Chapter 4

The next afternoon, I changed into clean clothes and took a long-distance bus for more than two hours to the city where Stewart lived.

I didn't tell anyone. Working from memory alone, I found my way to the trading company where Stewart worked and stood outside the building.

I found a secluded spot by the window in a fast food place across the street, ordered a cup of hot water, and kept my eyes locked on the company's main entrance.

I watched from three in the afternoon until eight at night, long after the neon signs had come on.

Finally, I saw that familiar figure.

Stewart came out of the building behind several middle-aged men in suits.

He walked at the very edge of the group, carrying several heavy gift boxes, his back hunched low, his face wearing a fawning, ingratiating look I had never seen on him before.

At the curb, he rushed to open the car doors for the bosses, even slipping a hand over the top of the door frame so they wouldn't bump their heads.

After the car pulled away, Stewart stood there in the exhaust fumes, waving, until the taillights had vanished from sight. Only then did he slowly straighten up.

In that instant, it was as if every ounce of strength had been drained out of him, and he slumped against a roadside lamppost.

He pulled out a cigarette and tried several times before it finally lit, his hands shaking badly.

After two deep drags, he suddenly bent over the trash can and retched violently.

"Ugh—"

Even from across the street, I could see the tears at the corners of his eyes.

My heart felt like it had been thrown into a meat grinder, the pain so sharp I could hardly breathe.

This was my son. Stubborn and proud in front of me, but out here as lowly as a dog.

Peter was right. He had it too hard. He felt for me, his old father, so he would rather carry it all himself than bleed me any longer.

My eyes stung. I pushed open the door of the fast food place and hurried across the street, wanting to walk over and hand him a tissue, to pat him on the shoulder and tell him: Son, quit the job and come home with your dad.

But just as I reached a landscaping tree only five or six steps from him, Stewart's phone suddenly rang.

He quickly straightened up, wiped his mouth, and answered.

The street was quiet at that hour, and with his phone on speaker, the voice on the other end came through clearly to my ears.

It was Penelope's voice, but the gentleness and consideration she always showed in front of me were gone, replaced by something sharp and cutting.

"Stewart, where the hell have you been? It's this late and you still haven't gotten your ass back to cook dinner?"

Stewart's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "I just saw off two clients... Penelope, I'm begging you, all right? Let's stop taking my dad's money. My dad's almost seventy. He picks out the bruised vegetables just to save a little when he shops. I really can't stand it..."

A cold laugh came instantly from the other end, a laugh that sent a chill through my whole body.

"You can't stand it? What are you playing at, the devoted son?!"

"Stewart, did you forget you just got demoted and had your pay cut last month? Your salary right now can't even cover half the mortgage!"

"If I hadn't been generous enough to grudgingly knock the amount down to three thousand, do you think your old man's precious little savings would still be safe?"

Stewart lowered his voice anxiously, almost through gritted teeth. "And isn't that only because last month, behind my back, you secretly went and paid off your brother's online loans—"

"Shut your mouth!" Penelope cut him off sharply, her tone turning viciously vicious.

"I'm warning you, Stewart. That three thousand is 'protection money' your father has to pay!"

"If you dare run your mouth to your father, if you let a single word of that slip, I'll take our son back to my parents' place tomorrow and make sure you never see your child again for the rest of your life! I'll see you in court, and I'll strip your family down to its last shred of underwear!"

At that, my mind went off like a bomb.

Protection money?

Online loans?

Strip us to our last shred?

The blood in my veins seemed to run backward in that instant. My legs buckled, and I nearly collapsed on the sidewalk.