I Am A Multibillionaire Dad

12

“For goodness sake, Weston, you can't do this…unless…well, it's your choice. If you succeed in getting an answer to my questions, I'll make you second in command to me but if you end up failing, let's not cross paths.”

Weston nods and goes out. He took a packet of gum from his pocket and chewed it.

Liam must really think he can't succeed in finding those answers for him to have promised him a position as his second in command.

Weston blows the gum in his mouth. He summons the damn crazy resilient spirit that took control of him ten years ago that made him flee from home at fifteen.

He can do this. He will do it. Whatever it takes for his father to acknowledge him as a damn precious child. He can't wait to see the fallen look on his father's face when he finally tells him, ‘hey, dad, I took down all the damn bad guys. You're okay now? Now, piss off.’ Just thinking about it sends adrenaline coursing through his body.

“Are you okay?” Lorette's anxious voice tears the smile off Weston's face.

“I'm cool.”

“What did he say?”

Weston shrugs. He can't get Lorette worried over something as silly as this. “Nothing much. Just told me a few guy stuff.”

Lorette grins, a mischievous smirk on her face.

Weston chuckles. “I don't know what you're thinking but it's not something bad.”

“Did I say anything?”

“Your face said it all.”

Lorette laughs.

“When are we supposed to leave?” Weston asks, looking around. The party doesn't seem like it'll end in the next one hour.

“The party just started.”

It will definitely be a waste to wait till the end of the party. His three days are already counting. He can't afford to waste a second of it. He blows the gum in his mouth. “I don't think I can wait till the end.”

“Why? Come on, this might be our only night to chill out.”

Weston notices a guy staring at Lorett. Even making a face at the guy doesn't stop him from looking.

“What? You're not going to wait? I could have a dance,” Lorette says, all her heart begging Weston to wait till the end of the party. It's enough torment that she is with him and can't even ask to be his girlfriend. Honestly, this is the first time she's shy to ask a guy out.

“I'll really love that, but I want to go check San.”

“You could call him,” she points out.

“My phone is down,” Weston says.

“I could call him for—”

“You know what? Just enjoy yourself tonight. Next time we can have a dance, but first, let me go check on San.”

Lorette smiles concealing her disappointment. She walks over to the guy who has been staring at her.

“Hey. Want a dance with me?” She barely finishes asking when the guy jumps on his feet and takes her hand, dragging her to the dancefloor.

Weston nods as he watches Lorette being led to the dance floor. That will do. Thank goodness Santiago is not with them, what would he have lied on?

Outside, he takes his phone and checks the time. Some minutes past ten p.m.. He searches for a taxi nearby and books one.

As he waits for the taxi to come around, he scrolls through his contact. What should his first step be?

He notices a number. He stares at it for seconds. Should he call her?

He dials the number. For seconds it rings but no one answers. Expecting the cheerful voice of his daughter, he dials the number again. This time, the phone is off.

Weston sighs. Maybe her mother already got a new phone and new number for her. He bites on his lower lips. He is starting to imagine one of the nights when he reads to his daughter when the cab arrives.

He gets in and it drives him to the campus, disrupting his thoughts about his daughter.

“Weston, come up with something,” Weston mutters to himself as he walks to his room amidst the quiet environment.

All of a sudden, he hears a shout. He stops walking and looks around. There is no one in sight.

“You fucking idiot!” A harsh voice bellows.

“He thinks he can spy on us and get away with it,” another person says.

Weston slowly walks to the corner where the conversation is coming from. He holds himself against a wall and peeps at the place.

There is a guy sitting on a low wall, a cigarette in his hand, two guys on each side. A helpless boy is on his knee, his clothes stained from what Weston prays shouldn't be his blood because, how can someone lose that much blood and still survive?

“I am no spy…I swear it. I just came to look for my friend,” the guy pleads, eliciting laughter from the five guys.

“You didn't have a phone to call him? Guys, kick some sense into this boy’s head,” the guy with the cigarette says.

At once, the four guys start to kick the helpless boy.

“Stop!” Weston says before he can stop himself.