Half a month later, Sebastian’s trial kicked off.
Jack showed up too.
It was the first time we’d crossed paths since the police station. He looked rough- thin, worn–out, and a mess.
No surprise. Word about the murder plot had spread like wildfire.
Gigi? Gone. Divorced him on the spot.
His company? Fired him without hesitation.
During a break, Jack made a beeline toward me.
He started talking about his childhood, pulling out every nostalgic memory he could.
“Please. Drop the fight over the assets. Leave me the house. If I lose it, I’ll be out on the streets.”
I stared at him, stone–cold.
Why would I give him anything?
He wasn’t even my biological son. He’d plotted to kill me. Now he expected me to give him money?
What a joke.
“What are you to me?” I said, voice low but biting. “Why should I give you money?”
That’s when Jack lost it.
Right there, in front of everyone, he exploded,
“If you don’t leave me the house today, don’t expect me to take care of you when you’re old! Let’s see how you survive without me!”
Twenty, thirty years ago? Those words would’ve crushed me. I would’ve panicked, terrified of being alone, abandoned.
But now?
I’d figured it out.
Relying on some “dutiful son” to take care of me? Foolish.
