在黑夜中形成的脆弱休战,在清晨刺眼的光线下显得更加微妙.阳光透过 Alex 公寓的落地窗,照亮了在空中跳舞的尘埃和他们处境的严酷现实.Christopher先醒了,他被再次在Alex身边醒来的陌生平静瞬间迷失了方向.Alex 身体的温暖,他呼吸的稳定节奏,就像一剂香膏,但看到他的衣服随意丢弃在地板上——他与王先生对峙时穿的衣服——让昨天的沉重重感又回来了.
他小心翼翼地从Alex的怀抱中挣脱出来,这个动作让Alex动了起来,即使在睡梦中,他的手臂也本能地伸向Christopher.克里斯托弗捂住他的手,低声说:"嘘,没事的.回去睡觉吧.Alex喃喃自语着什么难以理解的话,即使在休息时,他的眉头也皱了起来,然后又陷入了更深的睡眠中.这些压力线比 Christopher 记忆中更深.
克里斯托弗默默地走进厨房,开始喝咖啡,这种熟悉的仪式给人一种常态的感觉.他靠在柜台上,凝视着苏醒的城市.乔治城的历史魅力在今天似乎变得黯淡无光,被迫在眉睫的威胁所掩盖.我们会把它拿回来的,Alex 发誓.但是怎么做呢?王健林不是一个放弃权力的人,尤其是通过纵获得的权力.行为是杠杆,一把永远悬在他们身上的 Damoclean 剑.
空气中弥漫着浓郁的咖啡香气.Christopher倒了两个杯子,在他的杯子里加了一点牛奶,然后让Alex的黑杯按照他喜欢的方式.他把它们带回卧室,把Alex的放在床头柜上.Alex 的眼睛睁开了,在灯光下眨了眨眼.有那么一刻,睡眠的脆弱挥之不去,然后他的目光变得锐利,专注于Christopher.强度又回来了,但被一种让 Christopher 的心紧紧咬合的温暖所软化.
"早上,"Alex 嘶哑地说,把自己靠在床头板上.他接过咖啡,感激地啜了一口."你还好吗?"
克里斯托弗坐在床沿上,抱着自己的杯子."担心,"他承认."关于农场.关于你的父亲.大约...我们.
Alex伸出手,他的手指抚摸着Christopher的手腕."一次做一件事."他拿起手机,用坚定的眼神浏览着通讯录."首先,马丁."他按下拨号键,将电话放在扬声器上.
律师在第二次响铃时接听了电话,尽管时间很早,但他的声音清脆而警觉."亚历克斯.我该高兴干什么呢?又遇到了 SEC 的麻烦吗?马丁的语气很干巴巴的,暗示着亚历克斯在复杂的业务和家庭纠葛中游刃有余.
"更糟,马丁.我父亲.他把克里斯托弗拉进去了.Alex的声音很紧.他很快就概述了情况:贪污威胁,克里斯托弗冲动地交出农场契约作为讨价还价的筹码,王先生暗示承诺放过他们.
马丁在电话另一端轻轻地吹了口哨."天哪,亚历克斯.他真的知道如何选择他的压力点,不是吗?利用你男朋友的家族遗产?即使对他来说,这也很冷淡.
"跟我说说吧,"Alex咆哮道."我们需要选择,马丁.快.第一要务:我们可以质疑契约转让的有效性吗?显然,克里斯托弗受到了胁迫.我父亲基本上威胁到了我们俩的生计.
"胁迫很棘手,"马丁回答,他的语气变得分析."尤其是没有像记录在案的威胁这样具体的证据,我假设你没有.他签了什么东西吗?有证人吗?
Christopher摇了摇头,在Alex之前回答了."不.他只是...接受了契约.他说他的话就是他的纽带.它的天真现在刺痛了.
"他的话比印着契约的那张纸还不值钱,"亚历克斯阴沉地咕哝着.
"同意,"马丁说."众所周知,口头协议,尤其是在所谓的胁迫下,很难证明.他有没有给你任何关于"交易"的书面确认?答应放过你一个人来换取这份契约?
"不,"Christopher又说了一遍,那种沉沦的感觉越来越强烈.
"那么从法律上讲,此时此刻,这看起来像是简单的财产转移.王先生拥有该契约.除非克里斯托弗能够在排除合理怀疑的情况下证明胁迫——这通常需要同时期的文本,电子邮件,威胁的证人等证据——否则这就是他的地盘.马丁停顿了一下."对不起,克里斯托弗.这就是残酷的事实.
Christopher felt the coffee churn in his stomach. The finality of Martin's words was devastating. His family's land, gone. Because of him.
"Not acceptable, Martin," Alex snapped, his knuckles white around his coffee mug. "There has to be another angle. Dig into my father. What's he really up to? Why the sudden, intense pressure now? He's been content to snipe from the sidelines for years. What changed?"
