Inside, Kieran still couldn't believe he met the richest man with no connection. They sat knee to knee to cups of sugarless coffee - none of them take sugar. The music was deafening: Rage Against the Storm by Francis Wellarman. Much like Kieran's cup of tea.
The walls screamed wealth, plated with gold. Kieran could swear cool new notes were sleeping inside the two cupboards on either side.
Mr. Holland placed the cup back on the table, his hand movement swift and otherworldly, as if there were a special course taught on how to do so. Kieran forced a smile right away when the man looked his way, trying to hide the fact that... he actually admired him. Of course, not in gay terms, but he had always admired the rich.
"Tell me about yourself, Kieran," Mr. Holland said, his voice escaping the lungs as though on autopilot.
Kieran's jaw dropped slightly in shock, and he touched his chest. "You want to... know about me?!"
Mr Holland raised his brows. "You'll know soon."
Kieran smiled. "What can I say? I have just been surviving alone. Parents died early, I dropped out of school at 17 and pushed through boxing until 23. And here I am, 25, working..."
"... part-time at Mister Blake's convenience store, lives on the fourth floor in Wavermoth District and the playboy type. Favourite movies are Black Mirror and Game of Thrones, and you always take the 8:15 pm bus after work," Mr. Holland listed everything, leaving Kieran staring at him with dropped jaws.
Kieran frowned, cleared his throat and sat right up. He chuckled, looking here and there in wonder, "I'm surprised you know that much about me, Mr. Holland. How come someone like me piques the interest of a wealthy tycoon?"
"... Tell me what I don't know about you, Kieran," Mr. Holland asked him with interest. He took a moment to sit back on the couch, cross his legs and throw his arm over the couch's shoulder like a typical billionaire. He signalled to Kieran, "Come on, Kieran. Tell me something I don't know about you."
Kieran held a chuckle for a few seconds before looking him in the eyes. "What can I do for you, sir? Maybe... I'm getting a job here, that is...?"
"More than that, Kieran...." Mr Holland's voice trailed off as he leaned forward, sort of hurriedly.
"... Hayes," Kieran added, his surname.
But Mr Holland chuckled with a nod, "No, Kieran Holland."
Kieran blinked twice. Kieran Holland?
"The young master of the Holland family, that is."
Kieran blinked again. The Holland family.... what?
He shifted in his seat, chuckling and tilting his head, as if he were meant to understand a joke here. He leaned forward, first sighing, "What do you mean, Mr Holland?"
"Sooner or later, you'll know not to call me Mr Holland, trust me," the man said. "I'm Gregory, if you want to know. But, before anything, Kieran, do you remember the time your parents died? How old were you and what did life taste like then?"
Kieran looked sideways, with a tight frown that showed he really wasn't good with this discussion. He shrugged and chuckled dryly, "I don't know." Kieran faced Mr. Holland - oh, Gregory. Kieran replied, "That was when I dropped out of high school at seventeen. I had to fight in the arena and win trophies so I could feed myself. That's all."
Gregory sipped his tea first and asked, interested, "Money a talented fighter like you gets pays for school, I suppose. Why feed the mouth alone?"
"What do I say?" Kieran asked rhetorically, with a nervous smile. "I hate studying."
Gregory nodded. And then, he snapped his fingers.
The gold-plated door opened without a sound the next second, and what Kieran saw made him jump from his seat right away. He gasped at the sight of the three people that entered the room...
Mr Hayes, Kieran's dead father, his head turned down in something like shame, waved at Kieran. "Hey, son..."
Gregory locked eyes with the man, tilting his head, perhaps with a message. That was when the man corrected himself.
"Mr Holland," Mr Hayes said to Kieran.
Kieran couldn't believe his eyes. He turned to Gregory - the popular Mr. Holland or whatever - and chuckled while spreading his arms in complete curiousity.
"I'm lost here. What's happening?" he asked, then pointed at everyone that had just entered. "What are my dead parents doing here? And even... Mr Blakes?"
He turned to his boss, Mr Blakes, one who should be reading his usual fantasy novels in the library on a free Sunday. Why was he here?
"How did you get here, Mr Blakes? Did they invite you too?" He stepped closer to the trio, who drew backwards immediately. Kieran said with tear-streaked eyes, "Ma, pa, talk to me. What's happening here? You guys were both dead - I mean, I get now you were alive all along. But... what's happening...?"
Kieran cut himself off as a tall shadow leaned sideways. And he looked to see the wealthy billionaire. The man gave him what he thought was a comforting, friendly pat.
"I would hate to break it to you, pal, but all of them have been working for me," Gregory confessed to Kieran.
Kieran faced him squarely: Gregory's hand slipped off his shoulder. "Working for you... how? Mr Blakes still runs his convenience store..."
"You mean the one I bought in your name a year ago?"
Kieran stepped back in shock. But before he could say anything else, Gregory dismissed the trio from the room.
Thus, he said to Kieran, "Yes, everyone was employed to watch over you. When it was time for you to learn more about the world, your fake parents - the two workers - were asked to lay low. So, everyone took it as if they were dead. I bought the mini convenience store for a million dollars in your name, even the entire flat you live in. Because..."
Kieran swallowed.
Gregory sighed as he put a hand on Kieran's shoulder again, "... You're the only heir of the Holland family. The heir to the doubles and doubles of the trillion-dollar business empire."
Kieran gasped.
"... And no, I'm not your father. He's somewhere else, and I am here as an assistant. The one who has been getting things ready for you since you were born so you could reclaim them at 25. Don't worry... you won't understand everything at once. Slowly, you know."
A short while later, Gregory led Kieran through a downstairs passageway within the same yacht. When they reached the front of a steel door, which had intricate locks made of complex mechanics, the six-armed soldiers guarding the door bowed.
Then, Gregory entered a passcode on the screen by the left, and the door hummed open. Gently, by gently. It spread out widely.
... Kieran gaped. Gregory dismissed the guards before stumbling into the vault where Kieran followed into.
"Welcome, Kieran. To your righful inheritance... this vault holds everything." He spread his arms widely as he spoke, while Kieran paced gently behind him, looking here and there.
Inside was golden clear.
"How much are we talking about here?" Kieran asked, his eyes flashing around.
Gregory turned to him. "Not talking about your documents and other things to take over the empire. But only the golds and cash, be expecting... at least a hundred trillion dollars."
Kieran stopped in his steps right away. He looked Gregory straight in the eyes. The door hummed close behind them, its sound not echoing or anything. Everywhere boasted wealth, too much of it.
"What the fuck!" Kieran whispered. "Hundred... what?"
Gregory raised his brows. And nodded. "Yeah. You're going to be super rich, young master Kieran Holland."