Then Jason Coleman pulled a thick wad of red banknotes from his wallet and tossed them in our faces with disdain.
“Here, take it. Medical bills. Spend it carefully—should be enough to keep you two beggars alive for the rest of your miserable lives.”
Samantha Lee giggled, leaning sweetly against his chest, her phone camera still pointed at us.
“Jason, you’re so generous—actually giving them money.”
I looked at Michael Hayes’s mangled hand and the pain on his face, and my killing intent could no longer be contained.
Just then, the old iron gate of the veterans’ retirement home creaked open.
Out came George Miller, leaning on his cane, and Helen Carter, carrying her watering can. Behind them followed several other elderly residents, all dressed plainly.
George’s sharp gaze swept over the scene of chaos, finally fixing on Michael’s bloodied hand.
“Edward! Michael!”
Helen rushed forward, crouching to gently cradle Michael’s hand in her palms.
“Don’t be afraid, Michael. I’m here.”
Jason grew impatient at the sight of this procession. He sneered.
“What is this, a group scam? Did the whole nursing home come out to extort me? Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood today. Get lost while you can.”
George ignored him. Instead, he turned to an elderly man in glasses.
“Robert, call a doctor from Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.”
Jason’s sneer widened.
“Oh, Walter Reed, huh? Why don’t you just say the White House next?”
Samantha laughed so hard she nearly doubled over.
“What is this place—a collection center for America’s elderly trash?”
Helen set down her watering can. Once a famously tough “iron lady” in the Army, her fiery temper flared, her expression dark enough to drip blood.
“Watch your mouth, young lady. This home is not something you’re qualified to judge.”
“Well, aren’t you bold? Old hag, if you don’t stay out of this, I’ll hit you too!”
Jason raised his hand, ready to shove Helen. But George’s cane intercepted first, blocking him.
“So this is how Richard Coleman taught you to speak to your elders?”
Hearing his father’s name from the mouth of a stranger, Jason froze.
“You… you know my dad?”
George didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he turned to the back.
“David, call his family. Tell his father to come pick him up.”
Jason snatched out his own phone before David could dial.
“Call him? Great idea! I’ll call my dad myself. He’ll bring men here and flatten this dump!”
He quickly dialed.
“Dad! I was attacked! Right outside that old veterans’ home in the suburbs! Bring people—lots of them! There’s a bunch of decrepit old fools throwing their weight around!”
On the other end, Richard Coleman’s voice sounded annoyed.
“What trouble have you stirred up now? Fine, I’ll be there soon!”
Jason hung up, looking even more smug.
Samantha, sensing something was off, tugged on his sleeve.
“Jason, maybe… maybe we should just let it go. I wasn’t even filmed—let’s not make this worse.”
“Let it go? No way! If I don’t break these old men’s bones today, my name isn’t Jason Coleman!”
He pointed at me.
“Old man, kneel right now and beg me. Maybe when my dad gets here, I’ll let him go easy on you.”
Then he jabbed a finger at Michael.
“And you—when my dad shows up, I’ll have him gouge out your eyes and cut you down so you’ll never dare look at Samantha again!”
At the guard post by the gate, a young soldier had already picked up the internal line to report the situation to higher authorities.
