The call ended, the cheap phone warm in Taurus's hand. He lowered it slowly, staring at the blank screen. Billions. Jonathan MacArthur. Mary. Coma. Orphanage. The words echoed in his mind, a chaotic symphony of disbelief and dawning, terrifying possibility. He wanted to dismiss it, to shove the phone back under the mattress and pretend the call had never happened, that the man on the other end was just another voice in the void. Spam. It had to be spam. Who else would call him with news like that?
He pushed himself up from the mattress, the exhaustion of the day settling back over him, heavy and familiar. There were still chores left. Tony's room, dusting the living room – the endless, mundane tasks that were his reality. He tried to focus, picking up a discarded shirt from the floor, but his hands fumbled. His mind kept replaying the lawyer's calm, formal tone, the specific details that had punched holes in his carefully constructed walls of cynicism. Mary. Coma. Orphanage. How could a scammer know that?
He folded the shirt mechanically, his gaze fixed on the grimy windowpane. Twenty years. His father had looked for him for twenty years? The Ragnars had always implied his parents were gone, dead or simply vanished, leaving him behind. They certainly never mentioned coma, or years of searching. A cold knot tightened in his stomach. Had they lied about everything? Was his entire history, the narrative he'd been forced to accept, a carefully constructed lie?
His phone buzzed again, startling him. He snatched it up, heart leaping into his throat. It was the same number. Not a call this time, but a text message. He unlocked the screen, eyes scanning the text.
Mr. MacArthur,
This is Arthur Hayes again. I understand your hesitation. Please do not dismiss this. The details I provided are verifiable. Your father's full name was Jonathan Graham MacArthur. His will was finalized on [Date - insert a date roughly six months prior]. We need to meet in person to discuss the specifics of the inheritance and the conditions outlined in the will. Can you meet me tomorrow, Friday , 2:00 PM at The lobby of the Atlas Building? Please reply to confirm or suggest an alternative if absolutely necessary.
Arthur Hayes, Esq.
Jonathan Graham MacArthur. A specific date. A meeting request. It wasn't just a voice anymore; it was tangible. A name, a time, a place.
His mind raced. Sneak out? The Ragnars had eyes everywhere. Tony was unpredictable, likely to wander into the garage at any moment. Mrs. Ragnar did random checks to ensure he wasn't slacking. Mr. Ragnar might ignore him, but his presence was still a constraint. Getting caught would mean days, maybe weeks, locked in the garage, deprived of food, facing their furious, disproportionate punishment. It was a familiar threat, a cage built of fear and control.
But... billions. A real father. A family he never knew existed. The thought was intoxicating, dangerously so. Could he afford not to take the risk? What if this was his only chance? His self-taught mind, usually focused on practical problems like fixing a broken toaster or calculating how to stretch meager supplies, shifted gears. This was a different kind of problem. An escape plan.
He moved silently around his small room, his movements precise, economical. He glanced at the single, small window – too high, too small, and overlooked by Mrs. Ragnar's prize-winning roses. The door to the garage was the only way out. He needed a window of time when the garage was empty and unlocked from the inside, and when no one was likely to come looking for him.
He had observed their routines for years, not out of curiosity, but necessity – knowing when to be invisible, when to anticipate demands. Tony usually left in the early afternoon for his "activities" and didn't return until dinner. Mr. Ragnar was at his office until late afternoon. Mrs. Ragnar's afternoons were less predictable, sometimes spent shopping, sometimes at home engaged in loud phone calls or sorting through finances in the living room. The best window was usually between 2 PM and 4 PM, just after Tony left and before Mr. Ragnar returned, provided Mrs. Ragnar was out.
He needed to check. Silently, he crept to the garage door, listening. Faint sounds of the television from the main house. No footsteps nearby. He edged the door open a crack, peering out. The blue car was gone. The garage was still and empty. He risked opening it a little wider, just enough to see the driveway. Empty.
A surge of adrenaline, cold and sharp, went through him. The meeting was for 2:00 PM tomorrow. That fit the window. It was a long shot, a terrifying gamble, but the text message felt too deliberate, too specific, to ignore. The thought of the Ragnars' fury if he was caught was a heavy weight, but the possibility of what lay on the other side of that meeting was like a blinding light.
He made his decision.
With renewed purpose, Taurus began to prepare. He retrieved his hidden phone, checking the battery life. It was low. He'd have to find a place to charge it if he could. He had a small amount of cash hidden in a loose floorboard – money he'd earned from doing odd jobs for neighbors without the Ragnars knowing, or by selling salvaged items. It wasn't much, barely enough for bus fare across town and maybe a cheap meal, but it was his. He also grabbed the worn notebook where he jotted down anything he learned – facts, equations, observations, snippets of overheard conversations. His lifeline to the outside world, his secret university.
He wrapped the phone and notebook carefully in a plastic bag, then tucked the money into his pocket. He didn't have a backpack, just the clothes on his back, which were old and worn. He would have to be discreet, blend in as much as his appearance allowed.
He stood in his small room, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. Sneaking out was dangerous. Getting caught was worse. But staying... staying meant remaining in the cage, forever invisible, forever a slave.
He looked at the door leading out into the empty garage. His heart hammered against his ribs. Tomorrow. He had to seize this chance. He took a deep, shaky breath, the first step towards an unknown future already taken in his mind.