CHAPTER 70: THE SUFFERING !!!

Miles’s eyes widened the moment he heard the man’s words.

"I was your family’s personal lawyer seventeen years ago."

The weight of those years crashed into him like a wave. His throat felt dry.

"Please," Miles said, voice low, motioning to the chair across from his desk. "Have a seat."

The man nodded politely, lowering himself into the chair with slow, exhausted movements. His clothes still smelled faintly of dampness and alley smoke, but beneath the weariness, his posture carried the echo of someone who had once sat in courtrooms, not gutters.

Miles observed him carefully. If this man truly once held such a respected position with the Sterling family... what had reduced him to this state? It was impossible not to wonder. The thought struck deep—this wasn’t just about a visitor. This was another link to the father he had barely known, the family legacy so many had tried to erase.

The man—Cedric Knoll—met Miles’s gaze with tired, weathered eyes.

"I was your family’s personal lawyer" he began, his voice rough—like dry paper scraping against old stone. "I worked directly under your grandfather. Your father... Edward... he trusted me with everything."

He paused, as if the weight of the past needed a breath.

"I wasn’t born into wealth, Miles. My father was just a records clerk in your grandfather’s company—one of the nobodies. We didn’t have much. He raised me alone. When he died of cancer, I had nothing left. No family. No money. No future. I was seventeen."

He looked down for a moment, as though reliving the ache.

"But your grandfather—he saw me. He didn’t just give me pity. He gave me a scholarship. Paid my law school fees. Gave me a place to stay. When I graduated, he brought me back and made me part of the legal team. Eventually, I became your father’s personal legal counsel later"

A faint smile tugged at his lips, cracked and hollow. "Your dad was... a lion. Sharp, bold, always looking ten steps ahead. But he never forgot people. Not like the others. When he became chairman, he didn’t just inherit power—he carried a legacy. And I was proud to serve him."

The smile faded. His fingers curled slightly into his coat.

"Then came that day."

His voice lowered, turned brittle with grief.

"Your father had sent me on an urgent legal errand to England —something he didn’t trust anyone else with. I was away for just a few days. When I got back, everything had fallen apart. Edward was gone. Dead, they said. Killed in an ’accident.’ But even before I heard the details... I knew. It wasn’t an accident."

Miles leaned forward, silent. Listening.

Cedric continued.

"I started digging immediately. And I remembered something your grandfather had once told me, in confidence. There were hidden security cameras in his old office—tiny ones, embedded in the room when he built the tower. He had them installed after a few close betrayals in the company’s early years. Only he and I knew. Even Edward didn’t."

That day as well, those cameras were still rolling."

Cedric’s eyes met Miles’s, sharp despite the exhaustion.

"And what I found... proved everything."

A beat of silence passed.

"Edward was set up. The footage showed everything.

He swallowed hard.

"I burned copies. Hid the original drive. But someone must’ve found out I had it. A day later, I started noticing them—people watching me, trailing me. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t trust anyone. I was just a lawyer, not a fighter."

He rubbed his face with a shaky hand.

"So I sent the footage to a friend. Someone I trusted... a journalist working at Merlin Media. Told him to blow it wide open. Expose the truth."

Miles’s eyes narrowed slightly at the name.

Cedric nodded slowly, sensing the reaction. "Yeah. I know you found that footage. But the report never aired. The footage vanished. And I..."

He exhaled, like the air had been waiting years to leave his chest.

"I woke up in a warehouse. Chained. No clue how I got there. No idea how long I was out. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t beat me. They just... kept me there. Like I was already dead to the world."

He looked away, ashamed.

Miles’s fist tightened at the weight of Cedric’s words.

The atmosphere in the office thickened. Dim overhead lights cast long shadows across the floor, and the low hum of the city outside felt distant now—like the past had finally caught up with the present.

Cedric took a shaky breath and lowered his eyes. His voice trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of memory.

"The place where they kept me... it wasn’t just a prison. It was a hub. A factory. They were manufacturing drugs there—on a scale you wouldn’t believe. The stench of chemicals, the sounds of tortured souls working like machines... it still haunts me."

"They called their boss the ’Old Master.’ That name echoed through the halls like a curse. Everyone feared him... but I never saw his face. I only heard whispers, commands, from somewhere far above. No one ever met him directly—not even the guards."

"After a few months in that nightmare, I found an opening. A small window left unlatched, a lapse in their vigilance. I ran. I didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. But by the time I returned ... everything was gone. My house, your father’s company... even the people who once knew me acted like I was a ghost."

"I searched for your mother. For you. I had nothing left—no name, no home, no license. Just guilt and a mind shattered by what I’d seen."

He paused. A tear rolled down his weathered cheek.

