Chapter 117

He continued, "Children always think about overthrowing adults as if their lives would be complete if they did."

Ronald shook his head helplessly and sighed, "Frank has been very scheming since he was a child. Sometimes, even I don't know what he's thinking. But then again, children are just children. What they think about is nothing more than what they gain and what they lose, doing meaningless addition and subtraction. They will always look up to me, fearing me as they would fear a deity, and that's enough."

The black muzzle of the gun slowly moved away from George's head, like a black-mouthed snake searching for its next prey, and slowly, it aimed at me.

Ronald's hand was very steady, the muzzle didn't shake at all. Despite his years in the workplace, he hadn't forgotten the basics of being a criminal detective. The moment he pulled the trigger, I would close my eyes forever.

In my thirty-plus years of life, I've encountered many crises. But this time, facing the muzzle of the gun, I truly felt the terror of a life-and-death moment. The subconscious fear surged like a tide. I tried to adjust my breathing to calm my heartbeat.

Clenching my fists tightly, sweat had already seeped through my fingers. My thumb's nail dug into my index finger's joint, using the sharp pain to dispel fear and maintain rationality. Unexpectedly, the sweat made it too slippery, and my thumb exerted too much force, cutting the joint of my index finger.

A sharp pain instantly brought me back to my senses. The next second, George, who was slumped in the wheelchair, suddenly brightened his eyes and stood up quickly. He turned around, grabbed Ronald's right hand holding the gun with one hand, and pushed him back with the other.

Ronald never expected that George, who had been paralyzed for so long, could suddenly attack, and he didn't react in time.

They fell to the ground with a thud.

It seemed like the sound of bones breaking, accompanied by a painful groan.

George closed his eyes, his face pale, sweat dripping from his forehead, his lips trembling slightly, "Stubborn man, old friend, after more than twenty years, this counts as a hug."

"Run!"A hoarse shout came from George's throat.

"Dad!"

"Mr. Thompson!"

Bob and I shouted in unison.

Before the words were finished, a gunshot rang out, and a bullet hole appeared about 0.1 feet from my foot.

Ronald shouted, "Adults are talking, kids shouldn't interrupt, and definitely shouldn't sneak out to play."

Ronald shook the gun in his hand, coughed a few times, and said slowly, "Don't guess, the one with the broken bone isn't me, it's my old friend here. His rib hit the gun muzzle, I haven't fired yet. Ms. Johnson, don't you think I'm too soft-hearted?"

Ronald tilted his head and looked at me, continuing, "I don't know why, but I feel a special connection when talking to you. If I had another chance, maybe I should have gone to Silverlight University Law School when you graduated, and taken you under my wing before Leonard did. Would the outcome be different? Then you could be Zoey's mentor, and I would be completely at ease."

"When people face a dead end, they often think a lot." I wasn't afraid at all and retorted.

Ronald smiled without saying anything, propped himself up with his left arm, and kicked George aside.

George spat out a mouthful of blood, half leaning against the door, clutching his chest and gasping for breath, his eyes fixed on Ronald. That look was like a hunter staring at the beast that killed him, with no fear, only endless hatred and unwillingness.

His skin was more wrinkled, the burned skin gathered together, and new skin could vaguely be seen.

A fake mask?

Just as I was thinking, Ronald noticed it too, paused, tilted his head to look at George's face, then laughed, and suddenly tore off George's mask!

George's true face was revealed before me. After more than twenty years, he was no longer the young and strong man in the photo at Tammy's house in Sand Village. In his sixties, his cheeks were sunken, his face full of wrinkles, his hair gray, and even age spots had appeared. But his eyes were as bright as in the photo.

Ronald lit a cigarette, took a couple of puffs, and handed it over. George hesitated, then reached out to take it. Ronald then lit another cigarette for himself.

For a moment, it was a strange scene. Two old men sitting on the ground, one leaning against the doorpost, the other against the door as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other for years due to many grievances. Soon, smoke surrounded them, and they smoked in silence, occasionally coughing.

Ronald said, "Back then, you asked me if you were fit to be a cop, such a naive question."

Ronald squinted and smiled, "I was surprised that a man in his thirties still dreamed like a hot-blooded teenager. But it turns out, you do have a bit of a cop in you."

George replied, "And you?"

George coughed violently, blood continuously oozing from his mouth. Bob cried heart-wrenchingly, wanting to come over, but George stopped him.

"Me?"

Ronald paused, thought seriously for a moment, and sighed, "I'm not as good as you."

George said, "In what way?"

Ronald continued, "Just the fact that you fooled me, I'm not as good as you. You and Bob, Mike, did you plan all this long ago, waiting for today's chance for revenge? I remember now, that Frank said you were sick. No, it wasn't you, I thought it was that silly cook Cedric. I thought it was Laura's doing, she was afraid you'd expose her identity, so she made you completely paralyzed, unable to speak."

Ronald lightly punched George, like an old friend meeting, not too hard, somewhat jokingly, "You old guy, I thought you were really dead, never expected you could hide for so many years without a word. This patience, you'd make a good criminal detective."

George replied, "You..."

George coughed a few times, his face paler, his eyes starting to dim. I vaguely felt something was wrong. A broken rib shouldn't cause this situation; instead, it should cause intense pain and leave him drenched in sweat. But George looked like a dying old man, his voice much weaker.

After catching his breath for a while, he continued, "You, too ambitious. Back then, you were under thirty, just started working, and had great potential. But you cared too much about fame and fortune, felt ostracized by the police force, and your father-in-law looked down on you. You often came to me for a drink."

What? George and Ronald were that close, even to the point of confiding in each other!

No wonder Tony and Tom always wanted me to leave Silverlight City. It was because Ronald had been controlling them. Ronald was like a deity, so they didn't dare to defy him.