vncnus Page 150
Page 150
This does not include the second son, who has already been rendered useless.
However, what he didn't know was that deep within the foundation of this seemingly magnificent building, it had already been silently hollowed out by worms.
The one holding the worm-eaten stalk was a name he had almost forgotten—Victor, who was just a lowly person who had been dismissed.
But the opportunity finally came.
The Williams family is hosting a grand charity gala, which will be attended by socialites and media moguls—something that will please Williams.
Victor knew this was the perfect stage to ignite everything.
On the eve of the dinner, Victor carried out the final step of his carefully planned operation.
Using a secret channel he had already laid out, he precisely delivered the two "gifts" to the drawer of the mahogany desk in old Williams's study—a place he was certain the old man would check his speech again before the dinner.
On the night of the dinner, the Williams family mansion was brightly lit, filled with elegantly dressed women.
Mr. Williams was dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his hair meticulously combed, just like his life.
He moved among the guests, accepting their flattery with his usual slightly reserved smile on his face.
Everything was perfect.
He returned to his study ten minutes before the dinner, as was his custom, to take one last look at his speech.
He opened the drawer.
The files inside are not familiar.
Instead, there were two stacks of unfamiliar things.
The stack of evidence contained irrefutable proof concerning his eldest son, Edgar:
Bank statements detailing the misappropriation of huge sums of government funds to cover losses in the futures market;
Printed copies of secret emails containing information about clandestine deals with gangsters and the sale of core technologies;
There were also several staggering debt agreements from underground banks, all bearing Edgar's signature, with the family company's shares secretly listed as collateral.
Old Williams' hands began to tremble.
He couldn't believe that his carefully groomed successor, the pride of his life, was so foolish and greedy, putting the family business in such a dangerous situation.
He felt dizzy, but forced himself to pick up another stack.
It was crystal clear, and utterly unbearable to look at.
His youngest daughter, Isabella, is seen in the photos and video screenshots indulging in extreme debauchery and decadence, entangled with different people in high-end hotels and private clubs, but her eyes are empty and vacant, clearly under the control of drugs.
The memory cards for those videos lay coldly next to the photos.
His lifelong pride, strict upbringing, and family reputation... were all shattered in an instant by these cold papers and images before his eyes.
The faint strains of a symphony drifted from downstairs, and the laughter and chatter of the guests seemed to come from another world.
The study was eerily silent.
The color drained from Old Williams' face at a visible speed, turning it a sallow yellow, like an old newspaper.
His fingers gripped the papers tightly, his nails digging into his palms until they bled, but he felt nothing.
His world is collapsing.
It wasn't a slow tilt, but an explosive, complete disintegration.
He could almost hear Viktor whispering in his ear:
“Look at your proud work, Mr. Williams. This is the fruit of your strictness and indifference. You built a edifice but forgot to check if its foundation had long been rotten.”
A burning, all-consuming rage surged up his head in an instant.
He wanted to rush downstairs, grab Edgar by the collar, and tear him to pieces;
He wanted to drag Isabella out of those filthy images and lock her in the tower.
But the anger lasted only a moment before being overwhelmed by a much larger emotion—a complete sense of defeat.
He spent his entire life controlling and shaping everything, demanding that everything operate according to his will.
But now he realizes he has never really controlled anything.
His education was a complete failure, his authority was a laughable self-deception, and the family reputation he cherished so dearly turned out to be as fragile as a cicada's wing, easily punctured, and about to become the laughingstock of all of Chicago.
An overwhelming sense of shame.
The images from those photos flashed wildly through his mind, overlapping with the innocent smile of his daughter in his memory, making him feel nauseous.
Those debt figures coiled around his heart like venomous snakes, tightening ever tighter.
A cold, bottomless despair.
Everything that made his life meaningful had vanished.
What was the purpose of his lifelong struggle?
For these two children who squandered his fortune and brought him immense shame?
For the sake of his "reputation" that all the guests would be whispering and laughing behind his back after tonight?
