Chapter 4 - The Illusions of a Father
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Once Melissa finished, my hair was a jagged, uneven mess, chunks of it littering the floor around my knees. Brandon stepped forward, stepping carelessly over the locks of my hair. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, dropping them onto the floor inches from my face.
"I'm done playing the supportive husband, Emily," Brandon said coldly. "I want control of the companies. All of them."
Most people in Springfield thought my father, Abraham Yates, was simply a sixty-eight-year-old retired truck driver. He drove an old, rusted Ford pickup, wore flannel shirts, and lived in a modest, working-class apartment on the east side of the city. That was exactly the narrative my father wanted them to believe.
The truth was something Brandon had never discovered, something I had guarded with my life. Abraham Yates was the most feared mafia boss in the entire region. He was the invisible architect behind a vast underground empire built through seemingly legitimate freight companies, sprawling warehouses, nightclubs, casinos, and private security firms. His legitimate front businesses were worth hundreds of millions of dollars, but the underground network was worth billions. Men with unspeakable money, violent power, and deep political connections whispered his name with absolute reverence.
But to everyone in my ordinary, suburban life, especially to my arrogant husband, Dad was just an aging, lucky truck driver who had worked hard, saved carefully, and somehow left his daughter several highly successful logistics companies.
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"Sign the transfer agreements," Brandon demanded, pulling a pen from his pocket and tossing it beside the papers.
I looked at the documents, then up at his smug, entitled face. I gathered the saliva in my dry mouth and spat directly onto his expensive leather shoes.
