“What are you staring at? Pointing that cheap phone at me, what are you plotting? Disgusting!”
Beside her stood a bleached-haired young man, twirling the keys to a brand-new Maserati. He sneered at me.
“He wasn’t just pointing it—he was filming under my girlfriend’s skirt! I’ve seen shameless people before, but never anyone as shameless as him!”
Michael spotted me. The tall young man, usually so strong, had tears of humiliation in his eyes.
“Grandpa, I didn’t do it!”
I lifted him up, my heart aching at the sight of his injuries. I had raised him since he lost his parents as a child—I knew his character better than anyone. He would never behave like that.
“Still denying it? Who would frame you? Don’t think just because someone showed up, I’ll back down. You think I’m afraid?”
The bleached-haired youth gave me a contemptuous once-over. No wonder—my faded old U.S. Army uniform was threadbare, and the cloth shoes on my feet had holes in the toes. I must have looked pathetic.
“And here I thought you’d bring someone useful. Turns out it’s just an old relic. Are you sure he can help you? He looks more like dead weight.”
His girlfriend laughed mockingly.