My father crashed his sports car while street racing. As he lay dying, he tried to write a will leaving his entire fortune to his mistress and his unborn illegitimate child. My mother, who had served him like a slave her entire life without a single complaint, suddenly rushed forward. Weeping hysterically, she slapped the pen right out of his trembling hand. "Honey, I won't let you write a will! You're going to pull through this! You're going to live!" I, the son he had ignored for over two decades, dropped to my knees, snatched the half-written document, and ripped it to shreds. "Dad! Don't you worry! I’ll take over the company and run it perfectly!" My dad was so furious he couldn't catch his breath. His eyes rolled back, efforts to resuscitate him failed, and he died right there on the spot. By the time his mistress rushed to the hospital, cradling her eight-month pregnant belly and screaming about how the new inheritance laws meant her bastard child was entitled to a cut, it was too late. My dad had already been pronounced dead, rushed through a direct cremation, and his estate was locked down. Fight for the fortune? I wasn't leaving her a single cent! 1 My father, Richard Sterling, was a deadbeat playboy who sowed his wild oats wherever he went. When he was young, he used his movie-star looks to con my mother into marrying him without spending a dime on a ring or a wedding. According to my mom, he made all these grand promises. He swore he would work hard, build a life from the ground up, and take care of his little family. But three years into the marriage, he was either drinking, gambling, or sleeping around. He was never home. We practically never saw him. My mom tried to talk sense into him a few times. In response, fueled by cheap whiskey, he pinned her to the sofa and beat her. Blood stained the couch in our tiny rented apartment, and the landlord forced us to pay a $500 damage fee. That just threw our already poverty-stricken family deeper into the abyss. My mom cried every single day. Once, after a few drinks with a friend, my mom had a moment of pure clarity and decided to file for divorce. But right at that critical moment, she found out she was pregnant with me. She didn't want her child to be born into a broken home. Plus, whenever my dad screwed up bad enough, he would drop to his knees and give a tearful, Oscar-worthy apology. Ultimately, for my sake, she decided to endure it. The fact that she married him for nothing, combined with her refusal to fight back, made my dad feel invincible. He truly believed she couldn't live without him. And so... the domestic violence escalated. Not even her pregnancy or nursing phases were spared. The most ruthless incident was when my dad stepped on my mother’s head, looked down at her, and spat in her face. "I didn't even pay a dime for a ring! You're a worthless, cheap bitch!" "Even if I bring my women home and sleep with them in our bed, you're going to watch, you're going to listen, and you're going to wash our laundry and cook us breakfast!" Then I was born. My mom shifted her entire focus onto me and stopped paying attention to him. As far as she was concerned, as long as I knew I had a father and didn't feel inferior to other kids, that was enough. She expected nothing else from him, and relied on him for nothing. And he lived up to that. From the moment I formed memories, my dad never once held me. Forget teaching me how to ride a bike or buying me toys. My mom and I were outsiders in his life. We were the closest people in the world to each other, surviving against the odds. My dad was just a background character. If we saw him today, we probably wouldn't see him again for a week or two. As for child support or living expenses? My mom never saw a single penny. Mrs. Higgins, the old lady in the apartment upstairs, was a saint. She knew our situation and knew my dad was a piece of trash. Taking pity on me, she would give me her grandson's old hand-me-down toys. She also hired my mom to clean her apartment and cook her meals, paying her under the table. Because of Mrs. Higgins, my mom and I didn't starve. But the good days didn't last. My dad found out. He interrogated my mom, demanding to know how much cash she was making. When she refused to speak, he beat her black and blue. If I tried to shield my mom, he’d beat me too. With one arm, he could effortlessly throw a five-year-old me across the room. Eventually, my mom compromised. She agreed to give him a $1,000 cut of her earnings every month. I remember Mrs. Higgins asking my mom why she didn't just call the cops. She told her domestic abuse was a felony. My mom’s response is burned into my memory to this day. With tears in her eyes, she whispered: "If I divorce him, he'll kill me and my son. He's crazy enough to do it." Later, a massive tragedy struck our family. My maternal grandparents were killed in a horrific crash. An 18-wheeler ran a red