The mansion glowed with warm golden light, its grand halls filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of pine and cinnamon. Outside, snow fell in gentle flurries.
He was only thirteen then — in a pressed black suit, standing awkwardly by the staircase, watching the guests with wide eyes. His father stood near the room where the fireplace, surrounded by men in suits and silk ties. His dad looked at him for once with a red eye and with disappointments in his face yet silence which was broken by him
The study door slammed shut behind him.
His father stood by the window, the glow of the fire behind him casting tall, flickering shadows. He didn't turn around.
"You skipped the speech," his father said coldly.
"I didn't want to lie for you."
Now he turned, slowly. His face was hard — carved in stone. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know enough," the boy snapped. "I heard you. Last week. On the phone with Uncle Vance. Talking about covering something up—about bribes. That's why Mum's always crying, isn't it?"
The man's jaw tightened. He stepped forward. "You listen to me. What you heard was nothing. You think this family survives because I play fair?"
"I think you're scared," the boy said, voice shaking but loud now. "And I think whatever deal you made tonight... it's going to destroy us."
His father grabbed his arm — not painfully, but firm. "You are my son. You will not talk like this. You are not ready to understand—"
"I understand just fine!" he shouted, pulling away. "You're selling us out! And I won't be part of it!"
His father's eyes darkened. "Then maybe you're not part of this family anymore.
"The boy stared at him. His lip trembled, but he didn't cry. "Maybe I never was. "He stormed out of the study, slamming the door. It was the last time he ever saw his father alive. The silence that followed cut through the air like a sharp blade. No one truly knew what transpired that fateful day. What remained was the young Michael, stripped of everything—his joy, his family, his father. Worse still, he was unjustly blamed for his father's murder, despite his innocence.
The weight of his father's words never truly left him, like an anchor dragging him deeper into a sea of regret and confusion. But now, as the cab rolled through the city streets, the past felt distant—like an old wound that never healed, still raw but somehow muted. He could still hear his father's voice in the back of his mind, warning him, dismissing him, and in the same breath, abandoning him.
The coldness of that day had shaped him, carved him into someone he barely recognized anymore. The city outside the window was buzzing with life—unfamiliar, unforgiving, just like the world he had to navigate now. His father's betrayal, his family's destruction, had been swept under a rug of lies, each one more tangled than the last. He clenched his fists, staring at the lights of the city as they blurred past him, the motion mirroring the confusion in his mind. All these years, he'd fought to outrun the truth, but now, the time had come to face it head-on. He wasn't running anymore.
"We're here," the driver's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the deserted street, a lonely rhythm beneath the shadowed glow of Christmas lights. The cold air bit at his skin as he turned the corner, the memories of the mansion still haunting him, each one like a dagger twisting in his chest. He needed answers. And for that, he needed someone who wasn't afraid to go as far as he was.
Just as he reached the edge of the alley, a figure stepped from the shadows, a man dressed in a dark trench coat, his collar turned up against the chill.
"You're late," the man said, his voice gravelly, yet carrying an unmistakable authority.
He didn't recognize the voice at first, but then the face came into focus: the hard eyes, the sharp jawline — it was Thomas, a former associate of his father, someone who had once been involved in the family's affairs. He had disappeared after the fall, but now here he was, standing before him like a ghost from a life he'd tried to bury.
"Thomas," he said, his voice cool but with an edge of disbelief. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Thomas gave a sharp laugh, one that was more bitter than amused. "I'd say the same, but it looks like we're both here for the same thing, eh?"
"You think I'd trust you?" he shot back, eyes narrowing.
Thomas raised a brow, his gaze not wavering. "Wouldn't be much of a choice, would it? You've got questions. And I've got answers."
He stood there for a moment, uncertainty swirling in his mind. Trusting Thomas seemed like the worst decision he could make, but then again, what other choice did he have? The truth was elusive, and Thomas was the one link to his father's shady past — the very past that had led to his family's ruin.
"Fine," he said, stepping forward. "But if this is another trap—"
"I'm not here to trap you, kid," Thomas interrupted, his voice low, but there was something in his tone that held a strange promise. "I'm here to tell you what your father was really up to. And if you want to understand the whole damn mess, you'd better listen."
The wind howled through the alley, but it was the chill in Thomas' voice that made him shiver.
The sound of distant traffic echoed in the night, but the street felt strangely silent as the two stood facing each other. Thomas's eyes narrowed, sensing the hesitation in him. "You want answers, don't you? Or are you just going to stand there, waiting for someone else to clean up your mess?"
He gritted his teeth, the sting of Thomas's words hitting harder than expected. "You know what happened to my father," he said, his voice low but steady. "Tell me what you know."
Thomas leaned in, his breath visible in the cold night air. "Your father wasn't just in over his head. He was making deals that could bring down people much bigger than him—and your family along with it. But you're too late to save them."
His heart skipped a beat. "Then what's left for me?"
Thomas paused for a long moment before replying, his voice a mix of resignation and something else, something darker. "Revenge, kid. That's all that's left."