The powerful mental shock almost made him lose his balance. He grabbed the desk and gasped for breath, but felt like he couldn't breathe.
The emcee downstairs seemed to be announcing the start of the banquet and inviting him to the stage to give a speech.
The sound became extremely distant and distorted.
He can't go down.
He couldn't face those eyes that were about to know everything, or that already knew everything.
The magnificent image he has built throughout his life will crumble in that moment, shattering into pieces finer than dust.
He staggered out of the study, almost instinctively, looking completely out of sight of everyone, and returned to the master bedroom upstairs.
The more bustling the outside world was, the deeper the desolation in his heart became.
·······
The dinner ended in an eerie atmosphere.
The host failed to appear, and finally, an embarrassed butler announced that Mr. Williams had suddenly fallen ill, and the dinner was to end early. The guests left one by one, filled with doubt and a touch of disappointment.
The mansion finally fell silent, a heavy, suffocating silence.
Edgar and Isabella both felt a vague unease, but they didn't know what was at the heart of the storm.
They tried to ask their father in his room, only to be met with a hoarse, beast-like shout: "Get out!"
Old Williams sat alone in the darkness, like a rapidly weathering stone sculpture.
The anger, shame, and despair of the day have now settled into a boundless void.
Looking back on his life, what was left besides cold transactions, strict control, and this ugly defeat?
He stood up and staggered toward the bathroom.
The movements were slow and mechanical, like a toy that had been unwound.
He turned on the tap, and hot water gushed into the huge white porcelain bathtub.
Steam gradually spread, blurring the mirror and his vision.
He didn't take off his expensive tuxedo and stepped directly into the water.
The scalding water enveloped his icy body, bringing a fleeting sense of comfort.
He slowly slid down, letting the water submerge his body, his chin, and finally his entire face.
The hot water stung his skin, but he didn't react.
He lay there with his eyes open, staring at the blurry light and shadow on the ceiling.
What flashed through his mind was not his glorious achievements, but the image of Edgar timidly handing him a perfect test paper when he was a child, and the moment Isabella first learned to dance and rushed into his arms... Then these images were quickly covered and torn apart by those debt agreements and unsavory photos.
The water gradually cooled down.
The heat turned to warmth, the warmth to coolness, and finally to bone-chilling cold.
But he couldn't feel it.
His body was already numb, and his heart had died the moment that "gift" was opened. What was now soaking in the icy water was nothing more than a shell that had not yet stopped breathing.
The cold, like Viktor's revenge, slowly and mercilessly seeped into his bones, taking away the last bit of warmth from his body.
His teeth began to chatter, his body began to tremble, and old Williams, on the verge of death, no longer wanted to die and struggled to get out.
But his son and daughter appeared at some point, and their four hands pinned old Williams down!
Chapter 127 Spring Breeze Rises Again?
As dawn approached, the maid who was the first to get up and clean noticed something amiss.
There was no light under the bathroom door, yet it was unusually quiet.
She hesitated before pushing open the door—
The steam had long since dissipated, and the bathroom was as cold as an icebox.
Mr. Williams was completely immersed in the cold, clear water of the bathtub, the water still as solidified amber.
His expensive tuxedo was soaked with water and was pulling heavily downwards.
His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Gone was the sharpness and majesty of the past; only a hollow, lifeless gray remained, solidified with final disillusionment and unspeakable pain.
His hands rested limply on the edge of the bathtub, as if trying to grasp something, but ultimately grasping nothing.
The hot water had long since cooled, just as the Williams family's seemingly coveted power and reputation had been completely hollowed out by hatred without anyone noticing. With just a gentle push, it would collapse completely, leaving only a cold, lifeless silence.
Victor's revenge is one-third complete.
The official conclusion is: drowning was caused by an accidental slip and fall due to extreme mental anguish.
Perfect, legal, without any trace of violence—and no one held anyone accountable.
Not long after, Victor attended Mr. Williams' funeral, dressed impeccably.
He stood in the crowd, his expression solemn, even more so than the other guests.