Chapter 3: The Rockefeller Family

The second day arrived.

Cole was woken up by arguing downstairs.

The guest room was at the end of the second floor, with a window facing the backyard.

When he opened his eyes, dawn was just breaking, and last night's rainwater still hung on the oak tree branches outside the window.

He sat up, and the silver dagger at his waist poked him—he had slept holding the knife like that last night.

The voices downstairs grew louder.

It was Tyler's voice, shrill, carrying that familiar bullying tone.

"I said no means no! Why should he get to stay in the guest room? That's my room!"

Cole tucked the dagger back into his waist, pulled on a T-shirt, and walked to the door.

He could hear more clearly in the hallway. Mary's voice came up from the kitchen, her tone carrying impatient reassurance.

"Tyler, he's leaving tomorrow. Why are you fighting with him?"

"He still can't stay in my room!" Tyler's voice shot up. "He's a murderer—does he deserve to stay in my room?"

Cole leaned against the doorframe, listened for a while, then pushed the door open and went downstairs.

The stairs were wooden, making slight sounds when stepped on. As soon as he appeared in the living room, all three people shut their mouths at once.

Tyler stood at the kitchen doorway, holding a box of cereal, his face still showing anger he hadn't had time to hide.

Mary was by the coffee maker, gripping a cup.

Roy sat at the dining table with a newspaper spread in front of him, not even looking up.

Cole glanced at Tyler. "Your room? I'm staying in the guest room."

Tyler slammed the cereal box on the table. "The guest room is mine too. Everything in this house is mine. You're just a—"

"Just a what?" Cole finished the last step and stood in front of Tyler.

He was half a head taller than Tyler.

It was the same three years ago, but back then Tyler wasn't afraid of him because Cole never fought back.

Now Cole stood before him, his gaze calm, but something pressed beneath that calmness made Tyler swallow the rest of his words.

Mary walked over with her coffee, positioning herself between them. "Enough, stop arguing. Cole, go wash up. We're going to the Rockefeller Estate to see Mr. Victor Rockefeller soon. Dress properly, don't embarrass us."

Cole looked at her. Mary's face was lightly made up, her blonde hair neatly styled. Her eyes swept over Cole's faded T-shirt, her mouth turning down at the corners. She turned and pulled a shirt from a bag on the sofa and tossed it to him.

"Put this on. Tyler's old clothes."

Cole caught the shirt.

Light blue, with the tag still hanging from the collar—clearly newly bought.

Tyler never wore light blue.

He said nothing and went upstairs with the shirt.

While washing up, Cole looked at himself in the mirror.

Three years in prison had made him much thinner, his cheekbones more prominent than before, his jawline harder.

His eye sockets were deeper than before, and the color of his pupils seemed darker than three years ago—not pure brown, but with a faint hint of dark red underneath. You couldn't tell without looking carefully, but once you noticed, you felt those eyes were hiding something.

He put on the light blue shirt, wrapped the silver dagger in cloth, and stuffed it into the inner layer of his canvas bag.

When he came downstairs, Tyler was already sitting at the dining table.

Seeing Cole wearing that shirt, Tyler's expression twisted for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but Roy's look shut him down.

Roy put down his newspaper and looked directly at Cole for the first time. "Today we're meeting Mr. Rockefeller. He's Ms. Sophia Rockefeller's uncle, the actual head of the Rockefeller family. When you meet him, be respectful and say little. We've already worked out the agreement—you just need to sign."

Cole sat down across the table. "What agreement?"

Roy pulled several sheets of paper from his briefcase and pushed them in front of Cole.

The paper was thick, with the Rockefeller family crest printed at the top—a spread-winged eagle with a shield clutched in its talons.

Cole scanned the terms, which stated:

First, he would join the Rockefeller family and marry Sophia Rockefeller.

Second, after marriage he must live at the Rockefeller Estate, care for Sophia's daily needs, and could not leave without Victor Rockefeller's permission.

Third, he could not interfere in any Rockefeller family affairs or reveal the marriage to outsiders.

Fourth, if Sophia died within a year of marriage, the marriage would automatically dissolve, and he would leave with nothing—not a penny.

Cole read through each clause, his face expressionless.

But Tyler grew impatient waiting and banged on the table, shouting, "Why look so carefully? You're a fresh-out-of-prison convict—you should be grateful they'll have you."

Cole looked up, staring hard at Tyler. "You made this connection?"

Tyler leaned back in his chair, his face showing that familiar smugness as he said:

"One of Mr. Rockefeller's men did business with me. I told him my brother just got out and needed a place to land. Mr. Victor Rockefeller happened to be looking for a husband to take care of Sophia, so I recommended you. How about that—pretty good of me as your brother, right?"

As Tyler said this, Cole noticed his eyes flick to the upper right—his habitual tell when lying, a childhood habit he'd never fixed.

Cole knew it was actually the Browns who made the connection, and Tyler was just pushed forward to play a part.

Cole flipped to the last page of the agreement, which already had Victor's signature.

"I have one more condition," Cole said.

Mary's hand paused while pouring coffee, Roy frowned, and Tyler's smugness turned to impatience.

"You're a convict—what right do you have to make conditions?"

Cole ignored Tyler and looked at Roy. "I can join the Rockefeller family. But I want to know—why did you choose me?"

The living room went quiet for a few seconds.

Roy took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his thumb, then put them back on.

Throughout these movements, his eyes never left Cole's face. "The Rockefeller family needs someone with a clean identity. They checked your background—you took the fall for Tyler, no other record. Former Navy SEAL reserve, physically qualified. Right age, no marriage history, no social connections. You meet their requirements."

Every reason made perfect sense, every reason sounded prepared in advance.

Cole nodded and didn't press further. He picked up the pen on the table and signed his name on the last page of the agreement.

Mary's expression relaxed as she lifted her coffee for a sip.

Tyler stood up, walked around the table, and slapped Cole's shoulder hard. "You made the right choice. Don't worry, once you're in the Rockefeller family, I won't let you down."

His fingers pressed into Cole's shoulder, with much more force than a normal pat, and he continued, "You're my brother. Blood ties—you use them when you need to. Right?"

Cole looked up at Tyler.

Tyler's hand was still on his shoulder, the smile not yet gone from his face.

Cole suddenly reached up and grabbed Tyler's wrist.

The movement wasn't fast, but the force was extreme.

The smile froze instantly on Tyler's face. He looked down at his gripped wrist, then tried to pull back, but couldn't.

Cole's fingers locked around his wrist bone like an iron clamp, each finger digging into the flesh.

"What are you doing? Let go!" Tyler's voice cracked.

Cole didn't let go. He stood up, facing Tyler directly.

Tyler was half a head shorter, and being held like this, his whole body involuntarily leaned back.

"Three years ago!" Cole's voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the living room heard it clearly. "You shoved the gun into my hand and called the police! When the cops came, you were on your knees crying, saying I killed someone by accident and you couldn't stop me."

As soon as Tyler heard this, his face changed completely.