Chapter 118

However, what shocked me even more was yet to come.

"Your dorm mate, your good friend, Howard? Didn't he drink a few times with us too? I heard he's doing quite well now. And your wife, even more impressive, she has a daughter."

He glanced at me intentionally or unintentionally, his eyes full of kindness.

He continued, "If you hadn't made that one wrong decision back then, how great it would be. Wouldn't I be able to share in your glory?"

As he spoke, he habitually lifted his arm holding a cigarette, his eyes occasionally looking at the stairs as if he was waiting for something.

Ronald lowered his head in silence, gently wiping his gun, which was shiny and dark, reflecting a dim light. After a long time, he said sadly, "When did you find out? Was it that time with Douglas?"

George replied, "No, it was a bit earlier."

The cigarette in George's hand went out. He extended his right hand to hold a cigarette. Ronald, sensing his cue, lit a cigarette and passed it to him."

The cigarette was lit and wisps of smoke slowly rose into the air. George took the cigarette but didn't smoke it; instead, he watched as the glowing tip gradually consumed the white paper. After a moment of silence, he flicked the ash and finally spoke.

"It should have been the day Joseph came out of the hospital. I regret telling you about the old steel mill. I admit I had selfish motives, thinking I could help you make a big achievement. In the future, whether in the police force or with your father-in-law, you could hold your head high."

That day at a snack stall near the Entertainment Club, Ronald said he had accidentally met Joseph and saved him. Little did I know it was George who first discovered the old steel mill and had become familiar with the kids there before telling Ronald about it.

I looked at Ronald coldly. This person's mind was truly terrifying to the extreme. He not only wanted to change history but also intended to kill his benefactor, George.

George added, "I contacted Tom for a long time, but the old steel mill wouldn't let him go. But when you came, things became much easier. At that time, I was more certain that you had a connection with the old steel mill. Later, with Douglas and Laura, I had already seen that those two had problems, but you kept suggesting I adopt them. At that time, I knew you had bad intentions."

I couldn't help but ask. "Mr. Thompson, you knew it was a trap, so why did you still go?"

"Nancy, Alan's wife, you're great. My godson has good taste, and I'm very satisfied."

George looked at me and laughed, nodding in satisfaction, "You already know the answer to that question. Alan will tell you in the future."

Alan should know that George was not dead, which meant Alan had always known that Laura was one of the masterminds behind framing George. But why didn't he bring it up?

George noticed my expression, coughed twice, and said softly, "Don't blame him."

Don't blame him. What should I blame Alan for? For not telling me about his painful memories, or for not letting me face the storms with him, or for not contacting me after he disappeared? This journey was so dangerous. If it were me, I wouldn't have told Alan either.

I just wanted him to live safely, and I already guessed where Alan was.

I shook my head and choked up, "I never blamed him."

George responded, his face getting worse, and blood started to seep from his hand pressing on his chest.

A small knife was stuck in George's chest. The moment he fell, Ronald reacted, pulled out a small knife, and stabbed it straight in. The sound of bone cracking earlier was the sound of the knife breaking through the bone!

George no longer had the strength to press on his chest and his left hand hung weakly. Blood slowly flowed from his chest, staining the ground. His eyes glazed over, his mind unclear. He relied entirely on willpower to hold on, occasionally looking at the staircase with difficulty.

It seemed like he was waiting for something.

George said, "Ronald,  I was very angry when I found out about it back then. But later, I thought that you were so young and making a mistake was inevitable. You wanted to use my feelings for the kids to kill me. But that day, the person I really wanted to save was you. I wanted to expose you face to face. Come back with me..."

George's breath gradually weakened, his chest heaving violently. He breathed heavily, his mouth moving as if trying to speak, but in the end, he couldn't manage to say the last few words.

Ronald suddenly looked up, staring at George in disbelief.

Bob shouted "Dad," disregarding the gun in Ronald's hand, and rushed to George, pressing hard on the wound to slow the bleeding.

Bob shouted, "Nancy, call for help!"

Ronald responded, "Don't move!"

Ronald's gun was pointed straight at me, his finger already on the trigger.

He said, "After twenty years, listening to George's teachings again is quite nice. People live to pursue something. You seek integrity and a clear conscience, and I give you for that. But what about what I want? Who will provide that for me?"

Ronald stood up, his eyes red, and sighed deeply, saying slowly, "Power, status, and fame are what I pursue, but not entirely. What I want most in this life is to have everything under my control. If I want someone to live, they live. If I want them to die, they die. This feeling, you can't understand. Alright, enough time has been delayed. Your reinforcements won't come, Ms. Johnson. The police and fire department won't be coming today. You don't need to wait anymore."

Footsteps came from the floor below, moving quickly, seemingly heading straight for the fourth floor.

Ronald's face changed slightly as if he had thought of something. He glared at George, and his finger on the trigger slowly pressed down.

The moment the trigger bent down, it felt like someone pushed me hard, causing me to fall to the ground.

"Dad!"Zoey cried.

This cry was filled with fragility, grievance, hatred, and helplessness. Zoey stood in front of me, arms outstretched, blocking me like a wall.

"Zoey!"Ronald and I shouted in unison!

I grabbed Zoey's shoulders, turned her around, and wrapped her in my arms, my back facing Ronald.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Smith. I'm sorry, everyone. It's all my fault. It's my mistake." Zoey lay on my shoulder, crying loudly.

"It's not your fault."

I comforted her softly. She was filled with self-blame and guilt, and also utter despair. She never expected that the mastermind behind the major case spanning over twenty years was her deeply respected and admired father.

At that moment, her world collapsed.