Chapter 4
He froze, phone still pressed to his ear, mouth hanging open, totally speechless.
It was Richard.
He was in his early forties now, had put on some weight since eight years ago, hair slicked back and shiny, clearly taking care of himself.
There were a few lines at the corners of his eyes, but he had that laid-back vibe, like he didn't have a care in the world, just dripping with rich guy confidence.
I'll never forget the look on his face when he saw me.
First, he was stunned.
Then, he looked panicked.
And then, he slapped on a big friendly smile, like we were old buddies catching up after ages.
"Edward? You're out?" Richard blurted, pretending to be surprised.
He passed the fruit bags to his driver and rushed over, arms outstretched for a hug.
"Bro! Why didn't you give me a heads up? I would've picked you up myself..."
My fist moved before my brain could catch up.
One punch.
Right on the nose.
Richard went flying backward, crashing into the shoe rack, and fruit went rolling everywhere.
Blood gushed out of his nose.
Red.
Really red.
Honestly, it was almost satisfying to see.
"Edward!" Sarah screamed.
"Dad!" the little boy on the sofa bawled, his voice cracking with tears.
He just called Richard "Dad".
Did Lily call Richard "Dad" too?
Fueled by that thought, I threw my second punch with everything I had.
It landed square on Richard's cheekbone, and he crumpled to the floor.
"Edward! Edward, calm down!" Richard yelled, clutching his face as blood streamed through his fingers. "Just let me explain..."
"Explain? You got some nerve."
Standing over him, I glared down.
"Mr. Bennett, you're damn good at making excuses.
"Where's the 30 million dollars you promised me?" I demanded, my voice cold and cutting.
Richard's eyes flickered. Even with blood smeared all over his face, I could still see him plotting something.
"Money's not a problem, Edward. Let's sit down and work it out," he said, trying to play it cool.
"And what about my wife? Is she just as easy to settle?"
His mouth twitched, but he didn't answer.
The driver was just standing there at the door, totally lost. Sarah stepped between us, grabbing my arm with one hand and shielding Richard with the other.
She was protecting Richard.
I stared at Sarah's hand, resting on Richard's shoulder, like it belonged there.
It looked so natural.
So familiar, like she'd done it a thousand times before.
Like a wife instinctively shielding her husband.
Eight years.
So the feelings were real after all.
I suddenly laughed.
But it wasn't a happy laugh.
It was the kind of laugh that wouldn't come out, but my lips curled up anyway, a twisted, bitter smirk.
A laugh so self-deprecating it almost hurt.
"Fine."
I took a step back.
"Well, that's one hell of a way to support your family.
"And what a great guy, the only one who bothered to help.
"What a 'bro', what a guy who always says 'it's no big deal'."
I snatched the car keys off the coffee table, not mine, but Richard's.
Porsche.
"Edward, what are you doing?" Sarah cried out, panic in her voice.
"Just borrowing your car."
I walked out without looking back.
As I passed the door, Richard scrambled to his feet.
"Edward! Let's talk this over, okay? Don't do anything rash! You just got out. Don't go getting yourself in trouble again..." he called out, panic clear in his voice.
"Mr. Bennett."
I stopped at the door, didn't look back.
"You better pray I'm just acting on impulse today.
"Because when I calm down, it'll be even worse for you."
The door slammed shut behind me.
My footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one thudding against the silence.
My heart was racing.
But my mind was ice-cold.
Eight years behind bars, and this is what I get.
My wife was gone.
My daughter didn't even recognize me.
That 30 million dollars? Never saw a single dollar of it.
I did eight years for him, and what did I get? He married my wife, had a kid with her, and they're living in my house.
I pressed the elevator button.
While waiting, I pulled out the family photo.
Three smiling faces smiled up at me.
I stared at it for a few seconds.
Then I folded it in half.
Then folded it again.
And slipped it into my pocket.
The elevator arrived.
I stepped inside and pressed the button for the basement.
I was heading down to pick up his Porsche.
I needed to stay calm.
I needed to figure out my next move.
No, I was already on it.
For eight years, locked up behind the iron bars, my days were all about exercise and reading.
I dove into law, finance, and psychology, anything to keep my mind sharp.
Three thousand days and nights, and my brain never got a break.
Richard probably still thought I was the same old finance director from eight years ago.
He figured a couple of punches would be enough to shut me up.
He thought we could just sit down and talk this out.
Sorry, but that's not how it works.
Guys who've done time don't talk.
We settle scores.