Chapter 3: The Letter That Changed Everything
Jackim barely slept that night. His mind replayed the cryptic phone call over and over. Who was that man? What did he mean by "what's rightfully yours"?
By morning, the exhaustion clung to him, but his curiosity burned brighter.
As soon as the sun rose, Jackim made his way to the rundown apartment mailbox, tucked between peeling walls and rusted metal. His hands were cold as he reached in.
His fingers brushed against a thick black envelope—the only thing inside.
Jackim's pulse quickened.
The envelope bore no sender name. No stamp. Only his full name, written in gold ink.
Who sends something like this?
He tore it open, unfolding a single heavy sheet of paper. The handwriting was elegant, almost old-fashioned.
> Jackim Jackson,
You do not know me, but I have known of you for a long time.
There are truths about your past that have been hidden from you.
Inheritance is not always about blood—it is about destiny.
You have been chosen. A fortune beyond your imagination awaits.
But beware… riches do not come without a price.
Come to the Midnight Court Hotel, Room 1402, at exactly 8:00 PM.
This is not an invitation. It is a necessity.
Jackim's hands tightened around the paper. His breath came faster.
What the hell was this?
Jackim spent the entire day debating.
It was crazy. Who in their right mind would go to a meeting like this?
But something inside him wouldn't let it go. This was more than just a prank.
His life had been nothing but misery. If there was even a chance that this was real… could he afford to ignore it?
By nightfall, his mind was made up.
He was going.
The Midnight Court Hotel was the definition of luxury. The moment Jackim stepped inside, the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filled the air. Crystal chandeliers glowed above marble floors, and guests in designer suits and gowns moved gracefully through the lobby.
Jackim's simple black jacket felt out of place.
As he approached the reception desk, a young woman in a sleek uniform glanced at him.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.
"I'm here for Room 1402," Jackim said.
Her fingers froze on the keyboard. For a second, she looked startled. Then, as if remembering something, she nodded slowly.
"Of course, Mr. Jackson. You may proceed."
She didn't ask for an ID. No room key was given.
They were expecting him.
Room 1402
The elevator ride was silent, but Jackim's heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The hallway on the 14th floor was dimly lit, lined with doors as dark as obsidian. He found Room 1402, the only one with a golden crest on it.
Taking a breath, he knocked.
The door opened instantly.
Inside, a man sat in a plush leather chair facing the window, his back to Jackim. The room was massive, lined with bookshelves, expensive art, and a fireplace burning low.
"Jackim Jackson," the man said without turning. His voice was the same one from the phone call.
Jackim stepped in cautiously, his fists half-clenched. "Who are you?"
The man finally turned, revealing a sharp, aged face with piercing gray eyes. He looked powerful. Dangerous.
"I am Victor Harrington."
Jackim stiffened. That name…
Harrington was a name tied to old money, power, and ruthless business empires.
Victor studied Jackim, as if evaluating every inch of him.
"You don't know me," he said. "But I knew your parents."
Jackim's breath caught. My parents?
Victor leaned forward. "And you, boy… are the heir to something far greater than you realize."
Jackim's world tilted.
Everything was about to change.
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