In the office, Wang Jian sat slumped in his chair, wearily raising his right hand and closing his eyes as he rubbed his philtrum.
After years of struggle, the rule society taught him was that money could solve all problems, money was everything.
But now, he suddenly realized that money sometimes amounted to nothing, of no use whatsoever.
As for the things Wang Sheng had done in the past, Wang Jian felt extreme frustration from the depths of his heart.
This guy, to be honest, was nothing but scum. Whatever was written in the criminal code, he had done; his only value in the world was to waste food.
Wang Jian sighed deeply. No matter how worthless he was, he was still his son, the only bloodline left between him and his deceased wife.
His gaze shifted downwards, fixing on the slightly faded photo on the desk, showing a woman cradling her belly with a face full of happiness.
