I seize him by the shoulder and fling him away, sending him sprawling onto the immaculate lawn. The partially open gate is a heavy, ornate barrier, but I lean into it, throwing my weight against the metal until it groans and slides open a few inches.
Before I can squeeze through, a hand clamps down on my collar from behind. A different guard, faster than the first, trying to pull me back.
Mistake number two.
I seize his arm, twisting it, and with a swift, brutal motion, I throw him over my shoulder. He lands with a grunt, stunned. Before he can even think of getting up, I pivot and deliver a hard punch to his face. Bone gives way. He collapses, unconscious.
Two men in suits now lie on the ground, defeated. I step over them, my sneakers crunching on the gravel, and walk through the open gate. The mansion is a distant, imposing structure at the end of a long, winding driveway, about a kilometer away. I start to jog, the raw, animal anger propelling me forward, past rows of meticulously trimmed hedges.
I reach the mansion, a towering monument to their stolen wealth. The butler, stiff and formal, greets me at the door. "Good afternoon, Miss Evensen. I—"
I bypass him completely, walking straight into the expansive, silent foyer. "Where is he?" I demand, my voice echoing with violence.
The butler, unnervingly calm, bows slightly. "Sir is waiting for you in his office, this way please."
I follow him, my eyes scanning the opulent surroundings, ignoring the curious, startled glances of unseen house staff. My footsteps are heavy, deliberate.
As soon as we reach a large, dark-wood door, I don't wait for permission. I throw it open and walk in with long, powerful strides.
The old man sat in high-backed leather chair, his face a mask of cold surprise. I don't hesitate. I sweep my arm across the massive mahogany desk, sending everything; papers, an expensive pen holder, a crystal decanter crashing to the floor. The sound is a shockwave in the silent room. The old man jump, startled.
My chest is heaving with fury and exertion. "Isn't this your family's method?" I ask, my voice raw but steady. "I'm only imitating the elders."
My grandfather, his face purple with rage, screams, "You bloody bastard!"
A cold, mirthless smirk twists my lips. "Old man," I say, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "since I am a bastard, why bother with me?"
His beard trembles as he points a shaky finger at me, his eyes blazing, as though he's physically restraining a lifetime of pent-up hatred. But he holds back. For now.
The old man sighs, a deep, performative sound of long-suffering. "Sit," he says, his voice gravelly.
"I prefer to stand," I reply, my eyes locked on his, my stance wide and ready.
He seems utterly exasperated. He sits down heavily in his chair, waving off the terrified butler who is hovering near the doorway. The old man pulls out a dark, sleek phone and taps on the screen. A moment later, a soft, familiar ding comes from my jacket pocket.
I pull out my phone and open the banking app. I look at the number, a ridiculous amount of zeros. I sneer.
"Is that enough?" he asks, watching my face.
"One of your brats put my dad in the hospital," I tell him, my voice steady despite the rage bubbling inside. "So no, not enough."
He sighs again, a sound of profound annoyance this time, and taps his cell phone again. Ding.
I check my screen. The balance has instantly tripled. I walk over to the leather couch and sit down, my posture immediately relaxed, almost lazy, as if I own this house, this office, and him.
"You're so generous today," I remark, studying my nails. "Whatever this is, it must be big."
"You aren't stupid after all," he mutters.
"If I am stupid," I say, leaning forward slightly, "I would have to thank your daughter for that."
He slams his hand on the desk, the sound muffled by the wood. "You! Have you no respect? She is your mother!"
I lazily rest my fingertips on my temple, my eyes rolling as I give him a slow, chilling sneer. "She didn't even hold me after I was born, so why would I still recognize her as my mother?" I lean in again, the space between us charged with hostility. "Let me say this once, old man: I have no mother in this world, which means you are nothing but a stranger to me."
He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a silver case, and lights a cigarette. The red ember glows in the room, and a wisp of smoke rises. He takes a long, slow drag and then blows out the smoke, covering his face in a hazy cloud.
"You think I would want to deal with a bastard like you?" he rasps through the smoke. "If I had the chance, I should have drowned you in the fish tank when you were born."
I am not hurt by his words. They are just background noise from a petty, small man. I chuckle softly, rising to my feet. "Too late to regret now, isn't it?"
I turn to leave. I have gotten the money, and that's all I needed. I'm already moving toward the door when his voice, suddenly sharp and lethal, cuts through the room.
"If you walk out that door, kiss your father's pathetic reputation away. Oh, and that little gym of his... He will lose it too. Doesn't he owe the bank millions?"
My steps pause. My hand is inches from the doorknob. My lips twitch. Hearing this old bastard threaten my father, the only decent thing in my life, infuriates me. My father is my bottom-line.
I spin back around and stride across the room, planting my palms flat on the mahogany desk with a bang that rattles the remaining objects.
"You and your slut of a daughter have already ruined his life enough," I hiss, leaning close enough that he can feel my breath. "Keep him out of this."