“Since you agreed, I don’t mind.”
“Why don’t we settle this right now—find a witness, record a video, and call it closed?”
Michael’s expression tightened, almost constipated.
His voice even shifted as he sneered, “What’s this got to do with me? Why would I agree?”
“Don’t forget—the one who died was your dad!”
That mocking look appeared in his eyes again.
It was the same look he’d worn when Robert had first been paralyzed in a car accident—when instead of caring, his first reaction was to avoid responsibility.
“Your dad’s paralysis is your family’s problem. Don’t add to the burden of our little family.”
Later, when he realized it was actually his father who had been hit, he suddenly changed his tune.
I said nothing, simply pulling out my phone.
He just snorted, shaking his head. “Fine! Record it. You always make things difficult!”
With that, he shoved me aside. “You’re blocking Sophie from the breeze—can’t you see she’s sweating?”
Sophie leaned on his shoulder, flashing me a smile as if declaring her territory.
Michael’s mouth still didn’t stop.
“Your dad was old, taking his government allowance every year. His death is practically a service to the country.”
He laughed heartily.
I could only wait to see if he would still laugh so freely when he learned the truth.
This fire accident was already drawing media attention. Reporters were camped outside the Fire Department.
With a cold smile, I replied,
“The victim’s son has already agreed to call this an accident.”
Then I played the video right on the spot.
The reporters were stunned.
Before they could ask further, Michael yanked me into his office.
“The department wants to promote fire safety. We’ll use your dad’s remains for display.”
“No!”
My refusal was immediate.
Robert had treated me well while he was alive; I wanted to preserve what dignity I could for him in death.
Sophie eagerly chimed in,
“Sister-in-law, you don’t want more people to die in fires, do you?”
“One man’s death can warn thousands. Uncle Robert’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. Right, Captain?”
Michael clapped with a smile, not a hint of guilt on his face.
When I stayed silent, he pressed on, speaking earnestly:
“The man is gone. Burned down, he’s just ashes.”
“No different from a stray cat or dog. Don’t be so stubborn.”
I couldn’t believe it.
How could someone who so desecrated the dead have become a captain?
Swallowing my anger, I tried reasoning with him: