Chapter 1

My grandfather was a thief.

He stole my grandmother’s name and the opportunity that could have taken her out of the backwoods, then left with another woman by his side.

One of them became a prominent law professor, standing at the front of lecture halls talking about fairness and justice. The other became a renowned fine artist, speaking in front of news cameras about art and integrity.

Meanwhile, my grandmother was trapped in the backwoods her entire life, enduring pointed fingers and malicious insults everywhere she went. She died with her eyes wide open, refusing to rest in peace.

Fifty years passed.

I owed everything to the sacrifices of my grandmother and mother. Thanks to them, I made my way out of the backwoods and became a partner at a top-tier law firm.

During recruitment season, I sat in the head interviewer's chair.

The young man sitting across from me was bright, handsome, and the star graduate of a top-tier law school.

I flipped through his resume, scanning page after page. When I reached the family background section, my fingers froze.

I stared at that name for a long time.

Finally, I lifted my eyes, looked straight at him, and spoke without a trace of emotion, "You didn't make the cut."

Chapter 1

The young man’s smile froze.

"What did you say?"

I shut the folder and raised my voice just enough to carry through the quiet room.

"I said you didn't make the cut."

The interviewers sitting beside me traded uneasy glances. Mark Carter, seated to my left, leaned in until his breath grazed my ear, keeping his voice down to a whisper.

"Ethan, he's barely twenty, and he's already won the national moot court championship and published six papers in major legal journals. The kid is an absolute prodigy. Are you sure you don't want to rethink this?"

He spoke softly, but the room was dead silent.

The young man heard every word. His spine straightened, shoulders throwing back instinctively.

"I've made up my mind," I said, shoving his file to the side, "Mr. Lucas Parker, you failed my interview. Please leave."

Every breath in the room seemed to stop.

The boy's composure shattered. He slammed both palms onto the table and lurched upward.

"What's your problem?"

I stayed quiet. I just stared at his face.

The shape of his brow, the bridge of his nose, and the sharp angle of his jaw. They matched that faded, yellowed photograph so completely that my eyes stung.

My fingers curled into tight fists.

Lucas' brows pulled together, his glare searing into me as his voice erupted in fury.

"Do you even know who I am? My grandfather is a tenured professor at Columbia Law! My grandmother is a world-renowned fine artist, a lifetime Fellow of the National Fine Arts Association!

"Both my parents were federal judges before they passed away. There isn't a soul in the legal world who doesn't know their names!

"I graduated top of my class at Columbia Law, the best law school in the entire country!"

With every claim, his confidence surged, swelling his posture. By the end, he was towering over me, glaring down like I was nothing.

"So, tell me, how am I not qualified?"

"Grades are only part of the equation," I said, keeping my face completely passive, my voice dropping to a flat, even tone.

"In this industry, I care far more about character and an unblemished background. As for your family..."

I paused, my nails digging into the folder until the thick paper crumpled under my grip.

"That doesn't earn you extra credit here. Show yourself out."

Lucas went rigid.

It was clearly the first time in his privileged life anyone had ever slammed a door in his face. A dark flush crawled up his cheeks, and the veins in his throat bulged against his skin.

"You're targeting me on purpose!"

He snatched his application off the desk and thrust a finger right at my nose.

"You're Ethan Winslow, right? Just wait! One phone call from my grandfather and you won't have a career left in this city!"

He spat out the threat, turned around, and stormed toward the exit.

Right before pushing through the door, he shot me one last look, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

"Ethan, you really..." the two interviewers beside me spoke, their voices trembling.

I cut them off with a sharp raise of my hand.

"Next candidate. Send them in."

The next three candidates were fantastic.

When I finally got back to my office, I tossed their files onto the desk.

Before I could even sit down, David Graham, the firm's senior partner, burst through the door.

"Ethan, are you out of your mind? Why did you reject Lucas Parker? Do you have any idea who his family is?"

He was talking way faster than usual, the pulse in his forehead hammering furiously.

"His grandfather is a tenured professor at Columbia Law and one of our biggest long-term partners! You just kicked his grandson to the curb. Do you realize what kind of fallout this is going to cause?

"Issue the offer letter right now! Admit him!"

"Too late," I said, looking up at him without a flick of emotion, "I've already formally rejected his application."

David's face turned completely still.

Then, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the caller ID, and the color drained from his face.

Without another word, he marched out, leaving the door swinging behind him.

On his way out, he threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes screaming a clear warning: “You just started a war.”

I didn't care.

I had waited fifty years for this moment.

Chapter 2

I calmly checked the profiles of the last three candidates.

A knock sounded at the door.

David bustled in, his spine bent into a deferential curve as he escorted an elderly woman inside.

"Ethan, this is Lucas’ grandmother, Madam Evelyn Thompson."

He finished speaking, shot me a sharp, burning warning with his eyes, and pulled the door shut behind him.

I looked up.

