At the breakfast table in the Beverly Hills mansion, the air was so heavy it could drip. Liam (the adopted son, 17) sat with his head down, poking at his avocado toast, his eyes still swollen from crying last night. Elaine (Mom) kept pushing a glass of milk toward Ken, her smile forced and stiff. Richard (Dad) buried himself in the financial paper, pretending not to see the awkward silence.
This was the morning after Liam's "planted Rolex" scam had blown up in his face. The family still hadn't recovered from Ken's counterattack.
Ken calmly cut his fried egg, thinking: Last night I caught Liam in the study red-handed, even dug Richard's Rolex out from under the carpet, and now he still dares to sit here acting pitiful? As for Elaine and Richard, pretending nothing happened? Not today. Today, the trust fund issue ends once and for all. I'm done letting them scheme.
"Ken," Elaine finally broke the silence, her voice soft as cotton. "Let's just forget about last night, okay? Liam was confused for a moment, but he knows he was wrong. He won't ever dare again. We're family, don't let such a small thing ruin our harmony."
"Family?" Ken set down his knife and fork, raised his eyes to Elaine, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Funny. Last life, when you locked me in the basement and beat me half to death, where was this talk of 'family'? Now that Liam's frame-up failed, suddenly you remember we're family?
He let out a cold laugh. "Mom, the 'small thing' you're talking about is Liam stealing Dad's Rolex and planting it on me. If I hadn't installed that hidden camera in advance, right now it'd be me getting chewed out by Dad and questioned by the cops. If that's what you call a 'small thing,' then what the hell counts as a big one?"
Elaine's face went pale. She shot Richard a desperate look. Richard folded his paper, cleared his throat, and tried playing the money card:
"Ken, I know you've been wronged. How about this—I'll increase your credit limit on the secondary card, and buy you a Porsche 911. We'll just call this whole thing even, okay?"
"Porsche?" Ken chuckled, shaking his head. Here we go again—the same old trick. Bribe me with perks, buy my silence. Last life, I fell for it, got strung along by crumbs until it cost me my life. Not this time.
"No, Dad," he said firmly. "I don't want a Porsche, and I don't want your card. I want control of Grandpa's trust fund."
The words dropped like a bomb. The whole table froze.
Elaine's voice shot up an octave. "What did you just say? The trust fund? That's for your future. You're still too young. Isn't it the same if I manage it for you?"
"The same?" Ken pulled out his phone and opened the documents Attorney White had sent him, the trustee Grandpa had appointed. I already had White run the numbers. Turns out, Elaine's been siphoning money for years—eight hundred grand gone. All blown on Liam's toys and luxuries. And she still dares say it's the same?
He turned the phone screen for everyone to see. "You 'managing it' means using Grandpa's money to buy Liam a Miami beach condo? To get him limited-edition Hermès bags? White gave me all the statements. Want me to read them out loud?"
Elaine's face drained completely, her hands clutching the tablecloth so hard her nails dug in.
Liam's head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. "I… I didn't know it was Grandpa's money! Mom just told me it was her allowance for me…"
"Allowance?" Ken's tone went icy. Still pretending innocence? Last life, when you flashed that money at school, you weren't confused then.
He sneered. "Eight hundred grand in allowance? Mom sure is generous—gave you ten times what I ever got as her real son. Talk about 'fairness.' That bowl of water you're holding is tilting pretty damn far."
Richard's face darkened. His biggest obsession was the family's reputation. If news of misusing the trust fund spread, Wall Street would laugh, and Grandpa's old friends might even step in. He turned to Elaine, his voice like ice.
"Elaine. Is this true? Did you really pull money from the trust to give to Liam?"
Elaine realized she couldn't hide it. She burst into tears, making excuses. "I… I just thought Liam was pitiful. He's not our real son. I gave him more so he wouldn't feel left out. Ken is our blood—he can take a little hardship…"
"Take a little hardship?" Ken slammed his hand on the table. His fury finally boiled over. How many times have I swallowed that line? How many times did I die from it?
"Three years old, you lost me at Disneyland. Was that not hardship? Seventeen years in an orphanage on a bunk bed—was that not hardship? Twenty years old, shoved into the storage room while Liam got the master suite—was that not hardship? Why the hell do I have to be the one who 'can take it'? Just because I'm the real son, I'm supposed to accept suffering?"
Elaine was speechless, covering her face in tears.
