Chapter 81

Richard watched her quietly for a couple of seconds.

Elena was clearly trying to look serious, but the uncertainty flickering in her eyes ruined the effect.

He almost laughed.

Instead, he played along and made his own expression a little more serious.

"All right." He nodded. "Tell me."

"Long story short, your daughter's friend tried to scald me—or possibly disfigure me. I got mad and had my people hit him twice. Your daughter thought I went too far and defended him, which made me even madder, so I argued with her and thoroughly embarrassed her in front of a bunch of random people."

Elena delivered the entire explanation in almost one breath.

Then she quietly studied the man in front of her.

Richard's expression barely changed. He seemed to be processing what she had just told him.

Elena sighed.

"I know that, as her father's girlfriend, I should probably act a little more like an elder. Be more understanding. More tolerant—"

"You don't need to."

Richard's voice was calm.

"You're only three years older than her to begin with. And even if you were thirty years older, you still wouldn't be obligated to tolerate that."

Elena blinked.

"Oh, good. Because I was just about to say I don't think I can."

Richard smiled.

Elena immediately brightened. She slipped her arm through his and watched his face carefully, making sure there wasn't even a trace of displeasure there.

There wasn't.

Only quiet indulgence.

"So..." She gave his arm a little shake. "We're good? It's over?"

Richard caught her hand.

"No."

The warmth in his eyes faded.

"Someone tried to hurt you, and you only had him hit twice?"

His gaze darkened.

"That sounds far too cheap."

By dusk, Ryan Foster was staring at the payment-failed notification on his phone in his family's suburban estate.

He grabbed the crystal ashtray from the table and hurled it onto the floor.

"Fuck!"

His chest heaved as he dialed a number again.

It rang for a long time before someone finally answered.

"Well, look who it is. Mr. Foster, your deposit still hasn't come through. My guys are waiting."

"Just do it first!" Ryan lowered his voice through clenched teeth. "You'll get your money. There's a problem with my card today, that's all. Grab the woman first. Break both her legs and send me pictures. I'll pay you double tomorrow."

The man on the other end gave a cold laugh.

"You think we work on credit?"

Ryan's jaw tightened.

"The target has professional security around her. Nobody's taking that kind of risk without cash up front. When the deposit arrives, we move. One million. Not a cent less."

The call ended.

"Hello? Hey—fuck!"

Ryan threw his phone onto the sofa.

His entire life, things had gone his way. He had always had money to spend and people willing to do whatever he wanted.

When had he ever been humiliated like this?

Grinding his teeth, Ryan stormed out of the room and headed upstairs toward the study.

A faint scent of incense hung in the second-floor hallway.

He shoved open the study door.

A couple sat inside reviewing documents on their computers. Both appeared to be in their thirties and looked up at the noise.

"What is it?"

The woman frowned first.

She wore a charcoal business suit, her hair pinned neatly back.

"You're getting worse with age. Have you forgotten how to knock?"

Ryan slammed both hands onto the desk.

"You froze my cards! I know you did!"

His older sister calmly closed the document in front of her.

"Because you did something wrong. Actions have consequences."

"Bullshit! Who the hell do you think you are?" Ryan leaned over the desk. "I'm calling Dad right now. I'll tell him you cut me off because you're trying to steal the family fortune. Dad has always favored me. When he gets back, you're finished."

"Go ahead."

His sister gave a cold laugh and leaned back in her chair.

"See if he answers."

Ryan froze.

"Dad was still in San Francisco around noon. Not long after he heard what happened at Greenfield—that you caused trouble on Sterling Consortium property and nearly injured someone important—he suffered a severe stroke."

Her expression remained cold.

"He's in intensive care at St. Mary's Hospital now. He can barely move or speak. The doctors aren't even sure how much he'll recover, but one thing is already clear—he won't be running the company again."

"What?!"

Ryan stared at her as if he had been struck.

The old man had suffered a stroke?

He was incapacitated?

Then the person who had always protected him...

Was gone?

"So listen carefully, Ryan."

His sister stood and planted both hands on the desk.

"I'm now the executive director and CEO of Foster Group."

Her eyes hardened.

"And as far as this family is concerned, I'm the one making the decisions."

"You..." Ryan took a step backward. "What are you trying to do?"

"Steal the family fortune?" She scoffed. "Why would I need to steal something that should have been mine in the first place?"

She looked him up and down with open contempt.

"Look at yourself. Dad spent millions bribing professors just to drag you through some worthless university and get a degree in your hands. You bullied classmates. You injured a teacher. Every single time you caused trouble, Dad threw money at it until the problem disappeared."

