I hung up.
The phone clattered onto the passenger seat, and I gripped the wheel tighter, the leather biting into my palms.
Outside, the sign for The Sofia Home for Children came into view.
Mom’s name in gold letters.
And right under it, the man who’d killed everything she ever was, posing for pictures with a smile.
My blood boiled.
Not today.
Not in her name.
Not while I’m still breathing.
The tyres screeched as I pulled up to the kerb, gravel scattering under the weight of the car. I didn’t even bother parking straight, just killed the engine and shoved the door open.
The slam echoed down the street, sharp enough to make a few reporters turn their heads. Cameras clicked, voices dropped.
Good. Let them watch.
I didn’t care. Not one damn bit.
I adjusted my suit jacket and strode forward, every step punching into the concrete, my jaw tight enough to crack.
Ahead, I saw him—John Lockhart—smiling for the cameras as if he’d just saved the world. Flashing his perfect teeth. Arm around some city official like he had the fucking right after fifteen years of not giving a fuck.
“Joshua,” one of the reporters called, recognition sparking. “Joshua Lockhart! You’re here too. Are you joining your father today?”
Father.
I almost laughed.
John turned at the sound of my name, and the fake grin froze when he saw me. His hand dropped from the politician’s shoulder as if it burned.
“Joshua,” he said carefully, too calmly, like we were business partners meeting for brunch. “You made it.”
I stopped a few feet from him, staring at the cameras pointed at us, then back at him.
“Of course I did,” I muttered, my voice low, controlled, dangerous. “Wouldn’t want to miss your performance.”
John’s jaw twitched. He took a step closer, lowering his tone so only I could hear. “This isn’t the place.”
I tilted my head, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel. “No? You made her legacy your stage. Seems fitting I make your show the ending act.”
And before he could respond, I took another step forward, enough for the cameras to catch both of us in the same frame.
Lockhart versus Lockhart.
Father versus son.
The man who built an empire and the boy who refused to inherit his rot.
Let them see it.
Let the world see it.
