He Killed My Mother,Now I Control His Fortune

“Our whole family depends on that demolition money to survive!”

His shoulders shook with every sob.

“Sir, I don't know what I did to offend you.”

“If something I said before rubbed you the wrong way, I'll get on my knees and beg your forgiveness.”

“Just don't hold up my family's money.”

“This old life of mine really does depend on that payout.”

And then he actually did it. He slammed his forehead against the floor.

The linoleum thudded with each hit.

Philippa started crying too, clutching her belly as she bent down to pull him up.

“Dad, stop, your body can't take this.”

Ronald's eyes were bloodshot. He jabbed a finger at me and shouted：

“You happy now?”

“My dad's already like this. What more do you want?”

The hallway crowd started murmuring.

“Lord, liver cancer? That's a death sentence.”

“If the demolition money gets held up, where's he supposed to get money for treatment?”

“Can't you people just talk it out? The man's on his knees.”

“Old Whitney's always been a bit of a mooch, sure, but you don't have to push a man to his grave.”

The voices started low.

Then they got louder.

A woman with a tight perm elbowed her way to the doorway and spoke directly at me.

“Sir, let me say something fair here.”

“Old Whitney runs his mouth, sure, but the man has cancer now. Can't you just let him sign the papers first? We're talking about a human life.”

An older man in a floral shirt nodded along.

“That's right. You government folks still need to show some compassion.”

“His daughter-in-law's pregnant. If the old man can't get treatment and dies, that baby's born without a grandfather. How sad is that?”

“You can't be that heartless.”

Geoffrey was still on his knees.

Tears streaked his entire face.

He looked truly pitiful.

If I weren't Peter James.

If I weren't the child who'd stood outside that fire thirty years ago, watching them carry my mother out.

I probably would have felt sorry for him too.

Geoffrey saw my silence and cried harder.

He shuffled forward on his knees, reaching for the cuff of my pants.

“Sir, I'm on my knees. Isn't that enough?”

“I know you people look down on guys like me who run card parlors. Think we're uneducated. No class.”

“But I'm still a person.”

“I still want to live.”

He tilted his face up at me, tears running down every crease and fold.

“You can't cut off my only chance of survival over some incomplete paperwork.”

A few people in the hallway wiped their eyes.

“Sir, you're so young. How is your heart this cold?”

“Didn't your parents teach you any decency?”

My fingers went still.

Parents.

She actually brought up my parents.

Geoffrey had his head bowed. The corner of his mouth twitched, just once.

Quick.

No one else saw it.

But I did.

He was smiling.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, the fire inside me had gone quiet.

I looked at Geoffrey.

“Liver cancer?”

“Submit your medical records, diagnosis report, and all treatment receipts.”

Something lit up behind Geoffrey's eyes.

“Sir, then our compensation……”

I looked at that calculating face and gave a thin smile.

“If the diagnosis checks out, I can process a hardship-aid application for temporary relief.”

“But the demolition compensation review continues.”

Before long, hurried footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

The entire leadership team from the Greenfield urban renewal project had arrived.

Director Lambert was at the front.

The second he stepped through the door and saw Geoffrey on his knees, his expression darkened.

“Peter, what the hell is going on here?”

I pushed the file across the table.