Summoned by Cordelia Klein: The Illegitimate Heir’s Chilling Encounter

Summoned Out of Nowhere

It was raining like hell the morning I got the call. Some junior secretary with a voice too bright for a Tuesday morning telling me:
“Mr. Takano, Ms. Klein requests your presence. 11 a.m. sharp. Tower C.”

Cordelia Klein. I’d seen her once before at some black-tie event I wasn’t supposed to be at. Cold eyes, sharp suit, hair like polished ink. Untouchable, like some rare butterfly encased in glass. And I — I was the stray son. My mother’s son. My father’s mistake.

I didn’t ask why. You don’t say no to Cordelia Klein.

By 10:58, I was standing in front of her office door, leather shoes still wet from the walk through the lobby. The door wasn’t wood. Glass, fogged, her name in matte black:
CORDELIA KLEIN, DIRECTOR

The kind of door that doesn’t open unless it wants to.

Like She’s From a Different Planet

When I stepped in, she didn’t look up right away. Just a slow tap of her pen on a thick manila folder, black nails neat and sharp.
“Takeshi, isn’t it?” she said. Not a question, really.

“Yeah.” I didn’t bother correcting her. Most people couldn’t pronounce it right anyway.

She finally glanced up. Cordelia Klein in person felt… heavier than I’d expected. Not in a physical way. More like gravity was a little stronger around her.

“Sit down.”

I sat. Cheap pleather chair, probably on purpose. Cordelia leaned back, eyes skimming me like she was looking for defects.

“You look like him,” she said finally. No emotion. Like stating the weather. “That’s unfortunate.”

I swallowed once, careful not to show it. “Why am I here?”

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Straight to business. I respect that.”

Family’s Just a Word

For the next ten minutes, it felt like she wasn’t even talking to me. She spoke in clipped English, sometimes Japanese slipping in when she thought I wouldn’t catch it.
“Assets… consolidation… oversight position…”

Finally, I couldn’t take it. “Cordelia. I don’t know anything about finance. Or this family. I’m not trying to play rich kid here. I fix motorcycles.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing like I’d just said something amusing. “I know,” she said. “That’s exactly why I called you.”

Silence stretched, the kind that makes your ears feel full.

She leaned forward then, elbows on the desk. “Our father’s health is declining. Soon, there will be… restructuring. People will want to know where you stand.”

“I don’t stand anywhere,” I said. Voice flat. “I’m not part of this.”

She shrugged, like that wasn’t her problem. “You are. Whether you like it or not.”

Just Cordelia

By the time I left her office, my head was pounding. I’d refused whatever vague offer she made — some token position, something that smelled like a leash.

In the elevator down, I caught my reflection. Rain-wet hair, cheap jacket. My father’s chin.

But later that night, phone vibrating on the counter of my tiny apartment, there was her name. Not “Ms. Klein.” Just:
Cordelia

A message. Only three words.
“You’ll change your mind.”

And maybe I would.

Maybe.