CHAPTER 261: CHAPTER 261

Oliver was already seated quietly inside a spacious, luxurious living room. The décor was fine, elegant even calming, but none of that peace was reflected on the face of the man sitting across from him.

The man looked completely unsettled.

He was older, maybe in his fifties, and dressed in clothes that suggested status. But right now, none of that mattered. His hands were visibly shaking. His shoulders were stiff. Even his eyes refused to meet Oliver’s directly. He just sat there, trembling like someone expecting the worst to happen.

Oliver, on the other hand, was calm too calm. His presence in the room made the atmosphere tense, heavy, almost suffocating. He didn’t even need to speak yet. Just his silence was enough to make the man sweat.

The only sound that filled the room was the quiet ticking of a clock on the far wall. Seconds felt like minutes.

Oliver’s eyes remained on the man, watching his every reaction. His fingers tapped slowly on the armrest, unfazed by the fear across from him.

The man swallowed hard. He still hadn’t spoken a word.

His legs trembled beneath the table. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something but no voice came out. He just looked at Oliver and continued shaking.

At that moment, Oliver leaned back in his chair, his voice low but cutting, carrying the kind of calm that was more dangerous than anger.

"I never expected this to be you," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man trembling before him. "Just imagine... So your daughter is actually Abigail. Interesting. And you’re the one behind those TV stations. Quite the empire you’ve built. Even your wife has her share of power in the industry. Very nice."

He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words hang in the air like a hammer about to drop. Then, with a sharp edge in his tone, he continued, "But tell me something... Why the name change? Why did you throw away the name I knew you by? What was so wrong with it? Or should I say what were you hiding? Because from where I’m standing, this" Oliver gestured at him with a cold smirk " this is your real name, isn’t it?"

The man’s lips trembled. He still couldn’t find the courage to speak. His eyes darted to the floor, avoiding Oliver’s steady gaze. The silence only made his guilt louder. Finally, as if his strength had collapsed beneath him, the man slid from his chair and dropped to his knees, his body shaking even harder now.

"I’m sorry," he stammered, his voice breaking, his palms pressed together in desperation. "I’m very, very sorry. That’s not how it is... please, you have to understand. I was scared. Scared for my life. That’s the only reason I used a fake name from the very beginning. It wasn’t out of malice, I swear. I just wanted to protect myself."

His forehead almost touched the floor as he bowed, trembling like a man begging for his last chance at mercy. "Please... forgive me for what I did. I beg you, Oliver. Please, forgive me."

At that moment, Oliver’s voice dropped lower, carrying that same unnerving calmness that always struck harder than shouting. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on the man groveling at his feet.

"You know," Oliver said, every word deliberate, "I hardly forgive. And you know very well that things like this... they’re not really in my power to pardon. What’s broken stays broken. What’s stolen has to be paid for. And you" he paused, letting the silence slice through the man’s trembling"you did wrong. Very wrong. And wrong must always be paid."

Oliver tilted his head, his expression unreadable, a faint smile curving his lips. "And mind you," he added coldly, "I didn’t even come here for you. You were never on my list today. But it seems the heavens want to smile upon me, placing you right here in front of me. What a coincidence, huh? The one who fathered Abigail. The one who thought he could hide behind a fake name, behind lies, behind stolen power... sitting here, right in front of me."

The man’s body quivered even more. He remained on his knees, clutching the edge of Oliver’s chair as if that might save him. His voice cracked as he pleaded, desperation dripping from every word. "Please... I will do everything everything humanly possible. I will return everything I stole. Everything. I will pay double if you want. The TV stations? Take them. Take everything. My wife’s shares, the properties, the accounts. I’ll let it all go. Just... just spare my life, Oliver. Please."

His forehead touched the floor, his voice almost breaking into sobs. "I know I wronged your family. I know it, and I have lived with that guilt every single day. But please... I beg you, don’t let this end with me here. I will give you all of it. Every last thing. Just spare me."

At that moment, Oliver’s expression shifted into something far sharper, colder. His voice dropped to a low, steady tone that made the man on the floor tremble even more.

"Well," Oliver said, his eyes narrowing, "let’s be clear. You didn’t wrong me. You backstabbed my father. And for that reason alone, you don’t deserve to go scot-free." He leaned back slightly, almost casual in posture, but every word hit like a hammer. "And adding to what your daughter has done... all of this collides together. Two debts one family. And I am going to use one stone to keep two birds."

He tilted his head, mockery curling in his voice. "Since you are the father of that little lady who thrives on blackmail, I finally understand where she got it from. Her tricks. Her arrogance. Her cruelty. It all makes sense now. You’re a thief. She’s a blackmailer. What a perfect match. What a lovely, rotten family legacy."

The man’s forehead pressed even harder to the ground. His voice cracked, begging, "Please... I am sorry. I am so sorry. Spare me, spare her—" but before he could finish, the heavy wooden door to the living room suddenly flew open.

Both Oliver and the trembling man whipped their heads toward the entrance. Standing there, framed by the doorway, was Abigail.

Her eyes fell instantly on the scene the father she admired and trusted kneeling like a beggar, his body shaking uncontrollably, while another man sat calmly across from him like a judge passing sentence.

Abigail’s jaw dropped. The handbag she had been holding slipped from her fingers and crashed to the ground, the sound echoing through the tense room. Her voice erupted in fury, sharp and trembling with disbelief.

"What the hell is going on here?!" she shouted, glaring first at her father, then turning to Oliver with fire in her eyes. "Why is my father on his knees? Begging who?!"

Her gaze locked on Oliver, burning with rage and confusion. "And you" her voice cut like steel, "who the hell are you, by the way?"