Christopher took a sip of red wine, a vicious glint in his eyes.
"Don't worry, he won't last long."
"I had someone ask his foreman. That kid does the work of three people just to squeeze out extra pay. And at night, he's running deliveries until dawn."
"Even a machine would break down at that pace."
"Besides..." Christopher's voice dropped, a feral smile twisting his face.
"A few days ago, I had a chat with a doctor friend. Someone that overworked, that malnourished—all it takes is one shock to the system, one little illness, and..."
He drew a finger across his throat.
"Lights out."
Sophie doubled over with laughter.
"Oh my, you're terrible, darling."
"But honestly? If that kid kicks it, good riddance. Saves us from splitting the inheritance. The Dickerson fortune belongs to Aiden—period."
Aiden pumped his fist. "Hell yeah! Dad, you're a genius!"
"When that loser croaks, I'm gonna set off fireworks at his grave!"
I floated there, staring at their hideous faces.
Rage tore through me.
I hated myself for being blind! I hated myself for my stupid, pointless loyalty!
I hated that on that stormy night, I ran myself into the ground for five measly dollars!
I wanted to rush over and choke them. Flip the table. Throw that scalding soup in their faces.
"Ah—!!"
A soundless scream ripped from my throat. I hurled myself at Christopher, trying to knock the glass from his hand. Trying to slap him.
My hand passed straight through the wine, through his body.
Nothing.
The glass didn't even wobble. Not a drop spilled.
Christopher just shivered, tugging his robe tighter. "Why's it so cold? Is the AC cranked too high?"
Sophie rolled her eyes. "Guilty conscience, maybe?"
"Screw you." Christopher laughed. "Who do you think I'm doing all this for? This family!"
They raised their glasses. The clink rang out like a funeral bell tolling in my chest.
"To Aiden's Ferrari!"
"To that idiot's early exit!"
I watched in despair, powerless. I couldn't even get revenge.
I could only stand there as they traded my flesh and blood for their glory and wealth.
Just as they clinked glasses—
The phone on the table rang again.
Not a text this time. A call.
An unfamiliar landline number flashed on the screen.
Christopher frowned and answered, irritation dripping from his voice.
"Who is this? It's the middle of the night—can't a man eat dinner in peace?"
A stern voice crackled through the speaker, cutting through the quiet dining room:
"Is this Daniel Dickerson's family? This is Officer Chen from Southside Precinct."
Christopher froze. Then something flickered in his eyes—a flash of wild triumph—but his voice pitched into perfect surprise.
"I'm his father. What happened? Did Daniel get into trouble?"
"Daniel has passed away."
