Because Dranred's grandfather had ordered his men to keep tabs on him, he eventually learned that Dranred planned to give some of his properties to James — things he had earned during his basketball career. The old man didn't take the news well. He believed James was exploiting his grandson, and the thought infuriated him. So, he arranged to meet James in person.
James had just finished practice with the Falcons when a group of men approached him.
"We mean no harm," one of them said. "Someone just wishes to speak with you."
Though confused, James agreed to go with them. His confusion turned to fury when they led him to a private restaurant — and there, waiting calmly at a corner table, sat Dranred's grandfather.
The moment James saw him, his blood boiled. His fists clenched on instinct. How could a man responsible for so much pain show up so casually, as if nothing had happened? He wanted to walk away — or worse — but curiosity won. He needed to know why this man wanted to see him now.
As they reached the table, the old man's right-hand aide leaned in and whispered something before gesturing for the guards to step outside. Soon, only James and the old man remained.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me," the old man said, pointing to the empty chair across from him — an invitation to sit.
James glared at the seat before taking it reluctantly. "I didn't really have a choice. Your men looked ready to drag me here if I refused."
"They're trained to follow orders," the old man replied smoothly. "And yes — they probably would have."
"Figures," James muttered, his voice low with contempt. "But I doubt you called me here just for a friendly chat. Not with the victim of your crimes."
The words hung heavy between them, sharp as glass.
"Your tongue is sharper than I expected," the old man said coolly. "Let's cut to the chase — I want to talk about Dranred."
James didn't move.
"It's come to my attention that he's been giving you certain properties," the Senator continued. "Don't you think he's gotten a little too—"
"Excuse me, Senator," James interrupted, his tone edged with ice. "You came all the way here because of what your grandson gave me? Let me make it clear — I never asked for anything from him."
"I know," the old man replied, almost smiling. "That boy is too stubborn for his own good. Just don't take advantage of his kindness. He still considers you a friend, even after—"
"And I'm supposed to be grateful?" James's voice rose. "If you think about it, Senator, what he gave me isn't nearly enough to make up for what you did to my family. Or have you forgotten? You had my parents killed. You and your grandson — you think money and gifts can erase your sins."
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly. "You talk as if you have proof for those accusations. Be careful with your words, boy. Do you even know who you're talking to?"
James leaned forward. "I don't see you as anything — just a murderer in a nice suit." He stood up. "Enjoy your remaining days as a senator. Because I'll make sure you end them behind bars."
The old man didn't rise. "Are you threatening me?" he asked, voice calm but cold.
"Why would I threaten someone as powerful as you?" James shot back.
The old man smirked faintly. "If I were you, hijo, I'd focus on what you still have. You wouldn't want your siblings to get caught in something… unfortunate."
James froze. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Try to touch my family," he hissed.
He took a step forward, but one of the Senator's men had already returned, blocking his path. More bodyguards followed. The old man rose slowly, brushing off his coat as if nothing had happened.
He didn't look at James when he passed — didn't have to. The bodyguards followed him out of the restaurant, silent and menacing.
James stood alone, his pulse pounding in his ears. His hands trembled at his sides, not with fear, but with rage. He stared at the door long after the Senator was gone — and in his chest, the promise to bring him down burned even brighter.
"Why don't you just tell James that you're helping with his case?" the police chief asked, his tone both curious and cautious.
Dranred sat across from him, a stack of old documents in his hands — evidence tied to the senator's crimes from ten years ago. These files, forgotten by time, were the same ones connected to the murder of James's parents.
"You know he still hates me," Dranred replied quietly.
"He'll understand if you explain," the chief said.
"He's too stubborn," Dranred answered with a weary smile. "He doesn't listen to explanations. And honestly… I can't blame him. I was a coward back then."
The chief studied him for a moment. "You realize that if this case gets reopened, your grandfather's name will be dragged through the mud — and yours along with it."
Dranred exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the folder. "That doesn't matter anymore. Justice should be served — not just for James's family, but for every family my grandfather's power destroyed. It'll hurt to see him condemned, but what's worse is pretending nothing happened."
He looked down, his voice lower now. "I can't keep protecting a man who deceived so many people. This… this is the least I can do."
The chief nodded, seeing the resolve in the young man's eyes. Within days, the police forwarded the documents to the state prosecutor, and their legal team began the process of reopening the decade-old case.
When the news broke, it spread like wildfire. Reporters swarmed the senator's office, demanding answers. The old man's fury was immediate — every interview he gave turned into a denial of the accusations.
Meanwhile, Dranred's name flooded social media. Some called him a hypocrite for staying silent all these years. Others defended him, saying no one could blame a grandson for protecting his own blood.
But for Dranred, there was no turning back. He had chosen truth over loyalty — and whatever came next, he would face it head-on.