light—total liability on the trucking company. Because my mom was an only child, she received a $1 million wrongful death settlement. That period was the most terrifying, despair-filled time of our lives. Not only were we grieving, but we had to guard ourselves against my dad. He threatened us. He said if we didn't hand over the settlement money, he would murder us. That was the moment my mom finally called the police. But it’s hard to gather evidence behind closed doors, and since my dad hadn't physically acted on the death threats yet, the cops just mediated the dispute and gave him a stern warning. For over a month, my mom and I lived in a cheap motel, terrified. Then, one night, my dad kicked the motel door in. We screamed, but he just calmly sat down on the armchair, staring at us with dead eyes, and delivered an ultimatum. "Give me the money. I’m starting a business. I am going to change my destiny. If I don't get it, my life is meaningless anyway. I’ll just kill myself and take the two of you down to hell with me." Then he left. He didn't hit us. He didn't yell. It was the first time I had ever seen him so cold and calculated. My mom told me that in that state of mind, he really would pull the trigger. She stroked my hair, crying, apologizing to me. She promised that once I graduated high school, she would file for divorce. "With that money, your father probably won't hurt us anymore," she reasoned. And just like that, through extortion and death threats, he took the million-dollar settlement. He got incredibly lucky. He rode the wave of a booming real estate and logistics market, and his very first startup became a massive success. The first thing he did after becoming a multi-millionaire? He asked my mom for a divorce. But this time, she refused. As she put it: she had suffered through decades of a miserable life, swallowing her pride, taking beatings, and living in squalor. Now that he was rich, why should he get to cast her aside? My dad felt his authority was being challenged. Money had inflated his ego, making him even more arrogant and ruthless. He grabbed my mom by the hair, preparing to beat her into submission. But I was older now. I rushed him, punching him as hard as I could, screaming that I was going to call the cops, call the press, and send him to a federal penitentiary. For the first time in his life, my dad backed down. He was no longer fearless. He had a weakness now. His precious corporate empire. As a newly minted "successful entrepreneur," a massive domestic violence and extortion scandal would utterly destroy his public image and his business. He tucked his tail between his legs and ran. That was the day my mom realized we finally had a shield. That million-dollar settlement wasn't a total waste after all. From then on, we demanded an exorbitant allowance. If he refused, we cried, screamed, and threatened to hold protest banners outside his corporate headquarters. To save face, he paid up. It was more than enough for us to live comfortably. He never brought up divorce again, but he also never came home. He spent his days at galas and his nights in luxury penthouses. He spent his time sleeping with his secretaries and female executives. Living the high life. When he was feeling particularly smug, he'd even bring his mistresses back to our house to hook up. Whenever those disgusting noises echoed from the master bedroom, my mom would cover my ears. But it had been a very long time since she shed a single tear over him. As I grew older and understood how the world worked, I finally asked her the question that had been burning inside me. "Why keep this charade going? A father's love like this... what's the point of maintaining this legal marriage?" The seeds of hatred and pain had been planted in me since childhood. As for fatherly love? I didn't possess a single ounce of it. My mom teared up, looking at me with deep guilt. But her answer is something I have engraved in my mind to this very day. "I used to be stupid. I thought keeping the family whole mattered. But you're right, a father like him is worse than no father at all." "But now, I have to think about your future." I pondered that sentence for nearly a decade. Until I was twenty-two. My mom and I were making dinner when the hospital called. My dad had been in a horrible accident. In a flash of lightning, I finally understood what my mom had meant all those years ago! We dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. On the way, we exchanged dozens of glances. There was no grief. No pain. Just intense anticipation and wild speculation. When we arrived, our deepest hopes were confirmed! The doctor said my dad had been street racing and crashed. His condition was critical, and they needed us to sign the surgical consent forms immediately. We were escorted to the ICU. Seeing my dad covered in blood and hooked up to a dozen tubes, I didn't feel a shred of sadness. Instead, I