At that moment, light footsteps came from the doorway. Emma (third sister, 26, Yale lecturer) stood clutching her prep notes, eyes dodging nervously—clearly she'd overheard the whole argument.
"Um… Ken," she hesitated, trying to play peacemaker. "Mom didn't mean harm, she just has a soft heart. Maybe let her keep managing the trust for now? You're still young, maybe wait a bit…"
Ken turned his gaze on her, his chest tightening with cold laughter. Of course. A fence-sitter, every damn time. When Elaine cries, she takes her side. When Liam lies, she backs him too. Last time he framed me, she played along. And now she dares preach about 'soft hearts'?
"Emma, shut up."
Emma froze, face whitening. Her notes trembled in her arms. "Ken, how could you talk to me like that? I'm just trying to smooth things over—"
"Smooth things over?" Ken got up and walked straight to her. Today I'll shove her hypocrisy right in her face. No more masks.
"Last time Liam accused me of stealing Dad's Rolex, you told them 'I saw Ken in the study.' Where was your smoothing over then? When I rewrote your sociology paper so you could land that lecturer gig, you told Liam, 'My brother's just a bookworm, easy to push around.' Where was the smoothing then? And now you want to act like the kind sister? Too late."
Emma's face went from pale to green to scarlet. Every accusation was true. Ken's words left her cornered, trembling. She ducked her head, mumbling, "I… I only said those things because I didn't want to upset Mom and Dad…"
"Didn't want to upset them, but you didn't care about upsetting me?" Ken pressed. She's never been afraid of hurting me. Only afraid of losing favor.
"Don't ever play the 'good sister' in front of me again. If you want to keep being a fence-sitter, fine—but stay out of my way. And when you go up for tenure, don't come asking me to fix your paper. I won't lift a finger."
Emma swayed, tears spilling at last. She knew it was true—without Ken's help shaping her research and data, she'd never have cleared peer review. But she didn't dare fight back. She just turned and fled upstairs, dropping her notes in her rush.
The room fell into silence again. Richard stared down at the trust account statements, then finally sighed.
"Ken, fine. I'll give you control of the trust. But you have to promise this doesn't leave the house. Especially not to White or Grandpa's old friends—it'd look terrible."
"Relax. I won't spread it." Ken slid his phone back into his pocket. But the power's mine now. I decide what happens, not them.
He added, his voice cool: "But if anyone tries touching the trust again, or frames me again, I can't promise Wall Street won't hear about it. White's office is on 40 Wall Street. He's tight with every finance reporter there."
Richard stiffened. That hit his sore spot. Richard Group was in the middle of financing rounds—if a scandal about misusing Grandpa's trust hit the press, their stock would tank. He nodded stiffly.
"Alright. Tomorrow, I'll call White. We'll transfer control to you."
Liam sat frozen, face ashen. Without the trust fund, his days of flexing limited sneakers and luxury rides were over. No more showing off to classmates. But he dared not protest, just kept his head down, pretending not to hear.
Ken looked around the table and finally let out a breath. At last, Grandpa's trust is truly mine. No more Elaine siphoning, no more Liam leeching. For the first time, I've got a real safety net of my own. No more living at their mercy.
"Oh, one more thing," Ken said, turning to Richard. Time to give Liam a clear warning about the master bedroom.
"Dad, I've already moved into the master suite, and turned the storage room into my study. If Liam dares step into my room, or tries any tricks again, I won't hold back. You'd better make that clear to him."
Richard looked from Elaine's tear-streaked face to Liam's bowed head, and finally nodded. "I'll tell him."
Ken allowed himself a satisfied smile. For the first time since rebirth, I've actually won. Not money, not rooms—but dignity. Sovereignty. The right not to be trampled on.
He rose, heading upstairs. Sunlight streamed through the hallway windows, warm as Grandpa's embrace.
Grandpa, do you see this? I've reclaimed the master bedroom, I've defended the trust. Next, it's Olivia's turn. She still owes me royalties, still stole my songs. That bill needs to be settled—fast.
At his bedroom door, Ken paused, brushing his fingers over the old photo of Grandpa on the nightstand.
I'll take back everything that's mine. And make them pay for every injustice.
The road of revenge was long. But he knew—he'd already taken the most crucial step.
Soon, even Hollywood would learn: the Howard family's true son wasn't some pushover whose work could be stolen at will.