When Tyrone walked in, his uncle immediately shrank back, eyes downcast, too guilty to say another word.
Marcus’s expression darkened as soon as he saw Tyrone, though, with the old man present, all he could manage was a disgruntled huff.
His aunt clammed up, too, suddenly silent.
Now, on the surface, everyone in the room seemed wary of Tyrone—they still needed him, after all. But underneath, they were just waiting for the spectacle to unfold.
Sometimes, the coldness in people’s hearts was truly frightening.
Alicia watched Tyrone with pain in her eyes. In that moment, it felt like everything he’d sacrificed for Lynch Corporation, everything he’d done for the Lynch family, had all been for nothing.
She’d never really understood the saying, “A little kindness is remembered, too much, and it breeds resentment”—until now.
Everyone in the Lynch family relied on Tyrone to make their money, but each one of them harbored their own petty schemes. They were greedy, always wanting more: more profit, more cash. So they kept trying to work under the table. When Tyrone cracked down, putting an end to their side deals, all they remembered was that he’d cut off their grey-market income. They forgot he was the one who’d given them a life of comfort in the first place.
They were like people who drank from the well, then turned around and tried to stone the man who’d dug it.
“Tyrone, after all, he’s your father… and you have a brother too. It’s time for you to come home. We’re family. You can’t keep acting this way,” Uncle Abdul finally broke the silence.
“My father? Isn’t he dead?” Tyrone shot back.
Uncle Abdul froze, his face darkening as he glanced at the old man.
The old man’s expression soured, too. His gaze shifted to Alicia. “This is a family matter. If you don’t mind, you can wait in the sitting room.”
His meaning was clear—he didn’t consider Alicia part of this family.
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