The alley's damp walls seemed to press closer with each passing minute as Jace stared at Mike Reynolds, the old man's words hanging between them, so thick in the air.
"He is dying….two days, Jace."
Jace's grip tightened with the DNA test still crumpled in his fist….proof of another betrayal. Now this? A grandfather he had not seen in twenty years?
"You expect me to care?" Jace's asked sharply. "That man exiled my father for wanting to be a doctor. Left him to die in poverty while I rotted in an orphanage. And now—what? Deathbed guilt?"
Reynold didn't flinch. "Your grandfather was wrong. But he searched for you for years and he couldn't find any lead."
A muscle in Jace's jaw twitched as he croaked, "Convince me."
"After your father left," Reynolds began, "your grandfather regretted it by sunrise. But pride? It was a prison. A self imposed confinement. By the time he tracked you down, you had vanished from the orphanage."
Jace's laugh was hollow as he said spitefully, "Funny. I was there till I was sixteen. Starving. Beaten. Where were his resources then?"
Reynolds eyes darkened. "The Fosters paid off the staff to lie. They wanted you erased—your grandfather's bloodline extinct."
Jace went rigid. "Why?"
"Because if your grandfather dies without an heir, the ownership will automatically fall on the Fosters, who are distant relatives."
"Then I should consider myself very lucky I'm not dead." Jace said mockingly.
"Only because they haven't found you—yet."
"Ok…ok…what do you want me to do?" Jace asked. Getting tired from all the standing and talking, he had been through a lot. He needed his rest.
"I want you to come with me to see your grandfather," Reynolds replied blankly. "Please Jace."
"Ok. Lead the way," Jace shrugged. "But mind you, I'm in the middle of 'something,' so I plan on just jumping in and jumping out."
The Parkinson mansion loomed with memories. A huge building of stone and colored glass. Jace's pulse hammered as Reynolds guided him past oil portraits of dead relatives, their eyes seeming to judge him.
At the master bedroom, his grandfather lay shriveled under silk sheets, an IV dripping into his veins. The old man who has once been a titan was now a skeleton with misty eyes.
"Jace…" the old man's said weakly, almost as a whisper. Tears glazed through the wrinkles on his face. "I have failed you. Your father…..my greatest pain…my greatest regret."
Jace stood frozen, his throat thought as he croaked, "Regret doesn't bring him back. It doesn't give me back the twenty years I spent toiling this earth like an homeless person. You sent me away with dad when I was only just six. I suffered grandfather." His voice broke. "For years. But it won't change anything."
"No it wouldn't." The old man replied sternly, and pointed at Reynolds with a trembling hand. "But this can."
Reynolds stepped forward, placing a velvet box in Jace's palm. Inside it, a golden ring bearing the Parkinson crest.
"It's your birthright," his grandfather breathed. "The company. The whole fortune. Vengeance."
Jace's fingers curled around the ring. The Parkinson's crest gleaming under the candlelight. "I don't want it."
"Then take it for him," the old man pleaded. "Your father dreamed of hospitals. Build them. In his name. In your mother's name."
Silence.
Then Jace slid the ring onto his fingers. The heavy gold lying comfortably on his skin.
His grandfather exhaled one last time, a smile placed firmly on his lips as the heart monitor flatlined.
Jace stood in the study, lost for words. Reynolds entered with his grandfather's stuff necked lawyer, who unsealed a document with solemn precision. Looking all grim and serious.
"Here is Jonathan Parkinson's last will," the lawyer called out solemnly. "To my grandson. Jace Andre Parkinson, I leave my entire estate, including seventy percent controlling shares in Parkinson's Group…on one condition."
Jace's head snapped up as he asked, "What condition?"
The lawyer adjusted his glasses. "You must hold the shares for one year. If you sell or relinquish control in that time, every thing transfers to the Fosters."
Jace laughed sharply as he stared at the family heirloom on his finger. "He is forcing me to fight. He knows I don't want this and…Marcus Foster…he should be grown now."
Marcus Foster…his beefy, overbearing cousin…had been no better. The boy who had once pinned him down in the dirt at family reunions, sneering, "Parkinson's don't raise weaklings," now sat on the company board, leaching off Grandfather's legacy. The thought of facing him again made his blood curl.
Reynolds nodded. "He knew they would come for you. This is your shield."
Outside, the thunder cracked and lightning flashed—a storm was rolling in. Jace turned to look at the window, watching the day turn grey.
"Tell me," he said softly, "how many hospitals could I build with a billion dollars?"
Reynolds smiled. "Enough to make your father proud."
Jace sat on his grandfathers study chair and deliberated on the issue placed in front of him.
Now he is in the process of getting a divorce.
Now it's a known fact that he isn't Liam and Marie's father.
Now he had known how much of a fool he had been to Elliot Montgomery and the Withmans…all because of love.
Damn love!
And now…now this is a start of a new life, away from the embarrassment of his past…a sure way to right all the wrongs done to him. He will make them pay.
With a surprisingly steady voice, he asked;
"Where do I sign?"