"You think this isn't just about controlling you?" Martin asked.
"I think it's about more," Alex insisted. "The embezzlement threat felt... desperate. Personal. He's never gone that nuclear before. And targeting Christopher so specifically? Using the farm? It feels vindictive, beyond his usual corporate power plays."
"Interesting," Martin mused. "I'll put my best investigator on it. Discreetly. We'll look for any financial pressures, new deals, health issues... anything that might explain a shift in tactics. In the meantime, Alex, Christopher – document everything. Any contact from him, his associates, even veiled threats. Save texts, emails, note down times and dates of calls. If he does try to use this 'deal' against you later, we might be able to build a pattern of harassment or bad faith."
"Understood," Alex said. "What about Christopher's job? My father implied he had influence there."
"I'll make some discreet inquiries at the agency," Martin offered. "See if there are any whispers, any undue pressure being applied. Christopher, keep your head down, excel at your work. Don't give them any legitimate reason to question you. If anything feels off, document it and tell Alex immediately."
Christopher nodded, feeling marginally better having a plan, however tenuous. "Thank you, Martin."
"Don't thank me yet," Martin said grimly. "Your father is a formidable opponent, Alex. This won't be quick or easy. And Christopher? I know it's hard, but try not to contact your family about the farm just yet. We don't know what moves your father might make, and we don't want them blindsided or manipulated."
The thought of his parents, still blissfully unaware that their life's work was no longer theirs, was a fresh stab of guilt. "Okay," Christopher whispered.
After ending the call, a heavy silence descended. Alex reached over, taking Christopher's hand. "We'll fix this," he said again, but the conviction seemed slightly frayed around the edges after Martin's sobering assessment.
The next few days were an exercise in strained normalcy. Christopher threw himself into his work at the federal agency, triple-checking every report, arriving early, leaving late, determined to be beyond reproach. The environment felt subtly different, though. Was it his imagination, or did his supervisor, Ms. Davies, scrutinize his work more closely? Did Liu Qing, who still shot him venomous glazes in the break room, seem unusually smug? Paranoia became his constant companion.
Alex, meanwhile, was a tightly coiled spring. He spent hours on encrypted calls with Martin and the investigator, pacing the apartment like a caged tiger. The drinking stopped, replaced by a hyper-focused intensity that was almost more unnerving. He barely slept, existing on coffee and grim determination. Christopher tried to be supportive, making meals Alex often only picked at, offering quiet companionship during late nights spent reviewing financial documents Martin sent over.
One evening, Christopher came home to find Alex staring intently at his laptop screen, a deep frown etched on his face. "What is it?" Christopher asked, setting down groceries.
Alex looked up, his eyes troubled. "Martin's investigator found something. Something... unexpected." He gestured for Christopher to come closer.
On the screen was a grainy, zoomed-in photograph taken outside a high-end private clinic. It showed Mr. Wang, looking thinner and more drawn than Christopher remembered, being helped into a car by a chauffeur. The date stamp was two weeks ago.
"The clinic specializes in oncology," Alex said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual anger towards his father. "Top-tier cancer treatment."
Christopher's breath hitched. "Cancer?"
"Martin's contact inside confirmed it," Alex continued, a complex mix of emotions playing across his face – shock, a flicker of something that might have been pity, but mostly a dawning, chilling comprehension. "Advanced stage. Aggressive. Prognosis... not good."
The pieces clicked together with terrible clarity. The sudden urgency. The desperate measures. The embezzlement threat wasn't just about control; it was about legacy. About forcing Alex back into the fold before time ran out. About ensuring the Wang empire passed to a son he could mold, even if it meant breaking him first. And targeting Christopher? That was the cruelty of a dying man who saw Alex's love for him as the ultimate rebellion, the final obstacle to total control. Taking the farm wasn't just leverage; it was punishment. A final, vicious twist of the knife to ensure Alex felt the cost of his defiance deeply.
"He's dying," Christopher breathed, the horror of it washing over him. Mr. Wang was monstrous, but the sheer, brutal finality of a terminal diagnosis changed the calculus. "And he wants you back... before he goes."
Alex nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the image of his frail father. The hatred was still there, a cold core in his eyes, but it was now tangled with a profound, unsettling grief – grief for the father he never had, for the relationship forever poisoned, for the sheer, tragic waste of it all. "He's not just fighting for control anymore, Christopher," Alex said, his voice barely a whisper. "He's fighting against the clock. And a dying Wang patriarch, backed into a corner... that might be the most dangerous opponent we've ever faced."
The storm clouds hadn't dissipated; they had darkened, charged with a new, terrifying kind of lightning. The battle for the farm, for their future, had just become a race against mortality itself.