Part 2Hidden Fortune In Junkyard

I was roughly thrown to the ground, the friction of my skin against shattered rock sending waves of pain through my body. Every breath was agony.

One man, leading the charge, strode up and kicked me squarely in the chest.

I groaned, nearly spitting blood from the impact. Through a haze of pain, I heard sycophantic flattery from above.

“Mr. Heuston, a trash-picking lowlife daring to lay hands on you? He’s got a death wish.”

I looked up to see none other than my deputy, Mark Randysek!

He bowed and scraped behind Austin Heuston, pointing an accusatory finger at me and cursing, as if we were sworn enemies.

My employees, who used to treat me with utmost respect, were now vying to curse me, afraid of being left behind.

“Yeah, who doesn’t know Heuston Industries is Mr. Heuston’s domain now? Since when do trash pickers get to enter the corporate gates?”

“I’ve always disliked him, putting on airs with Mr. Heuston. He totally deserved that beating!”

“If you ask me, Mr. Heuston inheriting the leadership is what everyone wants. The loser should just stay put and not try to cause trouble.”

I abruptly looked up, my gaze sweeping over the circle of people, my heart utterly cold.

Since taking office, I had reformed policies, implemented weekends off, and strictly adhered to an eight-hour workday.

Company salaries and benefits had significantly increased.

Countless employees had come to me, expressing their fervent gratitude.

Especially my deputy, Mark Randysek. I had personally promoted him from a penniless, clueless young man to a position earning over 100,000 a month.

But now that I was out of favor, the employees who were once so grateful to me instantly turned. Everyone was eager to kick me while I was down, all to curry favor with Austin Heuston.

I endured the intense pain and slowly stood up, giving everyone one last look before turning to leave.

The mocking, scornful gazes behind me felt like poisoned needles piercing my skin.

I walked step by step back to the junkyard Austin Heuston had discarded me into, my pockets empty, unable to even afford a taxi.

My accounts had been frozen, all my assets seized.

With Austin Heuston’s blacklist, no one dared to help me.

It wasn't until my feet were bleeding that I finally reached the junkyard Austin Heuston had contemptuously cast aside.

The place reeked, piled high with all sorts of scrap metal, enough to make anyone keep their distance.

But only I knew that what Dad had hidden here before his death was enough to turn my fortunes around.

I set down roots in the junkyard, spending my days collecting scrap.

Meanwhile, Austin Heuston and Chelah Vance almost daily dominated headlines, flaunting their love.

While I ate steamed buns with thin porridge, Austin Heuston and Chelah Vance flew to the States for a truffle chocolate ice cream.

While I bought nine-dollar, free-shipping T-shirts on the internet, Austin Heuston lavished thousands on opening a clothing company, just for Chelah Vance to pick clothes from.

While I was stared at and whispered about in public, Austin Heuston frequently appeared with Chelah Vance at elite galas, praised by all.

Reporters relentlessly disparaged me, using my disheveled appearance to highlight their glamour.

I remained unperturbed, settling into life at the junkyard.

A month later, I unearthed a filthy vase from deep within the rubbish piles, instantly overjoyed.

I hastily wiped away the surface grime, revealing intricate patterns underneath.

Just as I was carefully putting the vase away, a burlap sack suddenly dropped from above.