Chapter 5
Eddie was standing at the door, looking awkward.
He glanced at me, and there was something complicated in his eyes.
Eddie said, "Mr. Clark, sometimes it's best to let bygones be bygones.
"Now, everything is yours."
"Everything?" I echoed, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
I stared at the well-dressed attorney.
I asked, "Including the daughter of my father's murderer?"
"Mr. Stevens did try to make it up to you, in his own way," Eddie said.
He pushed up his glasses, his voice becoming more formal.
"Please, come with me. The car has been waiting downstairs for a while."
I didn't say another word.
I grabbed my shabby woven sack.
Inside, there were two changes of clothes and a law book I'd nearly destroyed from reading it over and over in prison.
As I walked downstairs, the red Maserati stood out like a sore thumb.
Page was in the front passenger seat, her face unreadable behind her shades.
I slid into the back seat.
The engine's roar shook the whole neighborhood.
Neighbors peeked out from behind their windows, gossiping and pointing fingers.
They must have thought I had finally hit the jackpot.
The car drove out of the city.
Finally, it stopped in front of a mansion halfway up the mountain.
On the black marble lintel, two bold characters were carved. [Stevens Estate.]
The courtyard was packed with luxury cars.
The whole estate was blazing with lights.
"Get out," Page said coldly, heading straight for the main hall without a glance back.
I picked up my shabby woven bag and followed her.
The hall was packed with people.
Dozens of eyes locked onto me at the same time.
Some looked at me with contempt, some with anger, and some with curiosity.
Sitting right in the center of the sofa was an elderly man with a shock of white hair.
He gripped a dragon-headed cane, his gaze gloomy and menacing.
He was Page's uncle, Ferris Stevens.
"Page, is this the thing you dragged back?" Ferris finally spoke.
His despise was obvious. He didn't even consider me human.
Page walked over to him, switching to her good-girl persona.
"Ferris, this is Harding Clark, the heir my father designated in his will," she said.
"This is absurd!" a middle-aged woman snapped, rising to her feet.
She wore a sparkling designer qipao, her nails painted a fierce blood-red.
"How can an ex-con who went to jail for rape be the heir to the Stevens family fortune?" the woman snapped.
"He was convicted of manslaughter, not rape," Page shot back.
The woman shrieked, stabbing her finger right at my face, "What's the difference? Scum is scum.
"Letting someone like him set foot in the Stevens family is an insult!"
I stood right in the middle of the hall.
My beat-up woven bag dangled from my hand.
I was like a joke crashing a high-class show.
But I was not ashamed.
I stared at these scums in suits.
That phone call echoed in my head.
"Stay away from that Stevens woman."
Then, a young man emerged from the crowd.
He was wearing a branded suit. His oily hair was combed. He was holding a glass of red wine as he walked up to me.
"Harding, right?" he said.
He looked me over, then suddenly dumped his glass of red wine all over my worn-out clothes.
He sneered, "Rags like these don't belong in the Stevens family.
"Now, can you get out of here?"
Everyone in the hall erupted in mocking laughter.
Page stood next to Ferris, her gaze cold and detached.
Harding wiped the red wine from his face, his expression icy cold.
Then, I hefted the heavy woven bag in my hand.
Wth a sudden swing, I smashed it straight into the guy's face.
*****
The heavy smack echoed through the hall.
The slick-haired guy screamed as he was sent sprawling across the room.
He crashed into an expensive solid wood coffee table, knocking it over.
The wine bottle shattered across the floor.
The hall went dead silent.
Everyone stared at me like they'd seen a beast let loose.
"How dare you hit me?" the slick-haired punk stammered.
He held his nose, blood streaming between his fingers, and glared at me, barely able to speak.
"Bodyguards, where are you? Kill him!" he shrieked.
In an instant, a squad of black-clad bodyguards swarmed in from every direction.
They boxed me in, closing in from every side.
I tossed my woven bag aside and flexed my wrists, getting ready for action.
"Sorry," I said, my voice steady as I stared at the slick-haired punk.
I looked him dead in the eye, calm as ever.
I said, "After so much time locked up, I'm not used to people pouring drinks on me.
"Where I come from, that's called picking a fight.
"And that means you get hit."
Ferris slammed his hand down on the armrest.
"Stop!" he barked.
He stood up, his dragon-headed cane thundering against the floor.
He barked, "Harding, do you really think signing that agreement makes you the head of the Stevens family?
"This is the Stevens family, not your prison!"
I turned and stared down the imposing old man.
"Ferris, right?" I said.