Twenty Thousand

"Mr. Vance? Which Mr. Vance?" Martha asked, her voice sharp with confusion. Her hand remained glued to the doorknob, ready to slam it shut. The man standing on her porch looked like he belonged in a skyscraper boardroom, not in a residential neighborhood. His suit was tailored to perfection, and his posture radiated a level of authority that made Martha’s instinctive irritation vanish. It was replaced by a sudden, sycophantic awe.

"Mr. Kaelen Vance," the man repeated, his smile polite but professional. "I am Simon Locke, personal secretary to Mr. Conrad Doyle."

The name hit Martha like a physical blow. Conrad Doyle was a titan, a man whose shadow covered the entire city. Hearing that his personal secretary was at her door made her heart hammer against her ribs. Kaelen stepped forward from the living room, his face calm, his movements slow and deliberate. "I'm Kaelen," he said simply.

Martha’s internal panic flared into a white-hot flame. Her mind raced to the worst possible conclusion. Kaelen had interfered at that crash site earlier. He had touched a Doyle. In her world, that meant trouble—the kind of trouble that ended with people disappearing. She didn't wait for Simon to speak again. She shoved Kaelen aside and blurred out the first thing that came to her mind to protect herself.

"He’s only staying here temporarily!" Martha shrieked, her voice reaching a desperate pitch. "He’s not related to us. Not by blood, not by law. If you’re here to take him away or settle some score for what he did on the road, do as you please. We have nothing to do with him!"

Brielle, who had been watching from the top of the stairs, felt a cold shiver of disgust at her mother’s cowardice. She rushed down the steps, her heels clicking rapidly against the wood. "Mom, stop it!" she cried out, her voice thick with concern. She stepped between Kaelen and the door, facing Simon Locke with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Kaelen just wanted to save that man! He didn't have any ill intentions. Please, whatever happened, it wasn't a crime to try and help."

Simon Locke stood still, his gaze moving from the trembling, desperate mother to the fierce, protective daughter. An amused, highly polite smile crossed his face as he realized the massive misunderstanding unfolding in front of him. He looked at Kaelen, who remained entirely unbothered by Martha’s attempt to sell him out to the wolves.

"You’ve all misunderstood," Simon clarified, his tone smooth and reassuring. "I’m not here to cause trouble. I am here to thank Mr. Vance on behalf of the Doyle Family."

The living room fell into a stunned, breathless silence. Martha’s jaw dropped. The sycophantic smile she had been preparing froze on her face. Brielle’s shoulders slumped in relief, her eyes wide as she looked back at Kaelen.

Declan Bower, who had been sitting smugly on the sofa just moments before, listening to Martha disown Kaelen with delight, suddenly scrambled to his feet. His face turned an ashen, sickly pale. As a manager within the Doyle Corporation, he knew exactly who Simon Locke was. Simon was the gatekeeper to the throne.

"It's you, Mr. Locke!" Declan stammered. He hurried toward the door, his body folding into a deep, desperate bow. He offered a sycophantic smile that looked more like a grimace. "What a surprise! I didn't realize you were coming here personally."

Simon Locke met the greeting with a deep, displeased furrow of his brow. He looked Declan up and down as if he were looking at a stain on his shoe. "Do we know each other?" he asked, his tone dripping with freezing coldness.

Declan’s smile faltered. "I’m the manager of the project office... Declan Bower. I’ve seen you at the annual galas, sir."

Simon merely stared at him, his silence speaking volumes. He didn't care who this man was. Kaelen chose that moment to interject. He looked at Declan with a dispassionate gaze, his eyes sharp. "He’s here to propose to my wife, Simon. To put it simply, he wants her to divorce me so he can marry her. He was just telling me how he could crush me like an ant."

Brielle’s face flushed with a mix of fierce fury and deep embarrassment. She wanted to disappear into the floorboards. Sylvia, who had been standing in the corner waiting to celebrate Declan’s victory, started to edge toward the door.

"Mr. Vance is joking!" Declan blurted out, thick beads of cold sweat rolling rapidly down his forehead. He looked at Simon, then at Kaelen, his bravado completely shattered. "I was just... visiting as a family friend. A casual visit, nothing more!"

"Is that so?" Simon’s gaze turned incredibly sharp and dangerous. Through the Doyle intelligence network, he already knew exactly who Kaelen was and the degrading role the Vale family forced him to play. He knew Kaelen was treated as a servant, a househusband to be mocked. Seeing a mid-level manager trying to steal the wife of the man who saved Preston Doyle was an insult to the Doyles themselves.

"Mr. Vance, please forgive me," Declan stammered, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it. I was just talking nonsense."

