The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon) novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Josh’s Pov

I got up early and headed to my father’s house. I didn’t want to leave my beautiful lovely wife to be in bed, but I had no choice. Dad needed to speak with me. I assumed it had something to do with my mother. Years of preparation and manipulation paid off, and the results were even better than we had planned. We pulled off the greatest theft ever. If only she was in the right mind to witness it. We went in looking for lemons but ended up with oranges.

When I arrived at my father’s compound, he was waiting at the gate, like a father awaiting the return of a son who had gone to fight for his country and whom he hadn’t seen in years. He was unable to attend the final divorce court hearing, but I informed him as soon as the judge read out the lovely lullaby.

He dashed for me and embraced me in joy as soon as I opened the car door. He murmured, his eyes. yearly, “I knew you could do it, son.” He said. “I never, ever doubted you.”

Nothing in the world made a man happier than a proud father, so I kept his smile and hugged him tightly. To be honest, I was against the notion when he proposed taking down the late Charles Nashi and his daughter. I told him to accept his losses and move on. Grudges passed down through generations inevitably ended in tragedy. I had no intention of joining his vendetta, but when my mother’s health and life were jeopardized, I felt I had no choice but to accede to his plans and return what was taken from us.

My mother, like my father, always enjoyed a life of luxury; my father, Victor Nelson, was a major inventor in medical devices, but his idiotic best friend, Thalia’s father, chose to compete with him. outshining our gadgets and bankrupting us. We were on the verge of becoming homeless, and Mom was the hardest hit; she couldn’t handle the shame and turned to alcohol and drugs to cope, sealing her mind. I saw her deteriorate from a successful entrepreneur to an alcoholic old rug.

Despite all of our efforts, she relapsed, and every time I saw her, my blood boiled causing me to become even more determined to eliminate the enemies who had put her into melancholy.

“How is she?” I posed the question.

He took me inside, saying, “She was asking for you.” He continued, “Did Jessica agree to combine the two parties?

“We’re talking about Jessica,” I joked, “and she’s still upset at me for even mentioning it,” I answered, making him laugh.

“She is a woman of high test,” he replied.

We got to the door, instead of opening it, he paused and put his hand on my shoulder, hist countenance solemn, He was about to say something I didn’t like, that much I could tell.

“This is your final visit to her in this house,” he said, “I’m going to put her in a decent home

tomorrow.”

“She’ll stand in front of that window until her legs give out; it’s time to commit her to a facility. She’ll never be the same,” Dad stated.

go

“I’m not going to put my mother in an institution! If you want to have sex with your idiot secretary. ahead and marry her, but I’m not giving up on Mom!” I screamed, my rage audible in my voice. He clearly desired to be free of her and take the next slat that became available. Even before mom went downhill, he couldn’t keep his zip closed. I used to think it was his infidelity, not our financial difficulties, that was to blame for mom’s condition. To be honest I inherited that promiscuous life. though I tamed it when my eyes set on Jessica. I planned to keep it that way.

“Remember, son, you’re marrying Jessica; it’s a new chapter in your life; embrace it.”

“So you want me to abandon my mother? Remember, we took INC biotech so that everything can go back to normal,” I cautioned.

He sighed and walked away as if pondering something; he was so selfish; he was supposed to be throwing a party to celebrate the takeover, but instead, he was ruining my morning.

“You better get ready, the celebration starts in a few hours. But keep in mind that if you want to live with Jessica, you’ll need to have your mother institutionalized,” he said and walked out of the room. I took a deep breath and walked up to the window where Mom was standing. I had no intention of putting her in an institution; I had given up my life to reclaim everything we had lost so that we might never be parted. I put my hands on her shoulders, but she pushed me away and asked who I was. Alcohol-induced dementia, that was the bed she had laid herself for. She took a seat in a corner and began playing with her nails. Dad was correct in one respect; we had indeed lost her, but I was not yet ready to abandon her even though she was a reflection of what she used to be.