noticed he was struggling desperately to write something on a clipboard. My mom’s reflexes were faster than mine. She lunged forward, slapping his hand hard, sending the pen clattering to the floor. She wailed with theatrical devastation: "Honey! I won't let you write a will! You're going to pull through! You have to live!" I peeked at the clipboard. The bastard was trying to leave his entire corporate empire to his mistress and her unborn child. His handwriting was a jagged, illegible mess. It had taken all his remaining strength just to scribble a few lines. Without missing a beat, I dropped to my knees, snatched the paper, and tore it into confetti. "Dad! Don't worry! You still have me! I’ll step up and run the company! I won't let your life's work go to waste!" Outside the glass doors, the nurses and doctors were wiping away tears, whispering about how lucky my dad was to have such a devoted wife and son. My dad’s face turned purple with absolute rage. He choked around the intubation tube, unable to speak, making furious, muffled groans. He tried to blindly reach for another pen. I casually kicked the clipboard into the biohazard bin, completely severing his hopes. Finally, the sheer rage and spike in blood pressure caused him to pass out. The doctors rushed in with a defibrillator. I held up a hand, stopping them. I let out a heavy sigh, my eyes shimmering with fake tears. "My father just signaled to me... he doesn't want to live without dignity. Please, pull the plug. Let him go in peace." Perhaps my dad could hear me in his comatose state, because the heart monitor spiked violently before flatlining into a solid, continuous beep. The doctor checked his vitals, looked at us with a heavy expression, and pronounced him dead. I nodded, vigorously rubbing my eyes as if wiping away tears, while internally, I was doing backflips. We didn't even bother with the morgue. The moment we got the death certificate, my mom and I hired a transport service, took him straight to the crematorium, and had him burned to ash. Before the ashes had even cooled down, I scattered them in a drainage ditch. Armed with the death certificate, I hired a high-powered proxy lawyer. By throwing an obscene amount of money at the problem, I had the inheritance paperwork expedited and finalized within hours. In a single day, I transformed into a multi-millionaire CEO. 2 We went back to the hospital to finalize some billing paperwork and were just about to happily head home. Suddenly, a woman caked in heavy makeup, clutching a massive pregnant belly, stormed into the main lobby. "Where is Richard Sterling?! Where is he?!" "The CEO of Sterling Enterprises! I'm asking you, where is Richard?! What room is he in?!" I knew this woman. She was the Chief Financial Officer at my dad’s company. Her name was Serena Vance. My dad had brought her to our house multiple times while flaunting his affairs. She knew exactly what the dynamic was in our family, so she treated my mom like absolute garbage. The first time she came over, she was somewhat restrained. By the second time, she was barking orders, treating my mom like the hired help. My mom got angry and told her to check her attitude. In response, emboldened by my dad standing right next to her, Serena slapped my mom across the face, leaving five red fingernail scratches. "Don't you raise your voice at me, you washed-up hag. Don't you know your place?" Seeing my mom get hit, I charged forward, aiming a kick straight at Serena’s ribs. But my deadbeat father intervened, kicking me squarely in the chest and knocking me to the ground. He'd rather assault his own flesh and blood than let his precious mistress get a scratch. Seeing her again today, waddling around the hospital lobby, gave me a profound sense of karmic justice. Tsk, tsk. Looking at that belly, she had to be at least eight months along. Ready to pop any day now. What a shame. The kid is going to be born without a father. Oh, wait, not just fatherless—an unrecognized, illegitimate bastard with absolutely no legal standing. My mom and I exchanged a wry look. We were just about to slip away when Serena spotted us. Like a madwoman, she screamed and charged at us. "Stop right there! Both of you, stop!" She jogged over and grabbed my mom's jacket. I stepped in, forcefully shoving her hand away. "Lady, running around like a maniac at eight months pregnant? Aren't you afraid of having a miscarriage?" "Where is Richard?! Where is he!" My mom looked at her coldly. "Don't you have your own man? Why are you looking for my husband?" As soon as she said that, the nurses, patients, and visitors in the lobby all turned to stare. Serena must have sensed something was terribly wrong. Throwing all care for her reputation out the window, she shrieked: "I am carrying Richard Sterling's child! Why don't I have the right to know where he is?! Tell me where he is right now!" "My husband died in a car crash. He's currently burning in hell." "And why would you be carrying his child? Is this some kind of sick joke?" Serena only heard the first sentence. The rest of the words flew right past her. She looked like she had been hit by a truck, stumbling backward a few steps. Then, snapping out of it, she lunged forward again. "I'm carrying his flesh and blood! I want his assets! I want half of everything he owned!" "Heh..." I let out a cold laugh. "Lady, my father was incredibly devoted to his family. He would never do anything to betray my mother. Stop joking around." "If you keep slandering my late father's good name, I won't be so polite." 