Chapter 53 – All Grudges, Settled From This Moment On

Humans are ultimately self-interested creatures. As long as something is an animal, it’s nearly impossible to escape the pull of instinct. No one in this world is completely rational. When faced with a decision, people will almost always choose what benefits them the most.

One person’s downfall could save himself, salvage the reputation of Sabin’s tax bureau, and even help restore credibility to the entire law enforcement system. The choice, in truth, had long been clear in Johnson’s heart—he just didn’t want to say it aloud.

The more darkness and ugliness people harbor in their hearts, the more they crave purity. But the more they crave it, the stronger their desire to destroy it—by any means necessary.

Perhaps what makes human nature what it is… is its complexity and depravity. That’s what gives the term so much weight and meaning.

Director Johnson wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Lynch’s calm gaze pierced into him like a needle. It made him anxious, deeply uncomfortable.

He rarely encountered eyes like Lynch’s—so well-masked, yet brimming with aggression. It was the gaze of someone in control. Lynch had offered a choice, one Johnson knew he couldn’t actually make. And yet he had to pretend to choose, even though there was only one option.

It stung. Sweat poured not only from his forehead but down his neck. Maybe the restaurant was too hot. Maybe it was the unbearable pressure of sitting alone across from Lynch. Suddenly, he stood up.

Originally, he meant to push the chair back and walk away. But he hesitated. Guilt flashed across his face, and he muttered, “I need to think about it… yes, think about it…”

He glanced at Lynch. Lynch simply gestured for him to go ahead. Johnson walked out of the barbecue restaurant, wiping sweat from his brow, and stood on the sidewalk holding his now-soaked handkerchief. He turned back for a final look at Lynch, his silhouette flickering in the shadows. Johnson’s hands were trembling.

They weren’t listening to him anymore.

Suddenly overcome with rage and shame, Johnson hurled the damp, heavy handkerchief to the ground. His chest heaved. Passersby stared at him, and the odd looks quickly brought him back to reality.

He slapped his own face, climbed into his car, fumbled the key into the ignition, and sped away.

Back home, Johnson locked himself in his study. He rarely drank, but now he took a bottle of strong liquor off a shelf usually reserved for display. He only ever drank at official functions. He didn’t like alcohol—likely because of his father, a violent alcoholic who used to beat him and his mother after drinking.

More than forty years had passed. Some things and some people were long gone. But others… felt as if they had never changed at all.

Glass after glass, the thick stench of alcohol mixed with heavy guilt, sending his emotions into turmoil. His decision would alter—or destroy—three lives. But he had no other choice.

Director Johnson was a good man. At least that’s what the staff at the tax bureau said. His gentleness had gotten him to the top, but it was also why he had stalled where he was. Now, that gentleness had to go.

The next day, the easygoing, agreeable director vanished. In his place stood a man with a furrowed brow and a voice like a sharp blade dulled by fatigue.

In the days that followed, as public opinion continued to escalate, Sabin—usually an unremarkable second-tier city in the Baylor Federation—became the focus of the entire country, even the world. The feeling was… surreal.

New faces appeared on downtown streets, microphones in hand, with news vans parked nearby.

The labor union even organized a one-day strike that weekend in protest of the abuse of power. Their leadership visited Lynch personally, expressing anger at law enforcement’s misconduct.

It was a strange time. Everything felt fresh and new.

In the middle of this novelty, young Michael’s case finally went to trial. Given the mounting trouble surrounding Michael himself and his son’s refusal to see anyone, the court assigned a public defender to represent the boy.

After half an hour of discussion, the lawyer agreed with young Michael’s decision to plead guilty and promised to fight for the lightest sentence possible.

For a court-appointed lawyer just trying to get through the day, winning didn’t matter. Just surviving did.

And so, young Michael stood at the defendant’s table.

Michael’s request to observe the trial was approved. Though under house arrest for a separate assault case, the court allowed him to attend as the boy’s father.

It had only been a few days, but their reunion felt like it had been a year. Michael’s heart shattered when he saw how worn down his son looked. Young Michael forced a faint smile.

He read a confession he seemingly hadn’t written himself. After the formalities were done, the lawyer secured a sentence of just nine months—shockingly short for a case of breaking and entering.

The lawyer argued that young Michael was underage, had no prior record, and had consistently earned full scholarships—a model student. He described the crime as a spontaneous, emotionally-driven act, not a deliberate one.

After reviewing the materials, the judge agreed and gave the minimum sentence. In truth, those scholarships had helped.

Michael disrupted the court proceedings twice and was expelled from the courtroom. But the judge, understanding his pain, allowed him a brief meeting with his son afterward.

Outside, Michael buried his head in his hands, silently sobbing. He pounded his forehead with his fists, full of regret and self-loathing.

In the quiet hallway, his muffled sobs became distinct. Then, he felt someone sit beside him.

Michael, like a wounded lion, didn’t even look up. His voice tore from his throat, raw and violent: “Get lost.”

But the figure didn’t move. A lighter clicked. The smell of tobacco filled the air.

Michael wiped his tears away—he didn’t want to be seen like this. He saw himself as a tough man. He wanted to drive whoever it was away.

Just as he was about to explode again, a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t do that.”

Lynch. It was Lynch.

Michael would never forget that voice. It had haunted his nightmares. He glared at Lynch with bloodshot eyes. “Here to gloat? You happy now?”

Lynch smirked and offered him a cigarette. Michael knocked it from his hand. It bounced and rolled under a bench.

“Is this who you’ve always been?” Lynch said flatly. “Thinking everyone has to put up with your rotten temper?”

He didn’t seem offended. His hand hovered a moment in the air before pulling back. His expression was calm, detached.

He was smiling, but his eyes were cold. Michael fell silent, staring at his own hands, sinking back into himself.

Lynch shrugged, stood, and looked down at him.

“I only came to say—our grudge is settled.”

“You’ll get what you deserve. As for your son… don’t worry. He’s got plenty of boyfriends in prison.”

Michael lunged, grabbing Lynch by the collar. Lynch simply raised his hands.

A lion may be wounded, but it’s still a lion.

Lynch didn’t flinch. In a teasing tone, he said, “If I were you, I’d let go. You and your son have already paid the price. Maybe start thinking about your wife…”

Michael’s glare crumbled in an instant. He turned pale. A lion is dangerous—but it can’t beat a hunter.

Lynch straightened his collar and chuckled, “Well, that’s all I came to say. Enjoy your vacation, Mr. Michael.”

Footsteps faded into the distance. Michael slowly turned his head, watching Lynch disappear into the corridor’s fading sunlight.

And in that moment, as Lynch melted into the light, Michael’s mind seemed to be consumed by it too.

It felt like drowning—unable to breathe.

Even if it was light.