you’re lying,” Victoria stammered.
“Would you like to hear your father’s last moments?” I asked, my finger hovering over the Play button.
“Kill him!” “Give me that watch!” Victoria yelled at the two bodyguards.
The two men lunged at me. But I wasn’t a bookworm. Arthur had raised me to be his bodyguard. I’d been studying Krav Maga since I was twelve.
The first one lunged, but I dodged, using my suitcase as a shield to hit him in the face, then delivered a kick to his knee. He collapsed. The second pulled out a taser, but I quickly threw a wooden chair at him and disarmed him.
Within 30 seconds, the two bodyguards lay groaning on the floor. Marcus, terrified, hid behind Victoria.
I stood in the middle of the room, my clothes disheveled, my hand still clutching the watch.
“Listen, Victoria,” I said coldly.
I pressed Play. A crackling sound filled the air, then a clear voice emanated from the small speaker, echoing in the silent room.
(Recording)
The sound of heavy, labored breathing… Arthur. Arthur: “Victoria… the medicine… give me the medicine…” His heart pounded rapidly. Victoria: “No, Dad. I can’t give it to you. You’re planning to amend your will tomorrow to give Julian a share of the estate, aren’t you? I saw the draft on the table.” Arthur: “You’re crazy… I’m dying… my heart…” Victoria: “Sign here. This paper transfers all the assets to you. Sign now and I’ll give you the medicine.” The paper rustled. The pen fell to the floor. Arthur: “You… you’re a devil…” Victoria: “Sign! Sign quickly!” Arthur sobbed, his body collapsing to the floor. Victoria: (Silence for a moment, then whispers) “Goodbye, Dad.” “Don’t worry, I’ll burn that draft.” Footsteps faded away. The door closed. And the sound of a heartbeat stretched into a straight line… BEEP———–
(End of recording)
Chapter 4: The Verdict in the Clock
Victoria’s face turned deathly white. She trembled, dropping her wine glass to the floor. Crash. The red wine spilled out like blood.
“No… it can’t be…” she whispered. “I checked the cameras… I turned them off…”
“You turned off the building’s security cameras,” I said. “But you forgot the inseparable object on his wrist. You thought it was trash and threw it away without thinking. You were too arrogant, Victoria. And that arrogance killed you.”
“Give it to me!” Victoria lunged at me like a mad beast. She clawed and screamed. “I’ll give you 10 million dollars! 50 million dollars!” “Give it to me!”
I gently pushed her away. She fell onto my pile of old clothes.
“Your money is worthless now,” I said. “Because ten minutes ago, while you were busy insulting me, I emailed this recording to the Greenwich Police Chief and the Board of Directors.”
A siren blared in the distance, echoing through the open window. It grew louder and louder.
“You…” Victoria looked at me with utter horror. “You planned it all?”
“You said I deserved to be in a coffin,” I looked down at her. “But Victoria, I don’t need a coffin. I live by loyalty.” “And you, you dug your own grave the moment you let your father die.”
Marcus, the lawyer, realized the tables had turned. He stealthily tried to slip out the door.
“Don’t go yet, Marcus,” I said. “In the longer recording, there’s a part where she calls you right after Arthur’s death to ask how to stage a fake crime scene. You’re an accomplice.”
Marcus collapsed, clutching his head in despair.
Chapter 5: The Fall of an Empire
The police stormed the mansion. Flashlights swept across the expensive paintings on the walls.
Victoria was handcuffed. She screamed, cursed, and threatened to sue everyone. But when the old watch was placed in the evidence bag, she was…
It was all over.
I stood in the doorway, watching her being dragged away. As she passed me, Victoria stopped.
“Why?” she asked, tears streaming down her face. “Why didn’t you use it to blackmail me? You could have had half the fortune.”
“Because Arthur saved my life 20 years ago,” I replied. “And today, I’m repaying him by sending the person who killed him to jail. Even if that person is his daughter.”
Victoria was pushed into the police car.
The next morning, shocking news filled the newspapers. Sterling stock plummeted.
The forged will was overturned by the court. And another truth was revealed: The real will – the draft Victoria thought she had burned – was actually just a copy. The original had been sent to the bank by Arthur a week earlier.
In the real will, Arthur left 60% of his assets to charity. The remaining 40%… he left it to me, Julian Vance, on the condition that I take over as CEO and “clean up the company.”
Victoria didn’t have a penny. Even if she didn’t go to jail, she would be disinherited for murder (according to the Slayer rule).
Chapter 6: A New Beginning
One month later.
I stood in Arthur’s old office. The room had been cleaned, the smell of medicine and death gone.
I looked out the window, gazing at the estate’s expansive garden.
