Ethan Mark: Billionaire in Disguise

7. The Return Message and Condemnation

"You see, I know why you're here!" Alexander said, looking straight into Ethan's eyes and not taking his gaze away.

"You want me to talk to my daughter and make her come back to you, and blah blah blah..." He continued; his words filled with disdain.

"I sure can do that," he said, rising to his feet and pacing slowly around Ethan, his breath almost tangible.

"But I won't," he declared, firmly stating his decision.

Ethan's eyes widened with surprise. It was as if he hadn't heard it correctly and needed Mr. Alexander to repeat his words.

"What?" he muttered, though Mr. Alexander heard him loud and clear.

"You see, there's nothing a pauper like you from the ghetto could possibly offer my daughter, who belongs to the richest class. She is way above your league, and you don't deserve her."

"I'm sure there are ladies, even ugly ones from the slums and gutters, who would suit you better. You can make a home with them, but not with my daughter."

"I'll forgive your ignorance this one time, but if you continue to refuse to sign the divorce papers we sent you and leave Isabella alone, be prepared to spend the rest of your life in jail."

"Securities!"

"Throw him out and make sure the housekeeper cleans everywhere his dirty legs have touched."

In the blink of an eye, Ethan was thrown out onto the road in front of the entrance gate. "We've been instructed to treat you like the poor bastard you are. Leave before we change our minds, or you'll regret ever setting foot here this evening," one of the security personnel said.

Disappointed and with tears streaming down his face like a wounded child, Ethan slowly rose to his feet and began to walk away, casting occasional glances back.

He couldn't believe how Isabella's father had humiliated him, treating him like a beggar with tattered rags and an empty bowl. The order for the housekeeper to clean everywhere he had stepped further shattered his heart.

Suddenly, his phone chimed, and when he retrieved it from his pocket, he saw the reply to the email he had sent to Mr. Smith. "Young Master, I'm delighted that you've finally agreed to visit your father's grave. I'm already on my way to pick you up. Please wait patiently."

***

When Ethan arrived home, he was greeted by a convoy of exotic cars parked outside his doorstep. Mr. Smith emerged from the black limousine, positioned behind three Rolls-Royces and in front of two Bentleys.

As Mr. Smith stepped out, each driver from the cars in front and behind also emerged, bowing their heads synchronously to Ethan, creating an atmosphere of deference and honor. Their coordinated display of respect acknowledged Ethan's presence.

"Welcome, Young Master. We're ready to take you to visit your father's grave," Mr. Smith said, bowing his head as he approached Ethan.

"Okay, Mr. Smith. But first, I need to check some papers in the house," Ethan replied, patting Mr. Smith on the shoulder and walking past him.

Inside the house, Ethan's gaze immediately fell upon the papers on the table, accompanied by a pen. Without needing anyone to explain, he knew they were the divorce papers.

With a heavy heart, he reluctantly reached out to pick up the divorce papers. Opening them, he discovered that Isabella had already signed, leaving only his signature remaining.

He glanced at the document and was shocked by its contents:

"I firmly believe that it is in Sophia's and everyone's interest for you to stay away from us until this is reconsidered. Any attempt by you to approach us or maintain a father-daughter relationship will put you at risk of going to jail."

"What?" he exclaimed, unable to comprehend that Isabella had taken their daughter away from him. "How could she do this?" he screamed, his anger raging like an untamed wildfire.

Taking a deep sigh, like a weary traveler, he reluctantly picked up the pen from the table. With a trembling touch, each stroke carrying the weight of countless regrets, he signed the document.

Before he could finish his signature, tears streamed down his face like a torrential downpour, leaving trails of sorrow and anguish on the paper.

He placed the document back on the table and immediately turned, leaving the house in a shattered state.

"We can bring her here and make her realize who you are. She would reconsi—"

"No need for that. Take me to the hospital before we proceed," Ethan interrupted Mr. Smith, accepting the handkerchief Mr. Smith offered.

As Mr. Smith turned to open the limousine door, Ethan stopped him. "Mr. Smith," he called out suddenly.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, filled with gratitude. "But I'll have to return the money you sent to me. I no longer have a use for it," he declared.

"No, Young Master. Your family has been there for me all these years. The late master took me in when everyone else rejected me. He gave me a job and a name. I'll never take you for granted. I'm glad I could help. Please keep the money," Mr. Smith insisted, waiting for Ethan's response before opening the limousine door.

"Thank you, Mr. Smith. You truly are a good man. I'll keep the money," Ethan replied as he walked forward and stepped into the limo, having all the others step into each car as well. One after another, they drove slowly.