3 Serena looked incredibly confused, staring at us as if she had never met us before. "What act are you two putting on?! I've been to your house multiple times! You know exactly who I am and what my relationship with Richard is!" "The baby in my belly is his! Now that he's dead, I want my share! I demand my child's inheritance!" Wanted a cut of the fortune? She wasn't getting a single dime. Why did my mom and I rush to have him cremated and his ashes scattered in a ditch? Exactly to prevent mistress number three, four, five, and six from showing up and demanding DNA tests! As for his reputation? Dad, to secure the bag, I'm defending your honor! You were a paragon of marital fidelity! Because of Serena's screaming, a massive crowd had gathered. They were pointing fingers and whispering about this shameless woman. But Serena didn't care. Her brain was completely consumed by dollar signs. "Don't think you can screw me out of this! Richard and I have been together for over two years! I'm eight months pregnant; the baby is coming in a month. If you don't give me my cut, I'll take you for everything you have!" "Since when do mistresses have the guts to show up and demand an inheritance?" a bystander muttered. "Don't you know? Under state law, an illegitimate child has inheritance rights if paternity is proven!" "Tsk, tsk. She looks like a professional, but she willingly became a homewrecker." "Sterling Enterprises is worth hundreds of millions! A baby could secure a massive bag. If it's his biological kid, why shouldn't she take the money?" "What is wrong with your morals? You think destroying someone's family is justified?" "What's wrong with my morals? The man is the one who stepped out! She went for the money, it was consensual, who did it hurt? People live and die for money, what's the big deal?" "I spit on that! So the legal wife just deserves to get screwed over?" The crowd started arguing amongst themselves. Serena took advantage of the chaos to raise her voice. "I didn't do it for the money at first! I didn't even know he was married until after I got pregnant! But what was I supposed to do? Get an abortion? The baby is innocent!" "Now that he's dead, I can't just walk away with nothing! I'm just fighting for what rightfully belongs to my child! Is that a crime?!" Serena completely flipped the script, painting herself as the tragic victim. A good chunk of the crowd began to murmur in agreement, seemingly swaying to her side and whispering insults about my dad. Right then, I put on a pained expression and decided to reveal the "truth." "After my dad and mom had me, my dad was in a horrific accident. He lost his fertility." "Lady, whose bastard child are you really carrying?" 4 Since the dawn of time, spreading rumors regarding a woman's chastity is a despicable way to ruin her. But using it on this vile mistress? I felt absolutely zero guilt. When my dad was younger, he did slip and fall while blackout drunk, requiring a hospital visit. There were medical records of the ER trip. As for losing his fertility? Completely made up. But it didn't matter. It completely shifted the crowd's perception of Serena. Their eyes practically screamed: Are you trying to pin another man's bastard on a dead billionaire just to steal his money? Serena trembled with fury. In her panic, she ripped her phone out of her Prada bag. She pulled up dozens of intimate photos of her and my dad, threatening to read their explicit text messages out loud. "Look at this! We were deeply in love! Here are photos of us living together in his penthouse!" "He wasn't devoted to anyone! He was a serial cheater who slept with half his office!" "Oh..." "Miss, didn't you just say you didn't know he had a wife?" I didn't even need to speak. A sharp-eared bystander immediately called out her lie. "I meant I found out after I got pregnant! Are you all deaf?! And what does that have to do with any of you anyway?!" Serena completely lost her mind, screaming profanities at the crowd. The crowd, obviously not taking kindly to being cursed at, fired back with every insult in the book. My mom and I exchanged a look. The scene was getting way too chaotic. Time to bounce. We grabbed our paperwork and casually strolled out of the hospital.
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