Chapter 74 An Unpleasant Encounter
Donovan had just stepped out of the Maxwell’s office when he ran into Silas. Silas was walking out of the elevator while talking on his phone. He was followed by a secretary and ten bodyguards.
The secretary was holding a folder and taking frantic notes based on the contents of Silas’ call. She was too busy to wipe the beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
This was Trelania’s true business titan, handling deals worth tens of millions every minute.
Though his face was etched with wrinkles and he was dressed casually, the sharp, unyielding aura about him was impossible to hide.
Donovan averted his gaze and brushed past Silas, entering the elevator with Harrison—one in front, one behind.
Just as the elevator doors were about to close, a hand suddenly reached in.
The automatic doors reopened.
Donovan looked up and saw one of Silas’ bodyguards.
Perhaps recalling the unpleasant experience from last time, when Harrison had held off ten of them single-handedly and subdued the bodyguard with a single move, the bodyguard glared at Harrison.
It wasn't until the elevator doors were fully open that the bodyguard composed himself. With a stern expression, he took a few steps back and lined up neatly with the other bodyguards on either side of the elevator.
Silas hung up the phone and turned around.
His slightly cloudy eyes fixed on Donovan—eyes marked by the passage of time yet unusually calm.
"You little rascal! Can't you see your father standing right here? Come inside with me!”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Donovan paused shortly, then lifted his foot and followed.
Behind him, Harrison took a step forward, intending to stop Donovan.
“Boss…”
"It's fine," Donovan said calmly. "What's meant to happen will happen. Even if we hadn’t run into him today, he would have found another way to bring me back.”
The father and son entered the office of the Silas Group chairman, one in front of the other.
The room was far more luxurious than the general manager’s office, with much more imposing décor.
The bodyguards remained outside and closed the door behind them.
Silas stepped forward, sat down in the main chair behind the imposing desk, and ordered Donovan in a low, detached tone, “Pour me a whiskey.”
Silas’s taste in whiskey, much like Donovan’s obsession with sports cars, was considered top-tier within their circles.
Donovan hadn’t inherited his father’s interest in alcohol, but he had inherited his obsession.
When it came to things he was passionate about, he always pursued them to the extreme.
He sat down in the guest chair across from Silas and deftly poured some amber-colored liquid from the crystal decanter on the desk into a classic glass. He dropped in two square ice cubes and gently swirled the drink.
The ice clinked crisply against the glass as the drink gradually chilled and the rich aroma began to waft through the air.
Instead of handing the glass directly to Silas, he set it aside to let it breathe.
He took another glass, poured in fresh whiskey, added ice, and then handed it to his father.
“Dad, your drink.”
Silas took the glass and took a small sip.
The taste was mellow, carrying the distinctive aromas of oak and grain, with a long-lasting finish.
Donovan had done an almost flawless job, but Silas’ face betrayed little sign of approval.
If one were to set aside their status and force Silas to choose a successor who better suited his preferences, it would undoubtedly be Donovan, not Maxwell.
Even in a minor task like pouring wine, Donovan was far more thoughtful and meticulous than Maxwell—not to mention in other matters.
If Maxwell were sitting across from him right now, Silas would probably offer a few words of praise after finishing this glass.
But Donovan, whom Silas considered a disgrace, sat opposite him.
Silas set the glass back on the table.
"We've received word from Mr. Hill that, for the sake of a woman, you wiped out the entire C3 squad of the Red Hill Alliance—over a hundred men—bombed their training base, and destroyed Kevin's villa."
“Yes.”
"You grew up over there. You've spent more time with Mr. Hill than with me. How do you intend to explain yourself to him about this?”
Donovan poured himself a glass of wine. Unlike Silas, he didn’t sip it slowly. Instead, he downed it in one gulp.
Then he raised his eyes and met Silas’ gaze, his expression too complex to read.
“My last name isn’t Hill. I have nothing to explain to him. As for you, dad, I have caused such a huge mess. Why don't you step in and help me resolve it? After all, for you, it’s just a matter of making a few phone calls.”
Upon hearing this, Silas gave an unmistakable cold snort. His face contorted with disgust, as if he had heard an absurd joke.