I picked up the smartwatch – now returned to me by the police after a data backup. It was a cheap, cracked, ugly object. But it was the most powerful weapon I’d ever held.
She said I deserved a coffin. But in the end, she was sitting in a cold concrete cell, facing a life sentence. And I, the “house dog,” am now the master of this house.
I opened the drawer and carefully placed the watch inside, as if it were the most precious diamond.
“Rest now, Arthur,” I whispered. “I’ll keep watch here.”
I closed the drawer, adjusted my tie, and stepped outside to begin my first board meeting as Chairman.
A Young Man Loses a Job Opportunity for Helping an Elderly Woman… without knowing that SHE WAS the CEO’s Mother…
The October rain in New York wasn’t romantic like in a Woody Allen movie. It was cold, biting, and carried the metallic smell of old subway tracks.
Ethan Hunt, 26, clutched his worn leather briefcase – the only memento his father had left him. Inside were the architectural designs he’d spent three long years perfecting. Today was his interview at Sterling & Co., a leading North American architectural firm. It wasn’t just a job. With $80,000 in student debt and an eviction notice plastered on his Queens apartment door this morning, this was his last lifeline.
His watch showed 8:45 a.m. The interview started at 9:00. He was only five blocks from Sterling Tower.
Ethan quickened his pace on the slippery sidewalk. Suddenly, a screeching screech of brakes rang out, followed by a blaring horn.
At the intersection, amidst the chaotic traffic, an old woman stood frozen. She wore a thin, soaking wet woolen coat, clutching a tattered cloth bag. A yellow taxi had just brushed against her, sending her tumbling into a puddle of dark mud.
The taxi driver poked his head out, cursed a few times, and sped away. The New Yorkers continued onward. They were too busy, or too indifferent.
Ethan stopped.
“You don’t have time, Ethan,” a voice in his head screamed. “If you stop, you’re dead. This suit is the only one you own.”
He looked at his watch: 8:48.
He looked at the old woman. She was trembling, trying to pick up the oranges scattered on the road, muttering something in a panic. A delivery truck was speeding towards them, honking loudly but showing no sign of slowing down.
“Damn it!”
Ethan cast aside his hesitation. He dashed into the street, ignoring the splashes of water that were soaking his pants. He gestured for the truck to stop, then bent down to help the old woman up.
“Grandma! Are you alright?” Ethan shouted, his voice hoarse from the rain.
The old woman looked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and vacant. “Thomas? Is that you, Thomas? I brought you oranges…”
She was confused. Or had Alzheimer’s.
“I’m not Thomas. Let’s go, it’s dangerous!”
Ethan helped her onto the sidewalk. But suddenly, the old woman recoiled, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. She fell into Ethan’s arms. Mud from her clothes stained his pristine white shirt.
Ethan panicked. He couldn’t leave her there. He quickly called 911.
“Please hurry, corner of 5th and 52nd streets!”
While waiting for the ambulance, Ethan looked at his watch: 8:58.
He gazed despairingly at the towering Sterling Tower two blocks away. He had lost.
By the time the paramedics arrived and took the old woman in, it was 9:15. She clutched Ethan’s hand tightly, thrusting a bruised orange into his.
“Take this, Thomas. Don’t go hungry.”
Ethan swallowed, nodding, “Thank you.”
He stood up. His suit was soaking wet, covered in mud and orange juice. But he ran. He ran like a madman toward the Sterling Tower.
Ethan entered the Sterling Tower lobby looking like a homeless man who had just won the lottery but been robbed. The marble floor reflected his pathetic image.
“I… I have an interview at 9 o’clock,” Ethan gasped, speaking to the beautiful but cold, wax-like receptionist.
The woman looked him up and down, a sneering smirk on her face. “It’s 9:25 now, sir. And… my God, look at yourself. This is the Sterling Corporation, not a rescue station.”
“Please. I had an accident on the way. I helped someone in need. Let me see Mr. Henderson. Just five minutes!”
“Mr. Henderson doesn’t deal with unprofessional people. Please leave, or I’ll call security.”
“No!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table. Despair turned into rage. “I’m Cornell’s top-ranked Architect! Look at my blueprints before you kick me out!”
The commotion drew attention. From the VIP elevator, a group of people emerged. Leading them was a middle-aged man in a Bespoke Italian suit, his face as sharp as a razor. It was Marcus Sterling – the legendary CEO, known as the “King of Skyscrapers.”
But today, Marcus didn’t look like a king. He looked anxious, angry, and was shouting into the phone.
“Find him! Can’t you find an old man in all of New York City? Did I pay your security guards just for show?”