Her voice sharpened.

"And you think you deserve control of the Foster family's money?"

She smiled coldly.

"You're not getting another cent."

Ryan shook with rage.

"So this is who you really are!"

He raised his phone.

"I recorded that. When Dad wakes up, you're finished."

His sister looked as though she had just heard the funniest thing in the world.

"Great. Fly to the States and play it for him at his bedside."

She glanced toward her husband.

The amusement in his eyes was obvious. When he noticed his wife looking at him, he quickly lowered his gaze and restrained his smile.

"Ryan," she continued, "I've already told the legal department to start the paperwork. Every property and sports car in your name that was purchased with company funds is being reclaimed. Distributions from your trust are suspended indefinitely."

Her expression turned icy.

"You live off this family, spend this family's money, and somehow still managed to create a disaster this big. The fact that I haven't personally delivered you to Mr. Sterling to apologize is already more mercy than you deserve."

"You're dreaming! Dad gave me those things!"

Ryan completely missed the warning in her final sentence.

He raised a fist and swung at his sister's face.

"Bitch! I'll kill you!"

But the two punches he had taken earlier that day had left his entire body aching. It felt as though his ribs had been cracked, and there was almost no strength behind the swing.

She stepped aside easily.

Two large security guards rushed in from the hallway. One seized each of Ryan's arms, twisted them behind his back, and forced him facedown onto the floor.

His cheek hit the cold surface.

"You fucking bitch! And you!" he shouted at his brother-in-law. "You think you can do this to me? When Dad wakes up—"

"Keep this up and I'll have you committed."

His sister stood over him.

"I'll tell them you're mentally unstable, self-destructive, and violently dangerous."

Her voice was almost conversational.

"And once you're inside, there will always be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you aren't ready to leave."

She looked directly into his eyes.

"You can spend the rest of your life there."

The shouting stopped.

Ryan slowly raised his head.

There was no warmth at all in his sister's eyes.

He knew her.

She cared about money more than almost anything, and she could be ruthless when she wanted to be.

She might actually do it.

Fear washed over him.

No.

He had to get away from the Foster family.

"Let me go." He swallowed. His voice shook. "I'll leave on my own."

His sister waved a hand.

Only then did the guards release him.

Ryan scrambled to his feet without even bothering to brush the dust from his clothes. He stumbled out of the study and hurried toward the front doors of the estate.

For a moment, the room was quiet.

"You're really just going to let him leave?"

Her husband spoke softly.

"Leave him."

Ryan's sister returned to her chair.

"He barely has any money left. Those so-called friends of his are happy to drink, party, and spend his money when he's paying. Now that he's broke, which one of them is going to support him?"

She reopened the document in front of her.

"Give him three days. He'll crawl back on his own."

Something flickered in her husband's eyes.

He walked behind her and gently began massaging her shoulders.

"Don't let someone like him upset you. It's not worth making yourself sick over him."

His voice softened.

"But we need to deal with Sterling Consortium quickly. If Mr. Sterling takes this personally, Foster Group could be in serious trouble."

"I know."

She rubbed her temple.

"I'm going to prepare a substantial apology gift. I heard Ms. Hayes studies classical dance. I'll have someone find several fine sets of antique Chinese hair ornaments and headdresses, and I'll apologize to her personally."

Her husband nodded.

"You're already busy enough. Ryan really knows how to create problems for you."

"I still can't believe it."

She shook her head.

"That girl is Richard Sterling's girlfriend. If Jonathan Reed hadn't contacted me personally, I never would have believed it."

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

"Ryan has been like this his entire life. He finally picked a fight with someone he couldn't afford to offend. And Dad is partly responsible. Every time Ryan did something wrong and I wanted him disciplined, Dad brushed it aside."

Her husband watched her for a moment.

Then he seemed to make up his mind.

"Actually... there's something I only found out today."

She turned.

"What?"

"Do you remember two years ago, when our oldest son broke his arm at the old family house during the holidays?"

She immediately frowned.

"How could I forget? The doctor said he nearly injured his spine. But Dad said he'd been climbing on the railing and slipped."

"He didn't slip."

Her husband's voice trembled.

"I received a video today."

She went still.

"It was Ryan. Our son was making too much noise, so Ryan pushed him from the top of the steps. He stood there and laughed while the boy tumbled down."

He swallowed.

"Your father was downstairs. He should have seen what happened. Maybe he was too far away. Maybe he didn't see clearly."

"What did you just say?"

She shot to her feet.

"Who sent you the video?"

"I don't know."

Her husband closed his eyes briefly.

Then he looked at her.

"But it isn't that hard to guess, is it?"