“Don’t you understand your place yet? What do you think you owe your survival to?"
Donovan had heard words like these for over twenty years and had grown accustomed to keeping his expression in check while bracing himself for Silas’ next tirade.
"If it weren't for your mother forcing me to swear on her deathbed to spare your life, you'd be dead long ago! I don’t need a son. What I need is your mother. You are nothing! You’re just a mistake I’ve had to put up with!"
Silas’ tirade continued.
“Just how resilient are you, you little bastard? Back then, nothing could take you down. They couldn't even kill you at birth! Over the years, can you count how many people have died around you? Yet here you are, alive and well! With all your skills, why on earth would you need a father like me to smooth things over for you?"
Silas slammed a document down in front of Donovan.
"Donovan, take a good look. The total losses you’ve caused the Hill family this time amount to over 830 million. I’ve rounded down for you. Transfer this money to Mr. Hill personally!”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Silas grabbed the wine glass in his hand and threw it at Donovan.
Donovan didn’t flinch. With a calm expression, he poured himself another glass of wine.
The glass struck his forehead and shattered.
The ice-cold wine mixed with bright red blood, trickling down his chiseled jawline and into the glass in his hand.
They blended into the amber-colored liquid.
“What if I refuse?” Donovan raised his eyes.
“Refuse? If you dare say no to me, I’ll make you pay with your life!”
Silas slammed his fist down on the table. His rage reached a peak, and he suddenly felt the world spinning around him.
He clutched his chest and gasped for breath several times before pointing to the desk in the center of the room.
"The desk drawer. Go get me the medicine!"
Donovan stood up, walked to the desk, pulled open the drawer, took out a white pill bottle, and poured a capsule into his palm.
His gaze was sharp, and he clearly saw a slight misalignment in the capsule as if it had been opened and resealed.
Clearly, the medicine had been switched.
Silas had high blood pressure and mild asthma. He had chosen to retire precisely because he valued his life more than anything else.
Yet, the very next day after Donovan and Maxwell’s public falling-out, this man, who cherished his life so dearly, had immediately taken the reins again.
Silas poured his heart and soul into Maxwell, steering the ship with the best of intentions and clearing obstacles so he could live a life of wealth and security, free from worry. Unfortunately, the world is full of ungrateful people.
Maxwell had been a coward most of his life. How could he possibly give up the power he had finally seized?
So, Maxwell secretly swapped out Silas's daily medication.
The son Silas had devoted himself to raising was now trying to take his life.
Donovan sneered inwardly, put the tainted pill back in the bottle, took a normal one out, and handed Silas a cup of warm water.
After watching Silas's expression ease slightly after taking the medicine, Donovan sat back down in the chair across from him. He held the medicine bottle in his hand and turned it over thoughtfully.
"Father, is my life not even worth these few hundred million in your eyes?"
Silas closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Only after the heart-pounding panic had gradually subsided did he speak in his usual cold, dismissive tone. "Your life was traded for Anna's. You are unworthy of any value in my eyes.”
"Unworthy..."
Donovan repeated softly. He placed the medicine bottle on the smooth tabletop and slowly pushed it toward Silas, inch by inch.
"I understand."
With each inch the white bottle moved closer to Silas, the emotion in Donovan’s eyes faded a little more.
When Silas finally reached out and took the bottle, the last glimmer of darkness in Donovan’s eyes was extinguished completely.
It had been twenty-six years. He should have realized this long ago.
He had no father.
Donovan stood up. The look of habitual submission vanished from his face, replaced by an oppressive, domineering aura.
His gaze swept coldly over Silas’s slightly stooped figure.
He spoke slowly and calmly, saying, "Father, thank you.
Thank you for your unchanging coldness. Thank you for never giving me a shred of warmth.
Only then can I look at you without guilt.
I will watch the son you raised with your own hands being driven to his doom.
What is there to thank him for?
Silas didn’t understand, but Donovan clearly had no intention of continuing the conversation. He turned and walked toward the door without looking back.
"You brat! Did I say you could leave? Stop right there!”
Donovan ignored him completely.
Silas tried to stop him, shouting urgently, "Everyone, get in here!"
With a loud bang, Harrison kicked open the door to the chairman’s office.