Chapter 7 - The Bloodline Exposed
The final round of the Decathlon was scheduled for 4:00 PM. It was a head-to-head, sudden-death problem-solving marathon. Only the top three competitors remained: Julian Croft of Oakridge Academy, Preston Crowe of St. Jude Prep (who had barely scraped through on past technical points), and Eli Ellis of Westridge High.
The arena was packed to maximum capacity. Additional bleachers had been pulled out to accommodate the spillover crowd. Broadcast cameras from three regional news affiliates were positioned along the center aisle.
As the competitors took their places on stage, Nathan Crowe pushed past the ushers and hurried toward the backstage staging area where the students prepared. His eyes were wild, his hair unkempt, his composure completely shattered.
He found Eli standing by the water cooler, adjusting his watch.
“Eli!” Nathan barked, stepping into the hallway.
Eli turned around slowly. He didn't flinch. He didn't look surprised. He simply looked at Nathan with those familiar, terrifyingly sharp hazel eyes.
“Can I help you, Mr. Crowe?” Eli asked, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Nathan stepped closer, his chest heaving, his hands reaching out involuntarily. “Eli... look at me. Look at my face.”
“I’m looking,” Eli said calmly.
“Don't you know who I am?” Nathan’s voice cracked, a desperate, pathetic plea breaking through his usual arrogance. “Look at your cheekbones. Look at the way you stand. You have my eyes. You have my hands. I’m your father, Eli. I’m Nathan Crowe.”
Eli didn't blink. A cold, faint smile touched the corner of his lips.
“My father died thirteen years ago, Mr. Crowe,” Eli said quietly.
Nathan recoiled as if slapped. “What? No! I’m right here! I had to leave... you don't understand what it was like back then! I had debts, I had ambitions, I was young! Your mother and I... we didn't work! But you—you and Ethan—you are my sons! My blood!”
“You didn't leave because you had debts,” Eli replied, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that froze Nathan to the spot. “You left because you thought we were worthless. You told Mom that we were going to drag you down into poverty. You said we would never amount to anything.”
Nathan’s jaw worked soundlessly. “How... how do you know that? You were three years old!”
“Mom kept your letters,” Eli said, stepping toward Nathan until he was looking down into the older man’s terrified face. “The legal letters your high-priced attorneys sent, offering to forfeit all visitation if she agreed never to ask for a dime of child support. We read them when we were twelve. We know exactly what you traded us for: four thousand dollars and your freedom.”
“Eli, please,” Nathan pleaded, sweat dripping down his temple. “I can change that. I have resources. Millions of dollars. I can get you into Harvard tomorrow! I can fund your research laboratories! We can be a family! You, Ethan, and me!”
Eli looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated pity.
“We don't need your money, Mr. Crowe. We won full-ride presidential scholarships to Stanford three weeks ago. We didn't need your name to get them, and we certainly don't need it now.”
Eli turned and began walking toward the stage entrance.
“Eli! Wait!” Nathan cried out, taking a step forward.
Eli paused at the threshold of the stage lights, looking back over his shoulder.
May you like
“You spent thirteen years building Preston into your masterpiece, Mr. Crowe,” Eli said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “Go sit down and watch what real intelligence looks like.”
***
