The Invincible son-inlaw's Secret Identity

Chapter 8: Margaret's desperation

Margaret was no longer the arrogant matriarch she was before.She was a crumpled, terrified woman huddled with her husband in the small, expensive parlor. The fear was thick and sharp, smelling of scorched hopes.

"He's destroying us," Margaret whispered, rocking back and forth. "That... that useless boy is secretly the head of the company that was supposed to save us! The Commander! This is a nightmare!"

Mr. Thompson had sunk into the sofa, his eyes hollow. "The calls won't stop. Our bank manager just informed me our family's assets are being liquidated at fire-sale prices. It’s a coordinated attack. We have less than 48 hours before the family name is worthless."

Margaret suddenly stood up, her face twisted with desperate resolve. "No! I won't lose my house! I won't lose my diamonds! We have one last chance. The Elder."

The Elder was Mr. Thompson’s uncle, the true, silent patriarch of the family who lived far away and was respected for his vast, old money and cold, unbreakable connections. No one spoke to him unless the house was literally on fire.

"The Elder?" Mr. Thompson weakly protested. "He hasn't spoken to us in years! He thinks we're too flashy and modern!"

"I don't care what he thinks!" Margaret snatched the Elder's private, encrypted phone number from the antique safe. "He has the contacts! He has the power! He will know how to stop this Shadow Monarch!"

She dialed the number with a frantic, trembling finger. The phone rang three times before a smooth, ancient voice answered.

"Hello? This is the Thompson residence. Is that you, Robert?" the Elder asked, his voice slow and heavy, like rocks tumbling.

"Elder, it's Margaret! We're ruined! An entity called The Shadow Monarch's Hand is destroying us! They've arrested Leo, they've crashed the Everest deal, they're liquidating our assets! We need your help! You must call your friends in the government!"

There was a long, chilling silence on the line. Margaret heard the Elder take a slow, rattling breath.

Then, the Elder’s voice changed completely. It wasn't slow and heavy anymore; it was sharp, panicked, and terrified.

"The Shadow Monarch? Are you fools?! Did you offend the Shadow Monarch's lineage?!"

Margaret pressed the phone tighter to her ear. "We didn't! It was all that useless son-in-law, Ethan! We threw him out! The Everest man said he was some 'Commander' who was protecting us!"

The Elder let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. "Ethan Reed... Commander... The Thompson family married the Shadow Monarch's heir and THREW HIM AWAY?! Robert! You didn't tell me this!"

"He seemed so poor!" Mr. Thompson cried from the background. "He cleaned the dishes!"

"Foolish! Ignorant!" the Elder roared, the sound echoing painfully in the quiet parlor. "The Shadow Monarch's line is the most powerful in the world! They don't need money; they make money! They test their heirs through three years of absolute humiliation! It is a rite of passage! Your family was given the greatest protection a minor house could ever receive, and you threw it in his face!"

Margaret’s jaw dropped open. She thought back to the endless insults, the wine, the screaming... every humiliation was a challenge to the most powerful force in the city.

"Elder, please! You must have a connection! You must know someone stronger!" Margaret begged, tears finally streaming down her face. "Call them! Stop him!"

The Elder's voice returned to a terrifying calm. "No one is stronger. The Shadow Monarch's power is absolute. Robert, Margaret... you didn't just offend a businessman. You offended Fate itself."

"But... what do we do?" Margaret pleaded.

"You do nothing," the Elder instructed, his voice now final, empty of emotion. "You can't fight a god. You made your choice when you forced him to sign the papers. I am cutting all ties with the Thompson Group immediately. You are alone. Do not call me again."

The line clicked dead.

Margaret lowered the phone, her hands shaking so violently she almost dropped it. The power she had always relied on—the unseen structure of wealth and connections—had just crumbled at the mere mention of Ethan's true title.

"He hung up," she whispered to her husband. "The Elder... he cut us off."Mr. Thompson didn't move. He was staring at the empty wine glass still sitting on the side table, the glass Margaret had filled for their celebratory dinner, which was now just a symbol of their immense, stupid greed.

"He was the shield," Mr. Thompson repeated, the terrible truth finally sinking in. "And we were the abusers. We are going to lose everything because we couldn't be kind to one man."

Margaret, unable to face the ruin, rushed out of the room. She ran up the stairs toward Clara’s room. She had one last desperate thought: Clara.

If Ethan was the Commander, and he loved Clara enough to endure three years of hell, maybe Clara was the key to their survival. She had to find Clara and beg her to go back to him, to sacrifice herself again, this time to save the family name from ruin.

She burst into Clara's room.

But Clara was gone. The backpack she had seen her daughter carrying was gone. The only thing left on the dresser was the neat stack of divorce papers, with Ethan's firm signature standing as the declaration of war.

Margaret saw the white light still shining from the Sky Citadel tower, pointing directly into the room.

The Commander had saved his "Target" and left the wreckage behind.

Margaret stumbled backward, her hand reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand—a glass that was not there.

The tears were burning her eyes, but she wasn't crying for the money anymore. She was crying for the profound mistake she had made.

"Clara! No! Don't leave us!" she screamed, running to the window, shouting into the night.

But only the cold, silent light from the Commander's tower answered her. Margaret fell to her knees, clutching the signed divorce papers, realizing the terrible, final truth: She had paid a king to destroy her house, and the cost was everything she had.