Chapter 57 Chapter 57
So that very minute, General Zachariah’s expression hardened with disbelief and fury.
There was something almost offensive to his pride in what he had just heard. Someone had not only laid hands on his niece, but had done so publicly, outside the entrance of a place where she had come under his instruction. And, according to Tasha, the person responsible had not fled, had not panicked, had not tried to disappear.
No, the person was still there.
Waiting, Waiting to see what he would do.
That detail alone was enough to ignite something sharp and dangerous in him.
Who the hell does that? he thought.
Who dares touch someone connected to me and still remain at the scene as if daring me to respond?
His jaw tightened.
He did not yet care who the person was.
He did not care what explanation might exist.
At that moment, all he knew was that he was going there himself, and whatever this madness was, he intended to end it immediately.
So in the next few seconds, with his temper rising by the second, he said into the phone, “Make sure that person does not leave your sight. I’m coming.”
Then, with cold assurance, he added, “I’ll be there in less than two minutes.”
And he ended the call.
The movement was brisk, controlled, but loaded with urgency.
The moment the call ended, he turned toward Mr. Oliver, who was with him.
“Mr. Oliver,” General Zachariah said, “I’m very sorry. Something important has come up. It concerns my niece.”
His tone was polite, but there was unmistakable tension underneath it.
“She has just been assaulted outside,” he continued. “I was the one who asked her to come here in the first place because of what we had discussed. That was why I wanted her to be present.”
Then he exhaled lightly, trying to manage the interruption with some measure of courtesy.
“I was also hoping the people with her would meet you,” he added. “This would have been the first time, and I thought it might be useful. But now, because of this problem they’ve gotten into, I really don’t want to keep delaying your time unnecessarily.”
He inclined his head slightly.
“Please, Mr. Oliver, I think we should do this some other day. I need to go and deal with whoever assaulted my niece.”
Mr. Oliver listened calmly, his expression unreadable for a brief moment.
Then he gave a small nod.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve already gotten what I came here for.”
There was something mildly thoughtful in the way he said it, though he did not explain himself.
“So I’ll be taking my leave now,” he added. “We can always continue this some other time.”
General Zachariah nodded in return.
And with that, the two men began walking toward the exit.
Outside, at the entrance, the tension had only thickened.
The crowd had grown slightly larger. People were no longer pretending not to watch. The atmosphere now carried the unmistakable smell of an approaching reckoning.
Vincent turned immediately to Tasha, his impatience obvious.
Particularly Jessica, who could hardly stand still, leaned in and asked, “What did your uncle say? Is he here already? Is he coming?”
Tasha, despite the blood and swelling on her face, managed a grim smile.
Then she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “My uncle is coming.”
Her expression darkened with satisfaction.
“And from the sound of his voice, he is very, very angry.”
That sentence alone seemed to brighten Vincent’s mood.
Tasha continued, “And when he is angry… he does crazy things.”
Vincent scoffed with bitter eagerness.
“Crazy things or not, I don’t care,” he said. “As long as this good-for-nothing woman is finally heading toward her own destruction, that’s not my problem.”
Jessica nodded in sharp agreement.
Deborah looked grimly pleased.
Mr. Bushman remained stiff and silent, but his expression suggested he too expected a harsh outcome.
Tasha said nothing more after that, but the anger in her face remained vivid. The humiliation she had suffered had not reduced her desire for revenge it had sharpened it. More than anything now, she wanted her uncle to deal with Megan publicly, decisively, and in a way that would leave no room for recovery.
But Megan, standing a short distance from them, only looked at all of them with a tired kind of patience.
Not fear, not panic, Just tiredness.
Then she said, in a calm tone that clashed sharply with their fury, “Well, I do not have all the time in the world.”
She glanced toward the interior, toward the hall beyond.
“I need to go and get what I came here for,” she said. “So, if you will excuse me.”
The words had barely left her mouth when Vincent stepped forward again.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he snapped.
His eyes blazed with accusation.
“Now that you’ve heard General Zachariah is coming, you want to escape? Is that it? You want to run?”
There was triumph in his voice, as though he believed he had cornered her at last.
But before anyone could say another word—A voice sounded from behind them.
Deep, and sharp.
“What the hell is happening here?”