At that mont, before Clinton could actually say another word, Oliver slapped him again — hard, and this ti it landed squarely on the other side of his cheek.
"Smack!"
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Clinton's body jerked back violently, and he crashed to the floor, hitting the side of the chair as he fell. His lips were split, his nose red and dripping blood. He looked like he had just been in a car crash. His eyes rolled slightly, and for a mont, everyone thought he had passed out.
But then, with a weak, shaky voice, he whispered, "Don't hit again… Do you want to kill ?"
His voice cracked like dry leaves, barely audible. He could barely move his neck. He just laid there, helpless, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and onto his shirt.
Imdiately, Uncle Festus started thrashing in his chair like a wild animal in a cage.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Oliver!" he scread, veins bulging from his neck. "That's my son! My only son! You think I'll let you go free after this?! You've crossed the line! This is madness!"
But before Festus could say another word, Oliver turned slowly and walked toward him.
Without blinking, without flinching, the fire in Oliver's eyes was sothing that could silence thunder.
He didn't say a word until he was right in front of Festus. Then, without warning, Oliver gripped Festus by the neck—not too tight to choke him, but firm enough to send a ssage that the next squeeze could end everything.
Festus's voice caught in his throat. His rage turned into silent fear.
"You want to talk about lines being crossed?" Oliver said coldly, his face just inches away from Festus's. "Let tell you sothing. Every dirty deed you've ever done… is now in my hands."
Festus froze. His eyes widened.
Oliver's voice dropped even lower, deadly calm. "You think I didn't know you were the one behind Jas? You think I didn't see the bribes? The plans to destroy Cora, blackmail her into stepping down? The late-night etings, the secret wire transfers, the calls you thought no one recorded?"
Festus opened his mouth, but no words ca out.
Oliver leaned in closer. "And don't even get started on the part where you were plotting to kill your own brother the mont the company ca under your full control. Oh yes, I know all of it. Every single detail. Nas, dates, amounts. It's all with now."
At that mont, Festus's entire body went cold. His bravado evaporated like smoke in the wind. He could feel his lungs constricting, not from the grip around his neck, but from the realization that everything he had built… might be coming to an end.
"You're finished," Oliver whispered. "And this ti, no one is coming to save you."
At that mont, upon hearing what Oliver just said, Festus didn't even flinch. Instead, to Oliver's surprise, he started smiling.
A bitter, mocking smile, and then… he began to laugh.
It wasn't the kind of laughter that cos from joy—it was cold, unsettling, and filled with arrogance.
He tilted his head slightly, looked Oliver dead in the eye, and said, "You know… I shouldn't even be laughing. Especially not after what you just did to my son… But hearing what you just said? That nonsense? It's too childish. It's pathetic."
His voice dripped with scorn. "Oh, so now you think you're smart? You think you're so mastermind just because you gathered a few recordings, so photos, and think you've caught red-handed?"
He shook his head slowly, still chuckling. "Let ask you sothing, boy. Do you really believe my brother will believe you? You really think that just because he once called you a son, that he'll turn his back on ?"
Festus narrowed his eyes and leaned slightly forward. "I've been with my brother long before you even knew what a suit was. We built everything together, from the ground up. I've been with him in war and in peace, in pain and in profit. And now, you—you think one little show will break that bond?"
He scoffed. "Let tell you sothing about my brother, boy. He listens to . He believes every word I say. I control the information that reaches him. I tell him what's real and what's not. I explain what he needs to know, and he doesn't question . That's how deep it is."
Festus's smile widened with pride. "You really think you're going to march in there with your so-called evidence, and he'll suddenly side with you?" He laughed again. "That's laughable, absolutely laughable."
Then, with a sinister grin, Festus added, "If I could convince him to let Cora marry that worthless Jas, a man he didn't even like… then trust , there is nothing I can't convince him to do."
He stared Oliver down, his eyes glinting with confidence and cruelty. "So bring your files, bring your photos, bring your sob stories. You'll still end up thrown out like garbage. Because in this ga? I've already won before you even stepped onto the board."
At that mont, Oliver took one step closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked straight at Festus.
"So," Oliver said slowly, his voice cold and calm, "you really think your brother is going to believe everything you say?"
Festus simply smiled.
"Of course," he said with complete confidence. "Why wouldn't he? I've been the one by his side all these years. I practically raised that company with him. I handled the family. I shielded him when things went wrong. I fixed things. And now you—so stray think you can just walk in and turn him against ?"
He let out a soft chuckle, full of arrogance.
"Let repeat myself—he is never going to believe you. Never. You are nothing but a side character in our story. And I? I control the pages. I dictate what happens next."
Festus leaned back in the chair, his smile widening with every word.
"You're wasting your ti, boy. You're swinging a sword with no blade. All that evidence? Useless. Because even if you show it to him… I'll explain it away. I'll twist it. I'll turn it. I'll make sure you're the one that looks guilty."
Then, suddenly, his expression turned fierce.
"Now go down on your knees and start apologizing," he hissed. "Because I'm not going to take it lightly with you. What you've done is treason to this family. And I promise you, I will skin you alive before I hand you over to the authorities. You'll wish you never crossed ."
But before Festus could say another word—
"Clap!!"
"Clap!!"
"Clap!!"
The slow, deliberate sound of hands clapping echoed from behind Festus.
Imdiately his body froze, the smug smile on his face faltered just slightly.
A deep voice followed.
"Well, what a brother you are."
User Comments
0 comments from readers