“Yes.”
“I’ll drive up to the parking lot.”
“Okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in his car.
“I don’t understand everything yet, but I need copies of all the contracts we’ve signed over the past six months. Can you get them?”
“I think so, Mr. Damir. But… there are rumors going around the company that you’ve swindled your own father for a huge sum of money.”
That did shock him. He turned to her with a glare, as if she were the one spreading those rumors.
“What?!”
She looked startled and shrugged. Damir gave a bitter smirk and looked straight ahead, tightening his lips. Now he was starting to understand who was behind all this. His jaw clenched, cheek muscles twitching. No way. It can’t be. We became close—back there in Russia, in Bolgar! He apologized. I forgave him! Damn it. DAMN IT!
Damir slammed the steering wheel with his fists.
“Please, calm down, Mr. Damir. This won’t help.”
He covered his face with both hands and sat in silence. Eventually, he exhaled and told her he needed to think. He’d call her back.
An hour later, Damir returned home—only to find even more chaos than at work. Loud voices filled the house—heated arguments in Persian. He saw his father—furious like a wild beast—arguing with his wife. She was defending her biological son. They were yelling at each other. Zulfiya and Aaliya sat huddled on the couch, frightened and confused.
“I didn’t take your money,” Damir said from the doorway. His father’s furious gaze met his—but Damir didn’t look away.
“It’s not about the money!” Omer said in a low but firm voice.
“I would’ve given it all to you.”
“I never took a single cent without your knowledge—believe it or not.”
“Come with me,” Omer ordered, heading into his office. Damir followed him. Omer grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and tossed it at him. It didn’t land properly—falling to the floor at Damir’s feet.
He looked at his father, then silently bent down and picked it up.
“Recognize it?” Omer asked, on the verge of shouting.
“I recognize my name. What is it?”
“What kind of lawyer are you if you don’t know what this is?!”
“I understand—it’s a bank statement…”
The words hit him like a knife. He looked again at the document. The final balance, along with regular deposits—$1,457,880.
“What the…?”
“Not a bad sum, huh?”
“Trace it—find out how the account was opened and where the funds came from!”
Damir shouted, waving the document. “I’ve never opened any account like this in my life!”
“Samad handles those things,” Omer said, turning to the window.
“Samad?!” Damir scoffed bitterly.
This time, Omer spun around and stormed back toward him. Pointing a finger at his chest, he growled, “Don’t you dare accuse him! He may not be my blood, but he has never done anything that would make us ashamed—not once! And as for my real son—well, we both know exactly what he’s capable of!”
