"What do you mean taken away?" Ross inquired, unease in his voice. Veins bulged at his neck — mixed feelings roiled in his chest: anger and sorrow at once. He had just promised his father that he would protect the legacy; to hear that everything his father had built had vanished like that was devastating.
Linward raised his hands, trembling slightly.
"Calm down, Young Master. Do be wise — don't forget we are at your father's funeral!" he warned. The reminder hit Ross like a cold wave, forcing the contracted muscles in his neck to relax. Linward was one of most respected lads in the Mutts family management team. Besides loyalty he was good at keeping anyone in check if he needed to, a practice he started years ago.
"Shit!" Ross muttered through gritted teeth. He clamped his jaw as if the force could be channeled into a punch.
"When the news of your father's passing broke," Linward went on, voice low and careful, "five large shareholders — Axis, Covid, Samsame,niko and veteren — threatened to withdraw their stakes. The smaller partners panicked and started demanding their shares back. Others brought forward documents claiming your father owed them money. It became a bad situation. The only way to keep the companies running and the workers employed was to hand over ownership to them. That way the debts could be covered and people wouldn't lose their jobs."
"All those accusations at once — and the timing… precise. It was their intention all along.What proof did they have?" His voice was sharp; fury sharpened his words.
"Paperwork with your dad's signature . IDs," Linward answered.
"How confident are you in their authenticity?" Ross pressed.
"Not much," Linward admitted. "That's why I wanted your sister to cross‑check everything after the funeral."
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. The rapid back‑and‑forth of questions faded into a stunned quiet. Ross exhaled — not from relief, but from the weight of fresh problems. His father's death had already upended his world; this betrayal tightened the noose. He felt his world closing in, with only a few last words from his father holding him together.
·······
He remembered simpler days.
They were in the living room. His father sat reading that morning's newspaper on one of two matching couches. On the table, a coloring book lay open. In the kitchen his mother and little sister were preparing dinner — turkey and chips.
"Ross!" his father called.
"Yes, Daddy!" little Ross answered.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" his father asked. A question that peeked the interest of everyone in the house.
"Ahm… a martial artist. I want to kick people's asses!" the boy blurted, eyes bright with impossible dreams.
Elod laughed, surprised and pleased
*Just to be clear he wasn't pleased of the foul language but because of how charismatic he answered*
."Alright, a wild dreamer. But after all the fighting, what else would you want to do?"
"Be a spy for the government!" Ross declared, then watched his father's face shift — a flash of disappointment softened by pride.
"You know what I think?" his father asked, leaning forward. "You've got a big brain, good at solving problems. I believe you could run this company better than I ever would."
"Really?" Ross's face lit up.
"Yes."
"Okay then!" He sprang to his feet, chest puffed, pretending he was a superhero in a picture book. "After I retire from being a spy, I'll run this company and make you proud!"
"Shall we make a deal?" his father asked, holding out his pinky.
Ross hesitated — then wrapped his small finger around his father's. It was the first time his father had been so serious with him. "Deal." They pinky‑swore, eyes locking in a promise.
...
The present, however, was different. While the Mutts moaned in the chapel, a secret meeting was being held at Axis Headquarters, the same company that helped in taking over the companies.
The building leaned in a way that made newcomers think it might topple forward — dramatic, imposing. A huge letter A loomed at the entrance, glossy and theatrical, the sort of logo you'd expect to see in a superhero movie.
* Maybe the architect had borrowed an idea from a famous group of superheroes who I cannot name or mention because of copyright issues, but don't let that disturb you from the story.*
The meeting was in the highest office: Room H56. Two men already occupied the spacious, executive room — lights balanced perfectly, chairs arranged like thrones. One side of the room hid the elevator door; the opposite side was a glass wall stretching toward the sky, showing the city like a miniature below.
One of the two men stood out: he wore a grey waistcoat over a white shirt, the muscles beneath clinging to the fabric. Grey trousers matched, black lining giving the suit a hard, expensive edge. His hair was braided tight, complementing a serious expression and piercing blue eyes.
"Is he fucking coming, I have my kids birthday party to attend, single mom's to pound?" a man in a beanbag grunted, glancing at the diamond watch on his wrist. He wore pajamas and a robe — the exact opposite of meeting attire — but his ease spoke of authority. He was the kind of man who could command a room even in sleepwear.
"He said we should wait two minutes,get ahold of your little stick" the other replied, slipping a cigarette into his mouth and reaching for a lighter.
Ring. The elevator chimed. Someone was coming; anticipation upped the tension.
Ding!
The doors slid open, revealing a tall, well‑healed man in a suit, mustache perfectly groomed.
"Gentlemen!" he announced, cheer radiating as if he'd walked into a party.
"You're late!" the pajama man snapped, unimpressed.
"And am glad I'm," the newcomer replied. "Gentlemen, we have secured all of Elod Mutt's companies."
The pajama man's eyes widened in disbelief. "It's done?"
"Smoothly," the man said without hesitation.
"The wife?" the pajama man asked, hungry for the detail.
"No one suspects her, just as you accounted for, Zabi," the suited man replied, turning to the man in the waistcoat with a smirk. "Good. Now, let's move on to the next target."