The Fallen Son-in-law: Rise To Power

chapter 11

Chapter 11

Anthony had that familiar calm expression on his face, as if no matter where he was, he would not let any fear or anxiety enter him. And Mikhail Grayson, who was standing in front of him, could be seen in his eyes, restlessness, fatigue and a kind of inner anger that he was trying hard to control.

Mikhail had thrown the question first, without any courtesy, without any twists.

“Who sent you?” His throat was dry and hard. “Tell the truth, Anthony. Who are you? And why are you standing next to me?”

Anthony had been silent for a while, looking at him. There was a kind of hesitation in his eyes, but beneath that hesitation was a clear decision—he would say nothing.

“I promise,” he said slowly, very calmly. “I will not tell the name of the person who sent me. That is why I came here.”

This single sentence caused a wave of anger to rise in Mikhail’s head.

Now he said, “My life is being played with, and you stand here talking about secrets and confidentiality? Do you know how much trouble I was in?”

Anthony nodded and said, “I know. And that is why I was here.”

Mikhail’s voice was bitter.

“Why? I don’t know you.”

Anthony did not look away.

“Even if you don’t know me,” he said, “someone knows you. Someone didn’t want to see you fall.”

This “someone” word was the most unbearable to Mikhail. Every time he had trusted people in his life, he had burned with regret. He wasn't in the mood to give credit to anyone again.

“Anyone?” he asked again. “Can you at least say this much, is he my enemy or my friend?”

Anthony let out a soft breath.

“He's your friend right now,” he said, “but maybe you're not used to seeing him that way.”

Mikhail felt a smile creep into his heart, but he didn't.

“Do you realize that what you're saying isn't helping? Once before the police, once before the media, and now someone like you is coming here to add mystery to mystery. Is this helping me, or is it adding pressure?”

Anthony lowered his voice a little.

“It's not my job to give you a complete answer,” he said. “I just did what I was told to do. And one more thing…”

He paused and looked at Mikhail. There was no mockery in his eyes, only a serious warning.

“You should start fighting, Mikhail,” he said. “Mary Dixon won’t let go easily. She’ll be out to get revenge for the insult she’s received. If you stay quiet, if you accept everything, she’ll grow bigger, hurt more.”

Mikhail’s jaw tightened at the mention of Mary’s name.

A woman who had once been in court, a woman with both power and money—if she really wanted revenge, there was reason enough to be afraid.

“I’m tired of fighting,” Mikhail said slowly. “I don’t want anything else. I just want a quiet little life of my own.”

Anthony shook his head.

“You want peace, and they want your destruction. The two don’t go together, Mikhail. If you don’t save yourself, no one can truly save you.”

The words were simple, but to Mikhail they were the stark truth. Sometimes the truth hurt the most.

Now Anthony stepped forward and said in a very soft but firm voice,

“One last thing, I’m telling you. You have someone to be grateful for.”

Mikhail raised an eyebrow.

“Grateful? For what? Today has been one of the most humiliating and tiring days of my life. What’s there to be grateful for?”

Anthony’s eyes lit up with a faint smile, but he didn’t smile.

“You were saved,” he said. “Someone stood in front of you as a shield before you hit a wall and fell. You might as well do that now.

You can't see. But the truth won't change, Mikhail. When you do, remember—you were supposed to thank me.”

Anger, resentment, and helplessness mixed together inside Mikhail to create a strange mix of feelings.

“There's no one standing in front of me right now but you,” he said dryly. “And you're just telling me riddles.”

Anthony didn't explain any more.

“I'm done,” was all he said.

Then he turned slowly.

Mikhail stood still, watching him go.

For a moment he thought of calling out to him and asking him more. To find out, at least for directions. But the next moment he realized—it would be useless to keep this man. He had said everything he had to say.

When Anthony reached the end of the corridor, he opened the door and went out. There was a soft sound of the door closing, and after that the corridor seemed even emptier than before.

Mikhail stood alone.

All of Anthony's words were going through his head—

Don't break your fast…

You have to fight…

You should be grateful to someone…

A strange pressure was building in his chest.

He felt that all these words meant something. Yes, but he couldn't reconcile them with his reality right now.

Just then, the sound of car brakes came from outside the hospital.

Mikhail instinctively turned his head and looked at the window, then slowly walked towards the front entrance.

Through the front glass door, a car could be seen coming to a stop. Familiar color, familiar license plate.

Elvira Kingsley was getting out in a hurry.

Bag in hand, a look of concern and mild relief on her face.

As soon as she entered, she saw Mikhail and walked faster.

