Chapter 33 Echoes of the Past
**Kyle’s POV**
The memories come unbidden in the darkness of my bedroom, rising like ghosts from the depths of my mind. I close my eyes, and suddenly I’m seven years old again, standing in my father’s study with its imposing mahogany walls and the perpetual scent of cigars that always made my throat tight.
“Remember, Kyle.” Father’s voice echoes across time, as cold and precise as the cut crystal tumbler in his hand..“In this world, your existence is meaningless unless you prove yourself worthy of the Branson name.”
I remember how tall his leather chair seemed, how the evening light through the window cast his shadow long across the Persian carpet. How I’d stand there, spine straight despite my trembling, as he assessed me with those steel–grey eyes I’d inherited.
He’d tapped the report card with one manicured finger. “Second is not acceptable. Bransons don’t come second.”
“I tried my best, Father.” My voice had been small, though I’d struggled to keep it steady. A Branson never shows weakness.
“Then your best isn’t good enough.” The words fell like stones into the quiet room. “Perhaps you need a reminder of what failure means in this family.”
The study door had opened then – Mother, arriving like an angel of mercy in her silk dress and pearls. “Darling,” she’d said, her voice carrying that gentle warning tone she used when Father pushed too hard. “He’s only seven.”
“Age is no excuse for mediocrity.” But he’d waved his hand, dismissing me. “Go. Think about how you’ll do better.”
I’d fled to Mother’s private sitting room, with its soft furnishings and always–present scent of gardenias. She’d found me there later, curled in the window seat where I used to hide with my books
“My precious boy.” Her fingers had been gentle in my hair. From her pocket, she’d pulled something that caught the light – a pendant on a delicate chain. “This was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me when I needed courage, and now I’m giving it to
you.”
The metal had been warm from her body as she’d fastened it around my neck. “Remember, Kyle. No matter what your father says, you are the most precious thing in my world. Your existence alone has meaning.”
I’d touched the pendant, feeling the intricate design beneath my fingers. “But Father says-‘
”
“Your father-“She’d paused, choosing her words carefully. “Your father forgets sometimes that strength comes in many forms. That love is not a weakness.”
Two days later, they took me.
I remember every detail with a clarity that still haunts me. The walk home from my piano lesson. The black van. The sweet, chemical smell of the cloth pressed over my mouth. Waking up in darkness, my head pounding, rope biting into my wrists.
“Rich little brat’s awake.” A voice rough with cigarettes. Face hidden behind a ski mask. “Time to call Daddy.”
They’d forced me to kneel on the concrete floor, the leader’s hand heavy on my shoulder. The phone’s ring echoed through the warehouse, each tone making my heart race faster.
“Mr. Branson.” The leader’s voice was eerily calm. “We have your son. He’s been quite cooperative so far.” His fingers dug into my shoulder, warning me to stay quiet. “We’ve taken him out of the country. Don’t bother with the police – by the time they trace this, the boy will be long gone.”
I could hear papers rustling through the phone – Father was probably at his desk, treating this like any other business call.
“What do you want?” His voice was cold, precise.
“Ten million dollars in unmarked bills.” The leader’s grip tightened. “And controlling shares of Branson Industries. You have twenty–four hours.”
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Chapter 33 Echoes of the fast
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“Or what?”
“Or your heir dies screaming.” The leader pressed the phone closer to me. “Say hello to Daddy, boy.”
“Father,” I managed, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to be brave. “Father, please
“You disappoint me, Kyle.” Father’s voice cut through my plea. “A Branson should face death with dignity, not beg like a common child.” A pause, then: “As for your demands – you can kill the child. I will have other heirs. Branson Industries is not negotiable.”
The phone clicked dead.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The younger kidnapper ripped off his mask face contorted with disgust. “What kind of monster-
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“Shut up!” The leader backhanded me, sending me sprawling. The concrete scraped my palms raw. “This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to-” He kicked me in the ribs, pain exploding through my side. “Worthless little rich boy. Your own father won’t even save you.”
The world had stopped. My father’s words, casual as discussing the weather, had torn through everything I thought I knew about family, about love, about my place in the world.
They’d left me in that warehouse, bound and terrified. Hours passed like years in the darkness. The rope cut into my wrists. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. But worse than any physical discomfort was the echo of my father’s words.
*You can kill the child.*
I’d thought I knew coldness from years of Father’s disapproval. But this – this was different. This was abandonment, complete and absolute. In that moment, I understood that I truly was worthless. Replaceable. Nothing.
That’s when I heard it. A scraping sound, then a shaft of light as a small door creaked open.
“Hello?” A whisper, high and clear. “Is anyone there?”
A girl emerged from the shadows, small and determined. Her green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. She couldn’t have been more than five or six, with tangled dark hair and a torn dress.
“You’re crying.” She’d moved closer, fearless despite the situation. Her small hands had been surprisingly steady as she worked at my bindings. “Don’t cry. I’ll help you.”
“They’ll kill us.” My voice had cracked. “My father… he won’t pay. He doesn’t want me.”
“Then we’ll save ourselves.” Such certainty in that young voice. “I have to survive. I’m going to build a happy house someday, where everyone smiles all the time. No one will ever be sad there.”
“A happy house?” Despite everything, I’d found myself curious.
“Mm–hmm.” She’d worked the ropes loose enough for me to wiggle one hand free. “With big windows so the sun can always shine in. And a garden full of flowers. And everyone who lives there will know they’re loved.”
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“That sounds nice.” The fear had begun to recede, replaced by something warmer. “Could… could I visit this house?”
“Of course!” She’d smiled then, a smile that seemed to light up the whole dark warehouse. “You’ll be my first guest. Promise.” We’d talked for hours, huddled together in that cold place. She’d told me about her dreams, her plans, her absolute certainty that we would survive. When fear threatened to overwhelm me again, she’d squeezed my hand and whispered stories about her imaginary happy house until I could breathe again.
Before the police finally came pendant into her small hand.
someone had heard noises from the warehouse and called them – I’d pressed my mother’s
“To remember me by,” I’d said. “For your happy house.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” she’d promised. “Until we meet again.”
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Chapter 33 Echoes of the Past
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Now, lying in my darkened bedroom, I stare at the ceiling and wonder. Could it be? The timing would be right. The green eyes, the dream of making others happy….
Mia’s file sits on my nightstand. Inside are her childhood records, carefully compiled by my investigators. Born Mia Williams. Mother died when she was fifteen. Father remarried almost immediately to…
My hand freezes on the page.
The dates. The names. It all fits.
Except…
“I’ve always lived here.” She said yesterday.
She had never left the country. There was no way she could have been there.
Mia, if only you were her.
