American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

What was there not to understand?

Of course there was. In fact, there was a lot he couldn’t wrap his head around!

Timothy stood his ground and demanded:

"Why?" He fought to contain his rage, to keep the demon inside from clawing its way out. "You promised me! You clearly said that once Richard’s matter was settled, you would gradually hand over control of the foundation and let me take over! Why, at eighty years old, are you coming back out and clinging to power for dear life!"

After he finished speaking, he saw that Alexander’s face was devoid of expression. It felt like punching at thin air.

It was even more suffocating.

"And another thing! Elizabeth is just a little girl, not even twenty years old, and you gave her 20% of the shares and an independent seat on the board. She has the same voting rights as we do now! And she’s become the one with the most say in the entire family!"

Faced with the hysterical Timothy, Alexander’s expression didn’t waver in the slightest.

"Do you want to know why?" he said, enunciating each word. "Because you are not only weak, but also foolish and impatient."

"I told you about Richard’s one-billion-dollar bridge loan long ago, but you didn’t take it seriously. You thought the profit margin on a billion dollars was too low, so you let Charlie have a piece of that pie. Let’s not even talk about whether Richard felt disrespected by that. The simple fact that I told you, and you then had Charlie handle it, was enough to make me very displeased."

Alexander took a step with each sentence, quickly closing the distance to Timothy. "And what’s even more foolish is that Charlie actually managed to screw it up, dragging his own past messes into it. In the end, Liz seized the opportunity."

He gave a slight smile and said, "But this did allow me to discover something. Though Liz is still just a young girl, she has more guts than you and Charlie combined. Sometimes, this is just a game of who has more guts. You lost, so you must be punished. It’s as simple as that."

Hearing his father say that he and his son had less guts than his niece, Timothy’s chest heaved violently with anger. He clenched his fists tightly, his rage pushing him to the brink of collapse.

Alexander looked at the trembling Timothy, glanced down at his clenched fists, and instead of backing away, took another step forward.

Their noses were almost touching.

"Do you want to hit me?" Alexander lifted his chin slightly, pushing his deeply lined face right up to Timothy’s fist. "Go on, Timothy. Throw your punch."

No matter what, this was his own father. Timothy couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"Don’t... Dad," he said, avoiding Alexander’s gaze. "I didn’t... I didn’t mean that."

Alexander pressed forward, and Timothy retreated step by step.

Seeing Timothy’s state, the look in Alexander’s eyes changed again.

"You’re truly pathetic, Timothy," he said, slowly sitting back down at the conference table and putting on his reading glasses. "If you don’t want to stay here for me to breastfeed you and sing you to sleep, then get out."

Timothy didn’t know how he managed to walk out of that conference room.

His legs felt as if they were filled with lead; every step required immense effort.

He was like a soulless, walking corpse, stiff and numb as he moved through the manor’s long corridors.

Servants carrying trays bowed respectfully as he passed, but his vacant eyes couldn’t even focus on anyone.

In his ears, in his mind, only his father’s final, mocking and utterly contemptuous "get out" remained.

Returning to his own room, Timothy shoved the door open, then stumbled into the bathroom and, with a SLAM, bolted the door shut.

He lifted his head and looked at himself in the enormous mirror.

Fifty-four years old, with graying temples and deep wrinkles creeping up at the corners of his eyes.

’Who’s still a crown prince at fifty-four?’

He suddenly swung a fist and smashed it into the mirror. A spiderweb of cracks instantly spread across the massive surface.

As if to vent all his frustration with his father, he began to frantically sweep everything off the vanity—an expensive razor, a crystal mouthwash cup, toiletries—and send them crashing to the floor.

After five full minutes of frenzied destruction, Timothy finally began to calm down. He knelt on the floor and started picking up all the broken pieces and debris. He felt this was one of the most miserable Christmases he had ever had.

The sorrows and joys of human hearts are not intertwined.

In stark contrast to the anger and despair in Timothy’s room, over in a sunroom at Long Island Manor, it was as if fireworks were going off in Elizabeth’s heart.

She had never been so happy.

Before today, this manor had only brought her suppression, fear, and endless scheming.

But today, she had not only received 20% of the shares in Free Port, but had even been granted a board seat and voting rights—the very symbols of power.

At this moment, she was holding a cup of hot tea, completely shedding her usual stoic, powerful-woman persona. Instead, like a truly vivacious girl in her twenties, she was excitedly gesturing as she spoke to her father, Phoenix, who sat across from her.

"Dad, you really should have been there to see it!" Elizabeth’s eyes were shining, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy red from the excitement. "The wind was so strong! Grandfather was trying to make him back down, but Li Wei didn’t even blink. He just raised the gun and BANG! BANG! Ten clay pigeons! He shattered them all into dust! You should have seen the look on Grandfather’s face! It was priceless!"