"They found me again... It was like I never escaped. This time, they dragged me to another city, drugged me, and locked me in a private mental institution. Hidden away. Forgotten. For more than fifteen years, I was trapped. Screaming into silence. No one believed me. They said I was mad."

"But I remembered your father’s words. I remembered my promise. Even when I’d lost all hope... I held on to that."

Cedric wiped his face with the back of his hand, swallowing the emotion building in his throat.

"Then... I escaped again. And this time, no one tried to stop me. No one cared. I wandered through cities, slept under bridges, begged for food... But the pain in my heart always reminded me—my duty wasn’t finished."

"When I heard that Sterling Enterprises had returned... that someone had brought the name back—I came to this city again. I stood near your building, in the shadows, every day this past week... hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And today... I did."

"You looked just like your father, Miles. Just like him. When I saw you step out of that car... I knew. The hope wasn’t dead."

Cedric reached into the collar of his ragged shirt and pulled out a small chain hidden beneath it. It looked rusted, tarnished by time and hardship. But what he did next made Miles lean forward.

Cedric snapped the chain in two.

A tiny metallic piece detached from its end—clinked softly on the polished table.

It was a key.

Miles’s brows furrowed.

"This?" he asked, staring at it.

Cedric nodded slowly.

"Locker number 1704. Star Harbor Bank," he said with a whisper.

Miles’s expression shifted from confusion to shock.

"What’s in there?"

"I don’t know everything. But I do know... this was left for you. By your grandfather," Cedric said, voice cracking.

Miles froze. "Grandfather?"

Cedric nodded, eyes distant.

"Before he disappeared... he entrusted that key to me. He told me to give it to his heir, when the time came. He didn’t say where he was going... only that someday, someone would need what’s inside that locker. He trusted me with this one task."

Miles stared at the key, the small object pulsing with mystery and untold truths.

He reached forward, closing his fingers around it.

"Thank you for coming here, Uncle Cedric," he said, voice low. "I’m sorry the Sterlings let you down. Because of us, you suffered... I don’t know how to repay that debt."

Cedric shook his head, tears now freely falling down his cheeks.

"No, Miles. Thank you for showing up. For proving I wasn’t crazy. The debt wasn’t yours—it was mine. I was supposed to stand with your father until the end. But I failed him... I wasn’t there when he needed me most. I couldn’t protect what mattered."

"Your family gave me everything once—honor, purpose, a second chance at life. I couldn’t repay it then... and I probably never will."

Miles stood, his voice suddenly steely, a fire burning behind his eyes.

"Don’t worry, Uncle. Your suffering will not be in vain. Every vine that grew from the rot that destroyed my family—I will pull them out one by one ad burn them. They’ll pay."

He turned toward the door.

"June."

The assistant walked in swiftly, alert.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Find a good place for Uncle Cedric. I want him taken care of—proper meals, a warm bed, security. Make sure he lives comfortably. He’s family."

"Understood, Boss," June said with a nod.

Miles turned back to Cedric and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Have some rest, Uncle. Your time wandering is over. You’re safe now."

Cedric’s lips trembled.

"Thank you... for everything."

June gestured toward the door gently.

"Let’s go, Mr. Cedric."

The two exited the office, leaving Miles alone—still holding the key.

The past had come knocking again.

But this time... he would be ready.

The room was silent.

Miles stood still, the weight of the tiny key in his palm heavier than it looked. Beside it, the note Cedric had left — creased, weathered, and scrawled with the address of that secret drug factory — sat quietly on the table, as if daring him to confront the past.

He stared at both objects for a moment, thinking not just of what Cedric had endured, but of everything his family had lost. The room seemed to close in — dim, tense, suffocating with the weight of revelations.

Then, his phone buzzed.

A message from Monica.

"Everything Cedric told you checks out. The records match. His name was wiped, the asylum did exist, and the place he described... it’s real."

As if perfectly timed, a second later, the screen lit up with an incoming call.

Miles answered.

Monica’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of concern.

"Boss, we’ve started monitoring the address. There’s still movement—" she paused briefly, "—heavy movement. Deliveries, guards, plainclothes watchers. Not just drug runners. Some corrupt officials too. Looks like this place was never shut down... they’ve been protected."

Miles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tensed.

"How could something like this run for decades...?" Monica added quietly, mostly to herself.

Miles’s voice was low, calm, but it carried steel.

"Keep eyes on it. I want to know everyone who goes in and comes out."

"Got it."

"Follow them. Full surveillance. I want detailed profiles by tomorrow."

"Yes, boss."

She hung up.

Miles didn’t move. The key remained in his hand, clenched tightly now — not out of fear, but purpose.