She wore a dark navy silk dress. Her silver-streaked hair was pinned back without a single stray strand, and gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose.

Though she was well into her seventies, her face barely showed a line. Living a pampered life clearly kept time at bay.

"Mr. Winslow."

She took a seat, radiating the effortless snobbery that only came from decades of wealth and privilege.

"My grandson wants to work at your firm. Please arrange it."

A thick, heavy envelope slid across the desk.

I stared at her hand. Smooth, fair, with a brilliant emerald diamond ring gleaming on her ring finger.

Those hands had never known a hard day’s work.

The real Evelyn Thompson did not have hands like that.

The real woman spent her entire life working backbreaking factory shifts and mending clothes by the lamplight. Her knuckles grew thick and twisted, her hands forever wrapped in rag bandages, her fingers stiff and frozen until the day she died.

I lifted my eyes, looking at her without a single trace of emotion.

"My interviews are over. Your grandson didn't make the cut."

Evelyn’s face instantly hardened.

Behind those gold frames, her eyes narrowed, probing me up and down.

"Mr. Winslow, Lucas won the national moot court championship, published six papers in major legal journals, and ranked first in his class every single year. Slamming the door in his face like that? Don't you think that’s ridiculous?"

"The candidates have already been selected," I said, sliding the heavy envelope back across the desk. "And they are a far better fit than your grandson."

She glanced down at the returned envelope. "What, not enough? Name your price."

I held her gaze.

"I have my own standards when picking candidates. As a renowned artist, I assumed you understood how rules work. Unless..."

I paused, meeting her cold glare head-on. "You think principles are something you can just buy off the shelf."

Evelyn’s expression darkened. She crossed her arms, letting out a sharp, mocking sneer.

"Listen here, lad, don't overestimate your standing."

Her gaze turned utterly dismissive, treating me like dirt under her heel.

"I've seen plenty of young people like you. Rising up the ranks using who-knows-what underhanded tricks to flatter some higher-up, and now you want to use my grandson to act like a beacon of morality? Know your place!

"Lucas lost his parents early. My husband and I poured half our lives into raising him. You’ll process his hire right now, or..."

Evelyn adjusted her gold glasses, throwing me a look of pure contempt.

"Our family has been rooted in this city's elite legal circles for decades. The influence our family has built isn’t something a nobody like you can buy by sucking up to a few bosses. Don't throw away the grace you're being offered."

I sat back, staring at her impassively.

Beneath that perfectly manicured facade, the filth she had hidden for fifty years was finally leaking out.

This was who she truly was.

She might have stolen someone else's identity, but the cruelty in her bones, the way she viewed everyone else as ants to be crushed, was something she could never wash away.

She was not Evelyn Thompson. The real Evelyn Thompson was my grandmother.

The woman who died with her eyes wide open, muttering her husband's name over and over with her final breaths.

I squeezed my hand into a tight fist beneath the desk, keeping my voice flat.

"Are you finished? Madam Evelyn, the interview results stand. Please leave."

Her eyebrows twisted into a sharp knot.

She stood up, grabbed the heavy envelope off the desk, and shoved it brutally into her handbag.

"You refused the easy way out. Just you wait!"

The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her.

The click-clack of her heels echoed down the hallway, fading into silence.

Not ten minutes passed before David burst in again.

"Ethan, are you trying to start a riot? I’m telling you one last time! Get Lucas Parker processed immediately!"

I didn't move from my chair.

"Lucas Parker failed my interview. He isn't qualified."

I reached out and tapped the laptop screen in front of me.

"The portal authorization is under my account. I'm the only one with the password."

David's face turned ash-white.

"Ethan! You’re out of your absolute mind! Do you have any idea what rejecting him means? His grandfather is Arthur Parker! With a single word, he can crush this firm's entire future!

"Fix this right now, or you can start packing your desk!"

I didn't utter a word. I just watched him rant.

The office fell into a dead silence for three full seconds.

Then I nodded slowly.

"Fine. I'll call Professor Arthur myself."

David blinked, caught off guard as if he hadn't expected me to yield so fast.

He glared at me for two heavy seconds before turning on his heel and slamming the door shut.

Outside, the afternoon sunlight shifted across the glass, casting a beam straight over the open file on my desk.

Arthur Parker.

Evelyn Thompson.

Written neatly in Lucas’ handwriting in the family section.

One was my grandfather, the scum who abandoned his wife and daughter.

The other was the woman who stole my grandmother's life.

A thief.

I stared at the paper for a long, silent moment.

Then I dialed the number.

"Professor Arthur, this is Ethan Winslow from Apex Legal. I'd like to meet with you in person regarding your grandson, Lucas."

Chapter 3

That night, I stepped inside the dimly lit hotel lounge.

Arthur Parker was seated in a hand-carved mahogany armchair. He was old, thick around the middle, wearing a bespoke three-piece suit.

Yet I recognized him instantly.

That face, the heavy arch of his brow bone, matched the yellowed photograph I had spent thirty years staring at.

