I Took My Father To Court Ten Times

This was my tenth time filing a lawsuit against my father, Scott Locke.

I didn't even blink when the judge brought the gavel down on the block.

As expected, I lost the case again.

The audience in the gallery began to whisper among themselves. Their disdainful and confused gazes felt like needles stabbing into me.

My face was devoid of emotion when I rose to my feet and tidied up the few sheets of "evidence" on the table. I then turned around and walked away from the prosecutor's table.

A few kind-hearted bailiffs helped Dad, who was crying profusely, to his feet.

"I don't blame you, Cam," he blubbered. "Come home with me. There are a lot of bad people in the outside world."

Dad was instantly surrounded by countless flashing lights. He stared at me with a vulnerable and innocent expression as he wiped his tears.

The reporters immediately whipped around and blocked me from leaving the courtroom, aiming their cameras at me.

"This is already your tenth time filing a lawsuit against your father, Mr. Cameron Locke. Why are you so insistent on doing so?"

"One of your neighbors confirmed that your father makes a living by collecting trash every day. He doesn't spend any money on himself and saves every single penny for you. Don't you feel even the slightest trace of guilt for treating him this way?"

"Have you ever considered your father's feelings? He was still defending you during the trial earlier."

Countless microphones were shoved in my face. I pushed through the crowd and kept walking without saying a single word.

A male reporter, who was wearing black-framed glasses and looked like he had just joined the industry not too long ago, squeezed to the front. He nearly poked me in the face with his microphone when he spoke.

"Mr. Cameron Locke, I'm Kieran Wilcox from 'Hot News'. I have just one question for you. You've filed a lawsuit against your father ten times in a row, and you've lost every single time. What are you trying to achieve by doing such a thing? Are you trying to gain attention?"

I halted my footsteps and looked at Kieran. He looked very young, but he had the sharp and scrutinizing gaze that was unique to news reporters.

I calmly stared at him until goosebumps erupted across his skin, and I only spoke after he lowered his microphone slightly.

"Mr. Locke, was it?" I asked slowly. "Do you believe in what you see?"

Kieran was stunned. It was obvious that he hadn't expected me to answer his questions with another question. He adjusted his glasses and said in a professional tone, "I only believe in the evidence and verdict."

I nodded and shot a small smile at him. "Let me rephrase my words. Do you want to know the truth?"

Kieran was briefly stunned before he nodded vigorously, his eyes shining with unbridled excitement and curiosity.

Through a gap in the crowd, I spotted Dad, who was crying in front of the cameras. I turned my attention back to Kieran. I moved closer until my lips were right by his ear and lowered my voice so that the two of us were the only ones who could hear my next words.

"Don't interview me. Follow Dad around and film him instead."

Kieran's eyes widened. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that I'm giving you exclusive information," I answered, staring into his eyes. "Follow Dad and secretly film him starting tomorrow. Keep your camera on him for all 24 hours of the day. Ten days. You just have to film him for ten days."

The confusion on Kieran's face morphed into absurdity. He probably thought that I had lost my mind.

"That's illegal, Mr. Locke. We can't—"

"You can," I said, interrupting him. "I know that you have your ways. A poor father who makes a living by collecting trash is sued by his own flesh and blood ten times in a row. You love stories like these, don't you?"