Chapter 3

That night, I stepped inside the dimly lit hotel lounge.

Arthur Parker was seated in a hand-carved mahogany armchair. He was old, thick around the middle, wearing a bespoke three-piece suit.

Yet I recognized him instantly.

That face, the heavy arch of his brow bone, matched the yellowed photograph I had spent thirty years staring at.

"Professor Arthur."

I sat down directly across from him.

He took a slow sip of bourbon, raising his eyes to evaluate me.

"Mr. Winslow, I looked into your background. A kid who clawed his way out of the dirt in the backwoods and accomplished so much at such a young age. Impressive."

His tone was slow and deliberate, dripping with the casual confidence of absolute power.

"I came from nothing too, so I know how hard the journey is."

He poured a glass of bourbon and slid it over to my side.

"Whatever reservations you might have, I’m completely confident that Lucas meets all your hiring criteria. If you just cooperate, I guarantee you’ll go far in this industry."

He offered a smooth, practiced smile.

"You're still young, and opportunity is the one thing you lack most."

His gaze was soft, almost dismissive. It carried all the hollow fake empathy of someone at the very top.

No hesitation. No realization.

Even though everyone who ever knew my grandmother said I inherited her exact eyes and facial structure.

He didn't recognize me. He didn't even know I existed in this world.

"Professor Arthur."

I stared at him, my expression deadpan.

"You came from those same backwoods.... I'm curious..."

I leaned in, fixing my gaze on his eyes, enunciating every single word.

"How many bodies did you step on to climb all the way up here?"

Arthur's expression turned instantly cold. The fake, warm smile vanished from his face.

He set his glass on the table with a sharp clink.

"Spill it. What are you trying to get out of this?"

What was I trying to get? I repeated those words in my head.

A bitter, freezing laugh tugged at the corner of my lips.

I wanted payback for fifty years ago, when he abandoned my heavily pregnant grandmother in the backwoods.

He stole her identity and her spot at the college, and ran off with another woman.

My grandmother was branded a homewrecker and trapped in some forgotten backwater for the rest of her life.

When my mother was born, people called her a bastard before she could even walk.

The local school refused to let her into the classroom, claiming that because her mother was “filthy”, she was filthy too.

She spent two years crouching outside the classroom window, listening to lessons until the teacher chased her away with a broom.

Denied an education, she started working as a seamstress at thirteen, her tiny fingers raw and bleeding from countless needle pricks.

Two generations. Two pairs of ruined hands.

They sacrificed everything to carry me out of the backwoods, put me through Columbia Law, and push me into the office I sat in today.

I had waited my entire life for this exact moment.

I locked my eyes onto Arthur’s face, unblinking.

"Professor Arthur, I'm only looking for justice. Before I came here, I published the final hiring list. Lucas isn't on it."

The lounge fell into suffocating silence.

He stared at me. I stared right back.

Fifty years of unpaid debts hanging in the air between us.

His face darkened as he let out a low, dangerous scoff.

"Lad, you really don't know what's good for you."

His fingers tapped a slow, menacing rhythm on the table.

"I met with you tonight to give you a chance to save face, but since you insist on burning bridges, don't blame me for ruining you."

He stood up, buttoning the bottom button of his waistcoat.

"You're way too green to stand in my grandson's way."

He turned and walked away.

I watched his silhouette disappear past the entrance.

The glass of bourbon in front of me remained untouched.

Later that night.

Apex Legal posted an urgent press statement on its homepage:

[Former Partner and Interviewer Ethan Winslow had been terminated immediately for malicious interference in the hiring process and compromising the fairness of the selection process.]

No internal investigation. No video evidence. Just a few cold lines of text alongside my headshot.

The comment section exploded like a broken dam.

A wave of public outrage crashed over me, putting me on trial in the court of public opinion:

[Making a partner at his age? He must’ve pulled some strings. Maybe he even slept his way to the top.]

[Looks like he finally picked a fight with the wrong powerful family!]

[Trash like him ruins fair hiring for the rest of us! Who knows how many qualified candidates he's screwed over?]

I read through every single comment. I didn't say a word.

My phone buzzed continuously on the nightstand.

Vicious messages poured in nonstop.

Among them were two texts from Lucas Parker:

[How does it feel to lose everything? Are you choking on regret yet? Take a look in the mirror before you try coming for me again.]

[Tomorrow morning, Apex Legal is hosting a massive press conference to welcome me to the team. I'm stepping into this elite circle with my head held high, while you won't even be able to land a job as a paralegal in this city ever again.]

The bright light of the screen reflected off my face. I stared at those words for a long time.

Then I flipped the phone face down onto the desk.

My mother sat on the edge of the bed next to me, her back turned. Her shoulders were trembling uncontrollably.

The hands that had spent half a century pushing needles through fabric were clutching the hem of her shirt, her knuckles turning stark white.

"Ethan..."

Her voice was raw and broken.

"Maybe... We should just let it go."

I reached out and took her hands in mine.

The hands that had carried me out of the deepest valleys. Covered in tiny, dense scars from a lifetime of needle punctures. Rough and calloused, broken down by years of hard labor.

I held them tightly.

"Mom, we aren't the ones who did something wrong. They've dodged this debt for fifty years. It's time for them to pay."