Chapter 3

On the third day, Molina herself arrived.

She didn't knock; the hotel manager used a master key to open the door for her.

She wore a sharply tailored business suit, her hair impeccably styled, her entire presence exuding "successful woman."

She stood in the doorway, looking at me as if I were a naive insect.

"Lewis, let's talk."

I sat by the window, not moving.

She walked in, closed the door, and sat opposite me.

"You know who I am, right?"

"I do," I said. "Molina, Dean of the Conservatory, renowned pianist."

"And what else?"

"Andrew's mother."

She nodded, crossed her legs, her tone like she was lecturing a junior.

"Lewis, you interrupted my son during the competition and claimed that piece wasn't his. Do you know what that kind of behavior is called?"

"Upholding my principles," I said.

She smiled, a cold smile. "It's called courting disaster."

She leaned forward, lowering her voice.

"I won't beat around the bush. I don't care if you have any evidence. But I've already looked into you."

She pulled out her phone and swiped a few times:

"Your agent's name is Collins, right? Your contract with him has three years left."

"His wife's company happens to have a favor to ask of me. One word from me, and he'll drop you."

"Your mentor, Professor Johnson, is seventy this year, not in the best health, and applying for a Lifetime Achievement Award."

"My committee decides who gets that award."

"And your next performance – your recital at the Vienna Concert Hall next month."

"The organizers are old friends of mine. If I tell them to cancel it, they won't dare refuse."

She listed them one by one, her tone flat, as if reading a menu.

"Lewis, I just have to lift a finger, and I can make you completely disappear from this industry."

"Do you believe me?"

I looked into her eyes.

This woman's ruthlessness wasn't an overt aggression, but a deep-seated contempt.

She felt crushing me was like crushing an insect.

"Dean Molina, are you finished?" I asked.

Her brows furrowed slightly.

"I'm telling you all this because Andrew is my son. If you touch him, you touch me."

"I'm giving you one last chance. At tomorrow's press conference, you will publicly apologize."

"You'll say you misheard the piece, that it was an impulsive act. Then, you'll voluntarily resign from your judging position."

"What if I don't?"

She stood up, looking down at me.

"Then you won't have a place in this industry anymore."

"You think winning a few international awards makes you secure?"

She scoffed.

"Lewis, in this industry, there are more ways to make someone disappear than you can imagine."

"Molina," I addressed her directly. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell the truth?"

"The truth?" She laughed, a dismissive laugh. "With what? A few flimsy papers? A recording?"

"You think those things can make any real waves?"

She turned and walked toward the door, not looking back.

"Tomorrow at 3 PM, Seattle Grand Hotel. Come or not, it's your decision."

"However – if you don't come, face the consequences."

The door slammed shut.

I sat alone in the room, my hand trembling for a long time.

Not from fear, but from hatred.

Fifteen years.

She stole my dad's music, killed my dad, and propelled her other son to fame.

Now, she was going to use my career, my mentor, my agent, to force me to bow down.

She didn't know who I was.

When she abandoned me, I was already ten years old.

Yet she didn't even find me familiar.

She didn't recognize that the young man before her was the son she had with her first husband.

But tomorrow, she would know.