Chapter 339: You forced my hand
The moment Fu Ling’s voice echoed across the boardroom, everyone froze. Conversations stopped mid-sentence, and even the faint hum of the projector seemed to fade. Every pair of eyes turned toward the young man standing at the door—his face flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
The executives exchanged uneasy glances. Some frowned. Others sighed quietly.
The mere mention of Fu Lianhua made their expressions shift. Disdain flickered in their eyes.
None of them liked her. Not one.
To them, Madam Fu Lianhua was a woman who carried misfortune like a shadow. Her presence had always brought an inexplicable heaviness into any room she entered. Even though she dressed in elegance and spoke with refined grace, something about her aura felt off. Cold. Cursed.
These were men who had spent decades building empires and surviving storms. They believed in signs, omens, fate—and superstition ran deep in their bones. To them, Fu Lianhua was bad luck incarnate.
So when her name fell from Fu Ling’s mouth with such fury and desperation, a few of them looked away in discomfort.
Still, the accusation hung heavy in the air.
If her son had come here demanding answers, then perhaps Fu Jingrong had done something.
But that thought didn’t bother them much. In fact, it brought a quiet satisfaction to a few wrinkled faces.
If Fu Jingrong had finally cut ties with that woman, then good. She had been a lingering rot in the family’s name for far too long.
Fu Jingrong, dressed sharply in a navy suit and tie, sat calmly at the head of the table. His posture was steady, his expression unreadable. When he finally lifted his gaze toward Fu Ling, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion in his eyes—just that detached, icy calm that made even seasoned businessmen falter.
He didn’t answer his brother.
Instead, he turned to the board members. His voice was low but carried a quiet authority that left no room for disobedience.
"Everything has been handled. You may leave."
The executives hesitated only for a second before gathering their documents and standing up. A few exchanged knowing glances as they exited, whispering under their breath. Within moments, the massive boardroom was empty except for the two brothers.
Fu Jingrong finally stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and said simply, "Follow me."
Fu Ling wanted to protest, but something in his brother’s tone made his words die in his throat. The authority in Fu Jingrong’s voice was suffocating. Even in his anger, Fu Ling couldn’t bring himself to openly defy him—not in front of so many eyes.
He followed silently as Fu Jingrong led the way to his office.
The CEO’s office was enormous, with tall glass windows that gave a panoramic view of the city below. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and cologne. The heavy mahogany desk stood like a throne, and behind it sat the chair that had once belonged to their father.
Fu Ling stopped at the doorway for a moment. The sight of the room made something twist inside him.
That chair—so large, so dignified—it looked as if only someone like Fu Jingrong could sit there. Someone with power, poise, and control. For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought this man really was born for this.
But then he remembered his mother’s tear-streaked face. The pitiful way she cried his name. And just like that, his thoughts darkened.
The rage came back in waves.
He stepped forward. "Why did you do that?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "Why did you do that to my mother?"
Fu Jingrong stood by the window, the sunlight spilling over his shoulders. He didn’t respond. His silence made Fu Ling’s anger boil over.
"I know there have been rumors," Fu Ling continued, his tone growing louder. "About my mother and your mother’s death. But you’re not the kind of man who listens to gossip! So why now? Why her?"
His voice cracked slightly, and the rims of his eyes turned red. The image of his mother’s frail, trembling figure burned in his mind. She had looked so broken, so pitiful—nothing like the graceful woman he grew up admiring.
Fu Jingrong finally turned. His gaze was cool, calm, and piercing.
"Do you trust her that much?" he asked quietly.
The question hit like a stone. Fu Ling froze.
Did he trust her that much? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know anymore. But she was his mother. The woman who had raised him. The one who had tucked him into bed as a child and comforted him when he cried.
How could he not?
He swallowed hard and nodded.
A faint, humorless smile touched Fu Jingrong’s lips. He gave a quiet laugh—a sound so low it sent chills down Fu Ling’s spine—and walked around the desk to sit down.
Without saying a word, he pulled open a drawer. Papers rustled. Then he drew out a thick folder, full of documents, and tossed it across the table. The sound of it hitting the polished surface made Fu Ling flinch.
"Take a look," Fu Jingrong said coldly.
Fu Ling hesitated, then slowly reached for the papers. His fingers trembled as he flipped them open.
The first few pages were transaction records. Dates. Names. Bank transfers.
Then came photographs. Surveillance images. Signed reports.
Each one tore something apart inside him.
His eyes widened as he scanned through them. The more he read, the paler his face became.
At first, confusion. Then disbelief. Then horror.
"No..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "This... this can’t be real."
Fu Jingrong leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on his younger brother. "You wanted the truth," he said evenly. "There it is."
Fu Ling shook his head furiously, refusing to accept it. "No! My mother wouldn’t—she wouldn’t do something like this!"
But deep down, something in him faltered.
Because as much as he wanted to deny it, the evidence in his hands was undeniable. Every record, every photograph, every signature—it all pointed to the same person.
Fu Lianhua.
His mother.
The room felt colder. The world felt heavier.
Fu Ling’s knees weakened, and the papers slipped from his trembling fingers, scattering across the floor. His breathing grew shallow.
Fu Jingrong didn’t move. His gaze remained sharp, but there was a faint sadness hidden beneath the surface. "You were never meant to see this," he said quietly. "But you forced my hand."
