After lunch, Dad initiated a conversation with the man and instructed me to wait. So there I sat, arms crossed, staring blankly out of sheer boredom while Dad and Lamech remained deep in their own discussion.
Luckily, the waiter had left three drinks on the table earlier, so I occupied myself with those.
After a few minutes, Dad finally glanced in my direction. He still seemed lost in whatever they had been discussing about the morning court trial with Lamech. Dad cleared his throat. “What do you want to talk about, Azora?”
I placed my drink down and glanced over at Lamech. “I think we should talk in private, Dad.”
Dad looked at Lamech, who nodded. Lamech picked up his briefcase and left. It was just Dad and me now, so I fixed a firm gaze on him. “Do you know Anthony Clasiso?”
A glimmer sparked in Dad’s eyes. He grinned mischievously. “I know him.”
“He’s dead,” I stated casually.
Dad picked up his drink, took a sip, and then placed it back on the table. “Why are you asking about that dead man, Azora?”
“You know he’s dead. Do you know who killed Anthony?”
His brow furrowed. “He committed suicide.”
My fists clenched. “You think it was a suicide, Dad?”
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded, raising an eyebrow. “The police closed that case. It was ruled a suicide.” He furrowed his brow. “Why are you asking me this? Are you somehow connected to him, Azora?”
There was a hint of hostility in his voice, and I knew he was aware of my relationship with Anthony Clasiso. Gritting my teeth, I leaned closer to him. “You killed Anthony, Dad,” I hissed.
He was stunned, silent for a few seconds, before he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the restaurant. I winced. “You’re hurting me, Dad!” I protested.
But he ignored my plea and quickened his pace. I bit my lip, struggling to keep up with him, lest my knees hit the hard ground. His steps were too fast and long; I couldn’t match them unless I ran. So I ran.
When we reached the parking lot, he approached the car and opened the back door. Dad pushed me inside as I yelped and glared at him. He stood outside with the door still open. I took that moment to try opening the other back door to escape, but Dad warned, “Try it and I’ll disown you.”
My fists tightened as I closed the other door. I looked straight ahead and crossed my arms. Dad would do it; it wasn’t worth the risk.
After a while, I saw the driver walking towards the car, sweating and clearly apprehensive. I could tell, but Dad was enraged, so I didn’t intervene.
Soon, the driver settled into the driver’s seat and closed the partition, blocking off what was happening in the back.
Then Dad got into the car, closed the back door, and the car began to move. I found myself staring out the window as we pulled away from the parking lot.
There was a long silence between us. I thought I had escaped his anger, but then I heard him ask, “Why do you think I killed Anthony?”
I swallowed hard, still staring out the window and reluctant to look at him. “I saw you strangling him to death,” I whispered.
I yelped when he gripped my shoulder, forcing me to face him. I glared at Dad; he stared back with furrowed brow, tight lips, and a sharp gaze, clearly seething with anger.
“You saw what?” he demanded, teeth gritted in annoyance and rage.
I swallowed again, looking away. “I was there when you killed him.”
“So you were there,” he said dangerously.
The next thing I felt was the back of his hand striking my cheek hard, throwing me back into my seat. I felt the stinging pain, tears welling in my eyes.
“Didn’t I make it clear not to get into any romantic entanglements while you’re still studying?” he growled.
I bit my lip. “I knew, Dad. But you still killed Anthony!”
His eyes narrowed in anger, and he slapped me again, almost knocking me over in my seat.
“If I hadn’t killed that bastard, you’d still have a boyfriend, Azora. He would have led to your downfall, so you should be thankful to your father!”
I laughed bitterly. “Be thankful that I have a murderer for a father?” I glared at him. “Did you hear yourself, Dad? You’re talking as if killing isn’t a crime!”
“Azora,” he warned.
I shook my head in disbelief. “How can you talk about murder as if it’s nothing, Dad? Aren’t you ashamed?”
“I’m your father,” he said in a warning tone, but I knew there was more behind those words.
I sneered at him. “No, I don’t have a murderer for a father like you!”
He slapped me again, the pain now unbearable, almost making me cry out.
“I did it for your own good, Azora. Don’t blame me for your mistakes. If you hadn’t gotten involved with Anthony, he’d still be alive. It’s your fault, not mine.”
I glared at him again. “And now you’re blaming me?” I shook my head. “It’s your fault! How could you? You’re a judge! How can you pass judgment when you’re guilty of your own crime, huh?”
He raised his hand as if to slap me again, but I glared defiantly at him. “Slap me again, and I’ll tell everyone you murdered Anthony!”
He smirked maliciously. “You can’t threaten me with empty words, Azora. But don’t align yourself with the Clasisos, or you’ll regret it.”
“Regret?” I spat. “I already regret that you’re my father, Alibata Briones!”
He took a deep breath and sat back in his seat, staring ahead. “Those bastards killed your mother, Azora. Don’t feel sorry for Anthony and his family. The Clasisos brought it upon themselves when they killed my wife. Don’t make it hard on yourself; see it as seeking justice for your mother. Or are you not a dutiful daughter?”