"Professor Arthur."

I sat down directly across from him.

He took a slow sip of bourbon, raising his eyes to evaluate me.

"Mr. Winslow, I looked into your background. A kid who clawed his way out of the dirt in the backwoods and accomplished so much at such a young age. Impressive."

His tone was slow and deliberate, dripping with the casual confidence of absolute power.

"I came from nothing too, so I know how hard the journey is."

He poured a glass of bourbon and slid it over to my side.

"Whatever reservations you might have, I’m completely confident that Lucas meets all your hiring criteria. If you just cooperate, I guarantee you’ll go far in this industry."

He offered a smooth, practiced smile.

"You're still young, and opportunity is the one thing you lack most."

His gaze was soft, almost dismissive. It carried all the hollow fake empathy of someone at the very top.

No hesitation. No realization.

Even though everyone who ever knew my grandmother said I inherited her exact eyes and facial structure.

He didn't recognize me. He didn't even know I existed in this world.

"Professor Arthur."

I stared at him, my expression deadpan.

"You came from those same backwoods.... I'm curious..."

I leaned in, fixing my gaze on his eyes, enunciating every single word.

"How many bodies did you step on to climb all the way up here?"

Arthur's expression turned instantly cold. The fake, warm smile vanished from his face.

He set his glass on the table with a sharp clink.

"Spill it. What are you trying to get out of this?"

What was I trying to get? I repeated those words in my head.

A bitter, freezing laugh tugged at the corner of my lips.

I wanted payback for fifty years ago, when he abandoned my heavily pregnant grandmother in the backwoods.

He stole her identity and her spot at the college, and ran off with another woman.

My grandmother was branded a homewrecker and trapped in some forgotten backwater for the rest of her life.

When my mother was born, people called her a bastard before she could even walk.

The local school refused to let her into the classroom, claiming that because her mother was “filthy”, she was filthy too.

She spent two years crouching outside the classroom window, listening to lessons until the teacher chased her away with a broom.

Denied an education, she started working as a seamstress at thirteen, her tiny fingers raw and bleeding from countless needle pricks.

Two generations. Two pairs of ruined hands.

They sacrificed everything to carry me out of the backwoods, put me through Columbia Law, and push me into the office I sat in today.

I had waited my entire life for this exact moment.

I locked my eyes onto Arthur’s face, unblinking.

"Professor Arthur, I'm only looking for justice. Before I came here, I published the final hiring list. Lucas isn't on it."

The lounge fell into suffocating silence.

He stared at me. I stared right back.

Fifty years of unpaid debts hanging in the air between us.

His face darkened as he let out a low, dangerous scoff.

"Lad, you really don't know what's good for you."

His fingers tapped a slow, menacing rhythm on the table.

"I met with you tonight to give you a chance to save face, but since you insist on burning bridges, don't blame me for ruining you."

He stood up, buttoning the bottom button of his waistcoat.

"You're way too green to stand in my grandson's way."

He turned and walked away.

I watched his silhouette disappear past the entrance.

The glass of bourbon in front of me remained untouched.

Later that night.

Apex Legal posted an urgent press statement on its homepage:

[Former Partner and Interviewer Ethan Winslow had been terminated immediately for malicious interference in the hiring process and compromising the fairness of the selection process.]

No internal investigation. No video evidence. Just a few cold lines of text alongside my headshot.

The comment section exploded like a broken dam.

A wave of public outrage crashed over me, putting me on trial in the court of public opinion:

[Making a partner at his age? He must’ve pulled some strings. Maybe he even slept his way to the top.]

[Looks like he finally picked a fight with the wrong powerful family!]

[Trash like him ruins fair hiring for the rest of us! Who knows how many qualified candidates he's screwed over?]

I read through every single comment. I didn't say a word.

My phone buzzed continuously on the nightstand.

Vicious messages poured in nonstop.

Among them were two texts from Lucas Parker:

[How does it feel to lose everything? Are you choking on regret yet? Take a look in the mirror before you try coming for me again.]

[Tomorrow morning, Apex Legal is hosting a massive press conference to welcome me to the team. I'm stepping into this elite circle with my head held high, while you won't even be able to land a job as a paralegal in this city ever again.]

The bright light of the screen reflected off my face. I stared at those words for a long time.

Then I flipped the phone face down onto the desk.

My mother sat on the edge of the bed next to me, her back turned. Her shoulders were trembling uncontrollably.

The hands that had spent half a century pushing needles through fabric were clutching the hem of her shirt, her knuckles turning stark white.

"Ethan..."

Her voice was raw and broken.

"Maybe... We should just let it go."

I reached out and took her hands in mine.

The hands that had carried me out of the deepest valleys. Covered in tiny, dense scars from a lifetime of needle punctures. Rough and calloused, broken down by years of hard labor.

I held them tightly.

"Mom, we aren't the ones who did something wrong. They've dodged this debt for fifty years. It's time for them to pay."