From Miner to Mansion

When my biological parents found me, I had just crawled out of the coal mine in West Virginia.

I was covered in coal dust, filthy and disheveled.

I could tell they looked at me with disgust.

Richard Grant, my biological father, even said, “Hire another car for him — don’t let him dirty the family car.”

Elizabeth Grant, my biological mother, forced a caring tone through her disdain: “Child, you’ve been through so much these years. Go home and wash up, and Mom will take good care of you.”

Then they climbed into the car and left.

With them was their adopted daughter, Sophia Grant. She glanced at me, then at her pink Maserati, sighed, and said, “Get in my car.”

“There’s a shower at the mine. I can wash and change before I get in.”

I answered listlessly and went to wash.

After I changed, I got into Sophia’s Maserati and went to my parents’ house.

Back at the Grant house, I didn’t see my biological parents right away. Instead I saw someone around my age — Liam Grant, the family’s false heir, the one who had been switched with me at birth.

Liam stepped forward smiling, grabbed my hand and said, “I guess I should call you my brother, right? Don’t worry — I won’t do that whole real-or-fake heir nonsense. From now on we’re real brothers. Let’s get along!”

As he spoke, he shoved a small kitchen knife into my hand and pulled me toward him as if to make me stab him.

On our first meeting he put a fruit knife in my hand and dragged me toward him. Was this some twisted Grant family welcome ritual?

I’m lazy but strong; I didn’t let him succeed.

He pulled hard but couldn’t move me, then blinked at me with a strangely clear look in his eyes.

He tried to pull again.

I pointed at the phone hanging from my chest and, sparing words, said: “Documenting life.”

Liam was startled and immediately let go of my hand.

Just then Sophia, who had parked the car, came in. Seeing the knife in my hand and Liam’s frightened face, her expression turned odd.

I couldn’t be bothered to explain, so I casually placed the knife back into Liam’s hand.

“Sis, you’re back!” Liam said.

“I told Mrs. Johnson to prepare oatmeal with blueberries for you. I’ll go get it.”

His face was full of ingratiating smiles.

“Not hungry.”

Sophia shook her head, then turned to me and asked, “Ethan Walker, are you hungry?”

“Too lazy to eat.”

I went to the sofa and collapsed onto it, took some snacks from my backpack and stuffed them into my mouth with a half-dead expression.

This was my state of life: sit instead of stand, lie down instead of sit.

“Tired?” Sophia asked with concern.

“Not really.”

I kept eating, brought out my tablet, typing code with my left hand while scrolling videos on my phone with my right, occasionally shoveling snacks into my mouth.

Sophia and Liam stared at me like I was a freak.

Especially Liam — he came closer and, seemingly kind, said, “Brother, you suffered these years and you weren’t taught upper-class manners. If people find out about you like this, the Grants will lose face. Don’t worry — I’ll teach you social etiquette.”

“Too lazy to learn.”

I yawned and, somewhat helpfully, said, “The mine’s busy. Are you sure you don’t want to go home to help?”

To me, biological parents deserved a visit; that’s why I’d come back. So I figured he might want to see his own parents too.

Liam’s mouth twitched and his eyes suddenly reddened: “Brother, if you don’t like me being in the Grant family then I’ll leave.”