Chapter 9
1037words
I had just come downstairs and hadn't even reached the blooming gardenia tree when a ghostlike figure darted out from the shadows of the stairwell and grabbed my arm tightly.
"Jessie! It's really you! Your brother has finally found you!"
That gray, bloated face from years of staying up late and gambling, those murky eyes gleaming with greed, and that familiar, nauseating smell of tobacco and alcohol... it was the nightmare I had escaped from two years ago.
My brother, James Johnson.
My blood seemed to freeze instantly, and my limbs turned cold.
"How did you find me here?!" I struggled to shake off his hand, my voice full of wariness and disgust.
"Don't ask me how I found you!" He tightened his grip and dragged me into a more secluded corner. "You've done well for yourself, haven't you? A manager at a big company now? Perfect timing—I'm a bit short on cash lately. How about you give your brother fifty thousand to tide me over?"
Fifty thousand. His talent for making outrageous demands remained as consistent as ever.
"I don't have any money," I refused coldly.
"No money?!" He acted as if he'd heard the joke of the century, looking me up and down in my relatively decent business attire. "Stop pretending with me! I've checked everything out—you make tens of thousands a month now! What's fifty thousand to you? If you don't give it to me, I swear I'll cause a scene at your company tomorrow and let everyone know that Jessica Johnson is an ungrateful wretch who doesn't even recognize her own brother!"
His shameless expression and that familiar threat were like a rusty key suddenly prying open the black box of my memories. Past fears and helplessness crashed over me like a tidal wave, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Instinctively, I found myself thinking of Francis Foster.
In the past, whenever James Johnson appeared, Francis Foster would use his power and resources to effortlessly resolve this trouble.
But this thought only flashed through my mind before I ruthlessly suppressed it.
No.
I told myself, Jessica Johnson, you're no longer the parasitic vine that could only survive by clinging to others like you were two years ago. This time, you must rely on yourself.
"I have no money," I repeated, my tone more resolute than before. "Not a penny. If you dare go to my company, I'll call the police immediately."
"You wouldn't dare!" James Johnson was provoked by my firm attitude and raised his hand.
Just then, a gentle yet powerful voice interrupted.
"Sir, let's talk this through calmly. Please let go of her."
It was Vincent Wells. He had approached us without my noticing and was now standing behind us, the usual gentle smile gone from his face, replaced with a serious expression.
James Johnson was intimidated by his forceful presence beneath that scholarly exterior, reluctantly released his grip, and walked away while cursing under his breath.
"Are you alright?" Vincent Wells looked at my pale face with concern.
I shook my head and forced a smile at him.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
James Johnson was like a persistent parasite, the deepest mark left by my original family, and also the scar in my heart that I was most unwilling to touch.
The next day, I was distracted and made a small mistake at work that shouldn't have happened. Vincent Wells didn't criticize me, but instead invited me to the café downstairs from our office during lunch.
"Is it that person from yesterday who's troubling you?" He considerately didn't press for details, just looked at me gently.
For some reason, facing his clear and sincere eyes, I let down all my defenses. After much hesitation, I still briefly confided in him about the unspeakable past between James Johnson and me.
I thought he would be like Francis Foster, taking charge and saying "I'll solve this for you," or like others, looking at me with sympathy.
But he didn't.
He just quietly listened to me, then said in a very equal and respectful tone: "Jessica Johnson, this is your family matter, the decision on how to handle it lies entirely with you. However, if you decide to use legal means to protect yourself, I will introduce you to the best lawyer in the city, and I will support you throughout the process."
What he gave me wasn't condescending charity, but true respect and a solution that returned the power of choice to my hands.
At that moment, the last trace of hesitation in my heart disappeared.
With Vincent Wells' encouragement and the lawyer's professional guidance, I mustered all my courage. I proactively contacted James Johnson, pretending to agree to give him money, and arranged to meet him at a café.
Using the voice recorder on my phone, I clearly recorded the entire extortion process.
"...five hundred thousand, not a penny less! If you don't give it to me, I'll expose everything about your past—how you used to sell alcohol at clubs and then became a kept woman for that rich boss! I'll ruin your reputation completely!"
When he spat out these words with such vehemence, I felt neither anger nor sadness, only an unprecedented calm.
Because I knew that after he said those words, the last thread of blood relation between us had been completely severed.
I pressed the send button, forwarding the voice recording and transfer records as evidence to my lawyer.
Then, right in front of him, I dialed 110 with my own hands.
When I walked out of the police station, the sunshine in the southern city was just right, warmly pouring over me. I looked up, took a long deep breath, and felt that the mountain that had been pressing down on me for more than twenty years had finally been lifted away by my own hands.
I saw Vincent Wells standing across the street, holding two ice cream cones. He didn't come over to disturb my "sense of ceremony," but from a distance, he gave me an approving, gentle smile.
I know that, from today onwards, I have truly achieved a new beginning in life.