Kaelen offered a chilling, mirthless smile. "That wasn't what you said a minute ago. You seemed quite confident about your status and my lack of it."

Simon Locke’s expression darkened into pure menace. He took a step toward Declan, his presence filling the small entryway. "Get lost," Simon commanded. "If I ever find out that you've come back here looking for Mrs. Vance or harassing Mr. Vance in any way, you'll be fired from the Doyle Corporation immediately. I’ll make sure you never work in this city again."

Declan didn't wait for a second warning. He turned and fled the house in a chaotic, panicked scramble, nearly tripping over his own feet as he reached the porch. Sylvia followed close behind, her face pale, not saying a word as she disappeared into the night.

The door clicked shut, leaving the Vales and Simon in a tense silence. Simon turned his attention back to Kaelen, his posture radiating profound, genuine respect. The coldness he had shown Declan vanished instantly.

"Old Mr. Doyle wanted me to thank you personally, Mr. Vance," Simon said. "It’s all thanks to your treatment on the road that Mr. Preston survived the trip to the hospital. The surgeons said that without your initial intervention, he would have been gone before the ambulance arrived."

Simon reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a crisp, white envelope. He held it with both hands, a sign of deep reverence, and extended it toward Kaelen. "Old Mr. Doyle insists you accept this as a token of our appreciation. We know it doesn't compare to a life, but please, accept it."

Kaelen moved his hand to politely decline the monetary reward. He hadn't saved the boy for money; he had done it because he was a doctor. But before he could speak, Martha violently lunged forward. She snatched the envelope right out of Simon’s hands, her movements like a starving predator.

She ripped the envelope open and pulled out a check. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as she greedily counted the zeros printed on the slip. "Twenty thousand!" Martha gasped, her voice cracking. "Twenty thousand dollars!"

"Mom!" Brielle cried out, her face burning with absolute shame. "Put that back! How can you just grab it like that? Have some manners!"

Martha ignored her daughter completely. She clutched the check to her chest as if it were a holy relic. Simon Locke, acting as a consummate professional, looked away. He chose to ignore Martha’s blatant display of greed, focusing entirely on Kaelen.

"Mr. Vance," Simon said, bowing slightly. "Old Mr. Doyle would like to extend an exclusive invitation for you to visit the Doyle residence as an honored guest once Preston is fully discharged from the hospital. He wishes to thank you in person."

Kaelen nodded slowly. "I’ll consider it. Tell him I’m glad the boy is doing well."

"I will convey the message," Simon replied. He gave a final, respectful nod to Brielle and Kaelen before taking his departure.

As soon as the front door closed, the heavy silence in the house shattered. Brielle’s internal fury finally boiled over. She turned on her mother, her eyes flashing. "Mom! Do you know how incredibly embarrassing that was? You tried to throw Kaelen to the police two minutes ago, and then you snatched that money like a common thief!"

"What? It’s only twenty thousand!" Martha countered nonchalantly, her eyes still glued to the check. She was already furiously planning how to spend the massive windfall. A new designer bag, perhaps a trip. "I’ve fed him for three years, haven't I? He’s lived under my roof, eaten my food, and used my electricity. He should give this to me if he knows what's right. It’s back pay for all the trouble he’s caused."

Brielle looked at her mother as if she were seeing a stranger. The shamelessness was staggering. She looked at Kaelen, expecting him to be angry or at least hurt, but his expression remained unreadable. He looked bored, as if the twenty thousand dollars meant nothing to him.

Disgusted by her mother's behavior, Brielle violently stomped up the stairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the house. Kaelen followed silently behind her, retreating to his own room—the small, converted storeroom that served as his sanctuary.

Downstairs, Martha sat entirely alone on the living room sofa. The house was quiet now, the excitement of the evening settled into a low hum. She stared at the check in her hand, the numbers crisp and clear. Her deeply entrenched mindset regarding her despised son-in-law was finally, subtly beginning to shift.

She thought about the way Simon Locke—the right hand of Conrad Doyle—had looked at Kaelen. The respect in his voice hadn't been faked. She thought about Declan, the man she had touted as a genius, fleeing like a scolded dog at the mere mention of Kaelen's name in a positive light.

Kaelen had changed. He wasn't the silent, pathetic loser who had spent three years scrubbing floors. He had done something, some trick on the road, that had earned him the favor of the most powerful family in the city. A greedy thought bloomed in her mind, growing larger with every second. If saving one single person brought in twenty thousand dollars in a single night, she wondered just how much more he was truly worth. He wasn't just a burden anymore; he was a potential gold mine. She gripped the check tighter, a predatory glint appearing in her eyes as she stared at the stairs leading to his room.