Kelvin sat in the dim corner of his home office, unwilling to turn on the lights. He was trying to occupy himself with work, hoping to suppress the sorrow that kept bubbling to the surface.

It had only been a few weeks since her burial, yet he still couldn't quite grasp that she was really gone. He missed her deeply-she had been there through his lonely moments, shared in his joys, and helped him navigate his sadness.

Even though he knew from the very beginning at the adoption agency that she wasn't his biological mother, she had given him a mother's love, one that he cherished profoundly. She had worked as a cook there-the best cook, in fact-and whenever she managed to save up a little money, she always made it a point to buy him small gifts. She did everything she could to make him feel loved. And when she married the wealthiest and most prominent lawyer in Boston, he feared she would leave him behind, just as his real parents had. But instead, she welcomed him into her new family, the MarQueen family. Though he never took their surname, they made him feel like he truly belonged.

Sitting there, clutching a folder, he attempted to read, but then a single drop of water landed on the page. Confused at first, he soon felt warmth streaming down his cheeks as he realised he was crying.

At last, he allowed himself to mourn. He had fought hard to hold back the tears, but he had finally reached his breaking point. "Why her?" he found himself asking as the tears flowed freely.

As he sat in his sorrow, his phone rang on the table. He picked it up, looking at the caller ID; it was none other than his adopted father, Mr Timothy MarQueen. With a heavy heart, he answered, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Mr MarQueen," he replied quietly.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Dad?" his father's voice boomed through the phone.

Kelvin sighed, bracing himself for yet another argument over this. "Please, not now. I'm too exhausted to fight about this, Mr MarQueen."

Silence hung between them for a moment before Mr MarQueen's voice broke through again. "You need to come home right now. Drop whatever you're doing; there's something your mom left behind for you." With that, he hung up.

***

It was already 9 PM when Kelvin arrived at the MarQueen mansion. As soon as he stepped through the door, he was enveloped by the lingering scent of her perfume. Even in death, she left behind a trace of herself. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks once again. Why is death so cruel, taking away those we love while allowing the wicked to thrive?

This better be an accident, because if I find out an external hand was involved in her passing, aside from God, I'll make them pay. I swear I will.

"In my office, Kelvin," Mr MarQueen's voice called out.

Kelvin pushed open the study door. Behind a massive polished mahogany desk sat Mr MarQueen, wearing a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, exposing his bare arms. He held a glass of whiskey, half full, and kept his gaze fixed on Kelvin as he entered.

"You summoned me?" Kelvin asked.

Mr MarQueen sipped his drink without breaking eye contact. "Yes, I did. Now, sit." He commanded.

Once Kelvin was seated, Mr MarQueen dropped a sealed envelope in front of him. "That's a letter your mother left for you before she passed away. It's as if she knew her time was up."

"What does it say?" Kelvin asked, staring at the letter on the table, hesitant to pick it up.

Mr MarQueen sighed. "How the hell would I know? It wasn't addressed to me," he replied coolly.

Kelvin stared at him, realising he meant well. The man was grieving the loss of the only woman he had ever loved. It was heartbreaking to think that she chose to leave her son with a letter instead of a farewell or an explanation for her sudden passing. The contents of the letter remained a mystery.

As Mr MarQueen stood up and exited the room without another word, Kelvin found himself alone. Slowly, he picked up the letter and tore it open. He took a deep breath and began to read.

Dear son, if you're reading this letter, it means one thing: I have passed away. The past has finally caught up with me, and there's something I need to tell you. I'm sure you've often wondered why your last name resembled mine before I married. There's a simple explanation, and I'm going to share the story of your origins-who you truly are and where you come from. I hope that when you finish reading this, you can forgive me for keeping it from you.

In a historical town known as Christiansborg in West Africa, there exists a notorious crime family called the Andersons. Known for their merciless killings and illegal mining operations, they wielded significant power, even striking fear into the government. Their reach was so vast that no doors could withstand their influence, and they claimed many territories that were not rightfully theirs. This power came at a price, leaving them with numerous enemies.

On the fateful night of the clan leader's second son's birth, a war broke out. Fearing for his newborn's safety, he ordered the head maid of the Andersons' household to flee with the child to a safer land.

It saddens me to reveal that the head maid was me, and the child was you.

We managed to escape safely, and with the little money I could take, I hid it away. I found an orphanage willing to take both of us in, and using my skills as a maid, I secured a position there. To avoid raising suspicion about the baby in my care, I gave you your biological father's first name along with my surname. The rest, you already know.

So there it is-the story of your existence. If you ever wish to return to them, you know where to look. But there's something crucial you need to understand.

Your father could not escape with the rest of your family; he was killed, and his territories were claimed. As for this letter, let's just say your family is reclaiming their lands, and they're now searching for you as well as their enemies. With your father's last words, he declared you his successor, should they ever regain their kingdom. Because I didn't want that for you, I did everything I could to keep you hidden, but I suppose I couldn't stay hidden forever. If you're reading this, it means I am gone, and danger is near.

Please, don't seek revenge. I know your father will want to, but you must keep yourself and him safe. I love you dearly. Take care, my boy.

Kelvin crumpled the letter in his hand as he stared ahead, filled with anger. Not at his adopted mother but for the people responsible for her passing.