Chapter 5 - The Truck Driver Joke
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The room remained silent for three seconds after I whispered my father’s name.
Then Brandon threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the mansion, followed closely by the chuckles of the thirty guests.
"Go ahead," Brandon mocked, wiping a tear of amusement from his eye. "Call that old retired truck driver. Maybe I’ll let him watch what happens next. Maybe I'll make him sweep up the floor after we're done with you."
For three years of our marriage, Brandon had insulted my father. He refused to let him attend our wedding. He called him a blue-collar loser, a quiet, sixty-eight-year-old man who lived in a rundown cabin near the docks. He believed my father was weak, harmless, and entirely forgotten by the world.
That was the lie that would completely destroy him.
Because my father was never just a retired truck driver. He owned the shipping yards, yes, but he also owned the judges, the police chiefs, and the underground syndicates.
He was the most feared mafia boss in the region, a man whose real name made powerful people lower their voices in terror. I had distanced myself from his world to build a legitimate corporate life.
But Brandon didn't know that.
He walked toward me, grabbed my wrist, and tried to tear the silver bracelet away.
"Stop playing games," he snapped.
May you like
But as he grabbed the metal, he froze. He finally noticed the tiny red light blinking rapidly beneath the silver casing.
The signal had already been received. And my father had heard his daughter begging for her life.
