The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 6 - A BRIDGE MENDED

Clarke dragged Duke by the arm, pulling him away from the front door and closer to the edge of the porch, where their conversation wouldn't disturb the quiet house. 

"Why did you come here unannounced?" Clarke demanded.

Duke straightened his jacket, brushing off Clarke’s hand like the whole ordeal amused him. “The Grandmaster fainted,” Duke replied. “And, he’s thinking about you, worried about you. That’s why I’m here.”

Clarke paused, his breath hitching slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, concerned. 

Yes, his father had done a lot to him. Hurt him in ways that left scars both visible and invisible. But fainting? The man was old, and despite everything, Clarke didn’t wish him ill.

Duke noticed the hesitation in Clarke’s stance and pressed further. “Look, I get it. Grandmaster isn’t exactly your favorite person, but he’s still your father.”

Clarke’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he wrestled with his thoughts. 

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “Prepare one of the choppers for me late tonight. I’ll fly home, see him, and then come back immediately.”

“Aye aye, Mr. Clarke. Right away,” Duke said, giving Clarke a mock salute. He turned to leave, but Clarke grabbed him by the shoulder. His grip was tighter than any time before.

“Listen to me,” Clarke said, leaning in close and his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare come here unannounced again.”

Duke raised an eyebrow, amused by the threat. “Noted,” he said with a small nod, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

Clarke released him with a shove. Hello watched as Duke walked off into the night. He waited until the figure disappeared completely before turning and heading back inside.

---

As soon as Clarke stepped into the house, he was met by Winifred, her arms crossed and her expression impatient.

"I’ve been looking for you," she said sharply. "What were you doing out there?"

“Just dealing with some annoying person who wouldn’t stop ringing the bell,” Clarke replied, scratching his neck awkwardly. His attempt at nonchalance only but earned him a skeptical glare from her.

"Whatever," Winifred said, waving it off. “I want a late-night snack.”

“Of course,” Clarke said quickly, nodding. “I was just about to—” He turned to the middle-aged housekeeper standing nearby. “Bring a late-night snack for Madam,” he instructed. “And while you’re at it, did you get the unsalted snacks for Madam’s mother?”

“Yes, sir,” the housekeeper replied. “I did as you instructed.”

Winifred’s head snapped toward Clarke. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you talking about my mother? Don’t talk about her.”

“I know,” Clarke said, holding up his hands defensively. “I’m not supposed to go near her or even mention her. But she needs to eat, and her health—”

“Her health?” Winifred interrupted. “What are you talking about? Yeah, my mom’s sick, but she’s fine eating salted dishes. Don’t act like you know her better than I do.”

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then chose his words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to overstep,” he said evenly. “But the last time I saw her, she didn’t look great. I asked a doctor about it. Unsalted snacks are better for her condition.”

Winifred blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Her condition? What condition?”

Clarke sighed, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but the last time I spoke to the doctor about her dizziness and swelling, they suggested some dietary changes. Salt intake is a problem.”

Winifred’s eyes darted away, her expression softening slightly, though her lips remained pressed in a tight line. “You’re overstepping, Clarke,” she muttered.

“I’m just looking out for her,” Clarke said gently. “For you.”

Winifred didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she turned to the housekeeper. “Make sure those snacks are fresh,” she said curtly, her voice regaining its usual sharpness.

The housekeeper nodded and hurried off.

Winifred glanced at Clarke one last time before walking away. “I still don’t trust you,” she muttered under her breath.

Clarke watched her go, exhaustion washing over him. His life felt like a constant balancing act, navigating the fine line between doing the right thing and keeping the peace.

---

It was late, the kind of late where even the crickets seemed quieter. Clarke glanced at his phone when Duke’s name flashed on the screen. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and grabbed his jacket. 

Quietly, he stepped into the hall, his footsteps deliberate but light.

Just as his hand brushed the doorknob, a voice pierced the silence.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Winifred stood behind him, her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised in suspicion. “I hope you’re not going to that pub again. Or worse, to see your boss. Did he call you over?”

Clarke froze momentarily before forcing a casual laugh. “I’m just stepping out for a minute. Please don’t wait for me… you can go to sleep.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who’s even waiting for you? But haven’t I told you to drop that stupid driver job? They don’t even pay you much. Do you want my mother to find out you’re a just a low paid driver? That'd give her a heart attack seeing you are… a useless, worthless excuse of a son-in-law to her.”

Clarke’s smile didn’t waver, though his knuckles whitened against the doorframe. “It’s fine,” he said lightly. “She won’t find out. Just give me a little time and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Winifred scoffed. “I don’t know why I even bother,” she muttered, heading back upstairs without another word.

Clarke exhaled slowly, stepped outside, and walked a short distance down the quiet street. 

There, under the glow of a flickering streetlight, a sleek, black car was parked. Its polished surface reflected the dim light like a mirror. Duke leaned against the hood, arms crossed with a smug grin on his face.

“Where’s my chopper?” Clarke asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

Duke chuckled as he climbed in beside him. “I landed it a few miles from here. Trust me, it was no small feat finding a space big enough in this middle-class neighborhood. The chopper would’ve been a head-turner here.”

“Just drive,” Clarke muttered, rubbing his temples.

The car roared to life, gliding smoothly through the streets before reaching the chopper. They climbed aboard, and soon, the city lights disappeared beneath them. The chopper soared toward a neighboring country.

---

When they landed, Clarke stepped out into the expansive driveway of a sprawling estate. The staff were already lined up, bowing slightly as they greeted him.

“Young Master, welcome,” one of the older servants said, ushering him toward the main entrance.

Duke led the way to the master bedroom, pushing the door open with a slight bow. “Please,” he said, gesturing for Clarke to enter.

Inside, Clarke’s father lay propped up on the massive bed, his face pale but his eyes sharp. Memories surged back as Clarke stepped closer and there was palpable tension.

“Father,” Clarke said softly, his hand instinctively reaching for his father’s wrist to check his pulse. “You had a heart attack again, didn't you. You need to stop getting angry or worked up.”

His father’s lips curled into a faint sneer. “Isn’t it because of you? Two years ago, I told you not to be a doctor. To that, you walked out and never came back. And yet, here you are—”

Clarke interrupted. “Yes, I left. That's because you wouldn't accept an acupuncture doctor because of your conglomerate. Yes, you kept sending things to bring me back. But you never said sorry. You never supported my choices. I had to carve out my own path.”

His father’s expression softened, though his pride kept him from admitting fault. “Whatever you want to do, do it,” he muttered. “Even that wife of yours… you want to keep her there, far away from me, then so be it.”

Clarke chuckled, shaking his head. “Father, I’ll bring your daughter-in-law to meet you soon. She’s really pretty. Smart. A little sharp-tongued, but you’d like her.”

His father’s eyes twinkled for the first time in two years. “And a grandson?” he asked, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

Clarke laughed. “We’ll work on that,” he said. “But if you want to see a grandson someday, you have to take care of yourself. Listen to the doctors. Follow their advice.”

The old man grumbled but relented. “I’d only listen to you if you were my doctor,” he admitted gruffly.

Clarke’s heart swelled at the unexpected acknowledgment. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around his father in a rare embrace.

“I’ll be going now,” Clarke said as he straightened up. “Handle the business as you see fit, but if there’s anything too difficult, I can assist from where I am.”

His father nodded. His eyes lingered on Clarke even as he left.

---

Back in the chopper, Clarke leaned his head against the window. He was exhausted. Despite the lingering tension, tonight had been a step forward; a bridge mended, however slightly.

As the city lights of his wife's home came back into view, Clarke steeled himself.