Marcus walked past the reception desk, glancing at the commotion. He stopped.
“What’s going on here?” Marcus’s voice was deep and authoritative.
The receptionist quickly stood up, pointing at Ethan. “Mr. Sterling, this young man is 30 minutes late for his interview, he’s disheveled and causing a disturbance. I’m calling security.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes at Ethan. He looked at the mud on his shirt, at his rain-soaked hair.
“You’re late?” Marcus asked, his voice cold.
“Yes, sir,” Ethan straightened his back, though his legs were trembling. “I had an accident on the way…”
“At Sterling, we don’t accept excuses,” Marcus interrupted. “Time is money. If you can’t manage your time, you can’t manage my billion-dollar projects. Get him out of here.”
Marcus waved his hand and turned his back, continuing to yell into the phone.
Ethan stammered, “My mother didn’t bring her phone! She’s only wearing a thin sweater! If anything happens to her…”
Two burly security guards swooped in, grabbing Ethan’s arms.
“Come on, kid,” one of them growled.
Ethan struggled. He refused to give up. He’d lost everything for an act of kindness. And now, that kindness was being treated like trash.
During the struggle, Ethan’s vest pocket ripped open. The bruised orange the old woman had given him fell onto the marble floor, rolling to Marcus Sterling’s feet.
Marcus froze.
He looked at the orange. An ordinary, bruised orange. But on its peel was a funny smiley face sticker – the kind children play with.
Marcus slowly bent down to pick up the orange. His hands, usually steady when signing billion-dollar deals, were now trembling.
“Stop,” Marcus whispered.
Then he spun around, shouting, “I SAID STOP!”
The bodyguards released Ethan. The hall fell silent.
Marcus strode toward Ethan, grabbing his stained collar. His eyes blazed, but not with anger, but with utter panic.
“Where did you get this?” Marcus thrust the orange in Ethan’s face. “Tell me! What did you do to her?”
Ethan was stunned. “What? I didn’t do anything! The old woman gave it to me!”
“Which old woman? Where?”
“At the corner of 5th Street! She fell! I helped her up and called an ambulance! She’s confused, she kept calling me Thomas and gave me this orange, telling me not to go hungry!”
Marcus released Ethan, stepping back, his face drained of color.
“Thomas…” Marcus whispered, his voice breaking. “That’s my younger brother’s name… He died of starvation at age 10… during a harsh winter before we became wealthy.”
“Mr. Sterling!” An assistant rushed in, phone in hand. “Mount Sinai Hospital just called! They’ve taken in an unidentified elderly woman brought in from the corner of Fifth Street. She’s being warmed up and keeps asking to see ‘the boy in the muddy suit’.”
Marcus snatched the phone, listened for a few seconds, then let it drop.
He looked at Ethan. This time, the “King of Skyscrapers’” gaze was no longer arrogant. It was raw, full of remorse and gratitude.
Marcus’s mother, Eleanor Sterling, suffered from severe Alzheimer’s. This morning, she had escaped from her heavily guarded penthouse, hallucinating that her deceased young son was starving on the streets. She had escaped just to bring “Thomas” an orange.
If Ethan hadn’t stopped. If Ethan had chosen to arrive on time for the interview. Eleanor might have been run over by a truck or frozen to death in the New York rain.
Marcus took a deep breath, adjusting Ethan’s tie—an action that left the receptionist and bodyguards gaping.
“What’s your name?” Marcus asked.
“Ethan… Ethan Hunt.”
“Ethan,” Marcus said, his voice calm again. “You failed the interview for the Architect Trainee position.”
Ethan’s heart tightened. He bowed his head. Of course. Rules are rules.
“But,” Marcus continued, turning to the stunned staff. “You don’t need that position. I just fired the Head of Creative Design because he was too insensitive to designs for people with disabilities.”
Marcus placed his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
“A good architect is someone who knows how to design beautiful buildings. But a great architect is someone who knows how to see the people inside those concrete blocks. You saw my mother when the whole world ignored her.”
“You’re hired. Not as an intern. You’ll be my personal Design Assistant on the Sterling Nursing Home project we’re about to start. Starting salary $150,000.”
Ethan stood speechless. Everything was happening so fast.
“Let’s go,” Marcus patted his shoulder. “My car’s waiting outside. We’re going to the hospital. My mother wants to see her ‘Thomas’. And then… I’ll buy you a new suit.”
Ethan followed Marcus out of the building. The rain outside hadn’t stopped, but the air wasn’t cold anymore.
In his torn jacket pocket, the scent of oranges still lingered. It wasn’t the smell of failure. It was the scent of humanity, the only thing more valuable than pure gold in the heart of glamorous New York.