“Mikhail!”—the relief in her voice was clear—“Are you okay?”

Mikhail looked at her silently for a few moments and just nodded.

“Yes, I am now.”

Elvira’s shoulders still felt tense, connected to today's media coverage and the whole incident.

She said,

“I saw it all live. The way you stood, the way you handled the questions… I seriously didn't think you could handle everything so calmly.”

Mikhail didn't think about these things too deeply. Anthony's mystery was still swirling in his mind.

He took a moment to ask directly,

“Let me ask you something, Elvira. Will you answer honestly?”

Elvira paused.

“Yes, of course. What is it?”

Mikhail looked into her eyes and said,

“The man who… Anthony… saved me today, protected me—did you send him?”

The question was so direct that Elvira couldn't understand it for a moment.

A look of pure surprise crossed her face.

“Me? Anthony?” she said again. “I don't know anyone by that name, Mikhail! What are you talking about?”

Mikhail paused to observe her.

Elvira’s eyes, her tone of voice, the shape of her face—there was no pretense or fake surprise. Everything was a natural, raw reaction.

“You really don't know?” he wanted to be sure again.

Elvira said, a little annoyed, a little hurt,

“If I knew, I would tell you straight up. I never played with you, you know that. I didn’t send anyone to ‘protect’ you. And I don’t have that kind of power.”

There was a faint note of pain in her voice—as if she sensed that Mikhail suspected her.

Then she added, in a slightly lower voice,

“But I did do something, and I’m not hiding it.”

Mikhail stared at her silently.

Elvira said,

“The press, the media—I called them. Because everyone was listening to a one-sided story. If you had kept quiet, people would have believed whatever they wanted. I didn’t want you to be humiliated like that. So I arranged to do it live, so that you could speak for yourself.”

Hearing these words, Mikhail's stern face softened a little.

He understood—yes, that's all Elvira could do. It was her nature—she would stand by Mikhail wherever she could, without any calculation.

After a slight silence, he said,

“Thank you.”

The words were small, but the tone of his voice said it clearly—he was truly grateful.

Elvira smiled slightly, the same warm, tired but relieved smile as before.

“Don't think about it,” she said. “You said what you had to say from your position, well. Now just be careful, okay? No one knows what will happen next.”

Mikhail nodded in agreement.

“I'll try,” he said.

---

The evening light was softly coming through the hospital windows, and the corridors were filled with the strong smell of disinfectant.

In this hospital, in this room, there is a person whose face makes Mikhail forget all about time.

Sadness, fear, anger—all of them stopped for a moment.

He stopped walking when he came to the familiar door. Not even the name was written, because no one wanted to know about the patients in this room.

Old Female Patient – ICU

That's all.

Just as her life was lonely, so was her identity.

Mikhail slowly pushed the door open and entered.

The room was always very quiet. There was no sound except for the regular beeping of the machine. In the soft light, the old woman's face lying on the bed seemed even calmer, more silent. Her thin hair had turned white, her hands were cold, yet her expression was that of someone compassionate—the person who had once held the door open for him.

Mikhail slowly went and sat down in the chair.

He leaned over and took the woman's hand—an almost habitual gesture.

That hand had once stroked his head, when he first came to this city and was broken. He had wanted something like his own home, and the old woman had given it to him.

He said softly,

“I came… It’s a little late today. There was some trouble outside.”

Of course she wasn’t listening. But Mikhail felt a little better as he said the words.

The words seemed to lighten his own mind.

His fingers were softly stroking the old woman’s hand.

As he sat like this, old memories floated through his eyes like mist—

the first day he came to this city, wandering the streets, not finding a place to stay, the fear of going back. And then this woman stood at the door of the house and said,

“Son, are you okay?”

That voice is gone now, but the memory remains.

Mikhail lowered his head and took a deep breath.

“You don’t know… what happened to me today,” he said.

There were layers of exhaustion in his voice.

Suddenly the door opened and the nurse entered.

She fixed the woman’s hair, wrote something on a notepad, then looked at Mikhail and said,

“You come every day, don’t you? Very few people have that luck.”

Mikhail shook his head lightly and smiled.

“No one does. So I’m here.”

The nurse shook her head and said,

“Lucky for her… there is someone.”

There was a kind of honest recognition in her tone.

Mikhail didn’t answer.

He just held the old woman’s hand a little tighter—as if reminding her of a promise.

After the nurse left, the silence returned to its former state.

The air in the hospital was growing strangely cold.

The light from the room’s machine flickered softly in Mikhail’s eyes.