Chapter 6 - The Ruined Heir And The Family Eviction
The fluorescent lights of the Hale Industries boardroom flickered with an irritating, low hum.
At 8:30 the following morning, rain continued to lash against the glass towers of downtown.
Arthur Hale stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his tailored suit rumpled and unbuttoned.
His face was flushed an unhealthy, purplish crimson, a vein throbbing prominently against his temple.
Evelyn sat to his left, her mascara smudged, clutching an iced coffee cup that was sweating onto the polished wood.
Between them lay the white laboratory envelope from the prenatal diagnostic lab.
The red stamp across the top read: EXPRESS NON-INVASIVE PRENATAL PATERNITY REPORT.
Preston sat three chairs down, looking like a ghost in yesterday’s damp, wrinkled shirt.
His knuckles were raw and bloody from banging on Lena’s front door the evening prior.
His hair was greasy, uncombed, and his eyes were hollowed out by sleepless panic.
"Zero percent," Arthur rasped, his voice tearing at the quiet of the high-rise suite.
Arthur lifted the heavy paper and slammed it back onto the table with an explosive crack.
"Zero point zero percent probability of paternity!"
"Dad, please... listen to me for one second," Preston croaked, his hands shaking violently on his lap.
"Brielle swore to me—she swore on her mother’s life that the Chicago guy was ancient history!"
"Shut up!" Arthur roared, slamming both palms onto the mahogany.
The boardroom windows rattled in their aluminum frames.
"She saw a soft, spoiled, arrogant mark with an open trust fund, and you walked right into her jaws!"
"Arthur, your blood pressure," Evelyn whimpered, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve.
"Don't tell me about my blood pressure!" Arthur snarled, jerking his arm away from his wife.
"The Defense Logistics Agency canceled our supplier meeting this morning at dawn!"
"The contract we spent three years and four million dollars greasing the wheels for is dead!"
Preston swallowed hard, his dry throat aching with every breath.
"Can't we appeal to the congressional committee? You know Senator Higgins—"
"Higgins won't return my phone calls!" Arthur yelled, stepping toward Preston until his spit flew into his son’s face.
"Do you know why Higgins won't pick up?"
"Because the new Deputy Director of Logistics for European Command is Colonel Lena Hartwell!"
"The Armed Services Committee treats her like gold! She has combat deployments! She has medals!"
"And you—my brilliant, visionary son—convinced us she was an entry-level clerk typing memos in an armory basement!"
"I didn't know!" Preston sobbed, clutching his head in his hands.
"She never brought her work home! She drove an eight-year-old Subaru! She wore jeans from Target!"
"Because she had class!" Arthur bellowed.
"Because real power doesn't need to flaunt leased BMWs and country club memberships like a clown!"
"And while you were chasing that cheap blonde grifter, Lena owned the deed to your house!"
"She owned the equity! She owned the custody!"
"And now she owns the reputation of this entire damn family!"
Evelyn began weeping softly into her hands, the reality crashing down on her brittle social standing.
"What about my granddaughters?" Evelyn cried out.
"Madeline... little Sophie... they're my blood!"
"You didn't care about their blood yesterday at ten in the morning, Evelyn!" Arthur turned his venom on his wife.
"You called them a disappointment! You said girls couldn't carry the Hale name forward!"
"Well, look at the boy you bought instead!"
Arthur snatched the DNA test and shoved it directly into Preston’s chest.
"Get out," Arthur whispered, his tone suddenly dropping into an icy, venomous stillness.
Preston blinked through his red-rimmed eyes, stunned.
"What?"
"You heard me," Arthur said, turning his back on his only son.
"Security has already revoked your building badge."
"Your company credit cards are canceled, your corporate phone line is disconnected."
"I am removing you as Vice President of Operations effective immediately."
"Dad, you can't do this to me!" Preston scrambled out of his chair, falling to his knees beside his father.
"I have nowhere to go! Lena took the house! Brielle's apartment is locked by police because her landlord filed eviction!"
"Then find a bridge to sleep under," Arthur said, not even turning his head to look at him.
"You traded away my actual granddaughters—the only true descendants this family had—for a stranger's bastard."
"You are no longer an executive here, Preston."
"You're not even my heir."
Two burly corporate security guards in black blazers opened the boardroom doors.
They didn't ask questions; they didn't offer polite smiles.
They grabbed Preston by the arms and dragged him backward off the carpeted floor.
"Mom! Tell him! Mom, please!" Preston screamed as his heels dragged across the polished marble lobby.
Evelyn kept her face buried in her designer scarf, refusing to meet her son's pleading eyes.
The heavy glass doors of Hale Industries slid open, and the guards shoved Preston out onto the soaking sidewalk.
He stumbled, falling hard onto his hands and knees in a muddy puddle of street runoff.
Pedestrians with umbrellas walked around him, giving him wide, disgusted berths as if he were vermin.
Preston looked up at the towering glass facade of his family's empire.
He had no home.
He had no money.
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He had no job.
And five thousand miles away, the two little girls who used to run to the front door to hug his knees were completely out of reach.
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