"Why," he continued, his voice dripping with malice, "are you so uncomfortable seeing the real murderer—the one who killed your parents—standing right in front of you, without retribution?"
He paused, a twisted grin spreading across his face.
"Speaking of which, I owe a lot to your fiancée and wife. If it weren't for them, I wouldn’t be living so well today."
The words hit like a freight train. Before I could process what he said, Karl added, "Before your father died, he was still thinking about you, his son. I even have a video of him begging for mercy. Want to see it? Kneel down and beg me."
The horrifying images of my parents’ tragic end flashed before my eyes. My heart raced, and a red-hot fury surged through me. Without thinking, I swung my fist at him.
The blow landed with a sickening thud.
But instead of anger, Karl only laughed—his laugh cold, detached. With the force of my punch, he staggered backward, falling hard to the ground.
Before I could even react, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
Caroline, having rushed in, had kicked me squarely in the heart. The sheer force of her strike, honed by years of training, left me gasping and crumpling to the floor in humiliation.