After a while, the main residence's door slowly opened, and Alfred stepped out.
He held a leather briefcase in one hand and a document bag in the other.
Walking up to the child's father, Alfred bowed slightly and politely handed the document bag to him: "Sir, this is the contract regarding the compensation."
As he spoke, he took out the contract and presented it to the father.
The father took the contract, his gaze eagerly scanning it. The terms clearly stated that the Wayne Family would pay fifty thousand U.S. dollars as compensation for this incident.
In exchange, he and his child would waive the right to pursue claims for the harm caused to the child by the Wayne sisters before the contract's effective date.
The date on the contract was clearly written, and the effective time was even precise to the minute, with a corresponding timetable printed clearly.
The father's brow furrowed, and his eyes began to meticulously trace each line of the contract, trying to find any potential trap clauses.
He knew that the Wayne Family was powerful and wealthy, and he couldn't afford to be taken advantage of.
His fingers slowly glided across the contract, his eyes filled with tension and caution, his lips moving slightly as he softly recited the contract's contents.
Time passed minute by minute, and the father's expression gradually relaxed. He confirmed that he found no terms in the contract that were clearly unfavorable to him.
Although he still felt a bit unwilling, he comforted himself that at least he was getting money.
Thinking this, he gritted his teeth, picked up the pen Alfred offered, and signed his name on the contract.
The father's eyes instantly lit up; the previous fatigue and awkwardness vanished. He impatiently reached out for the briefcase and opened it with a "whoosh."
Inside the briefcase, stacks of brand-new U.S. dollars were neatly arranged, exuding an irresistible charm.
The father's fingers quickly flipped through the U.S. dollars, carefully checking the quantity one by one, his eyes full of greed and eagerness.
After confirming the amount was correct, he slammed the briefcase shut with a thud, a satisfied expression on his face.
Immediately after, he turned without looking back and walked towards his car.
His steps were hurried, as if afraid that the Wayne Family would suddenly go back on their word and demand the money back.
Reaching the car, he forcefully pulled open the door, casually tossed the briefcase containing the U.S. dollars onto the passenger seat, and then plopped himself into the driver's seat.
After starting the car, he floored the accelerator, and the car shot forward like an arrow released from a bow, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Alfred watched this scene but did not try to stop him, merely revealing a somewhat peculiar smile.
All the way, the lead child's father drove very fast, the roadside scenery flashing by like a phantom.
The car sped down the road, the roar of the engine echoing in his ears. As the car's speed increased, his initial excitement from getting the money gradually cooled down.
His mind kept replaying every detail at Wayne Manor: Alfred's consistently calm expression, the seemingly ordinary yet inexplicably alarming process of signing the contract, and the feeling of being silently watched by the other party when he left with the money.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt something was off; he kept feeling that something he didn't know about had happened.
Driving at breakneck speed, he finally returned home.
When his car slowly pulled up to his doorstep, he immediately noticed something was wrong.
The front door was unlocked.
His face instantly darkened, somewhat angry.
He knew that this was Gotham, where safety was not guaranteed.
How could that brat at home be so careless as to leave the door unlocked? Was he afraid no one would come for a 'free' shopping spree?
He angrily pushed open the car door and walked quickly towards the front door. As he walked, he was already thinking about how to teach that brat a lesson, to make him remember.
But when he reached out and pushed open the front door, the sight before him instantly stunned him; all his anger transformed into shock at that moment.
He saw the child who had previously brandished the butterfly knife and mocked Brucey now lying on the ground, unconscious.
The child's face was bruised and swollen, as if he had been severely beaten, and a trace of dried blood hung from the corner of his mouth.
What made the father even more terrified and confused were the circular marks on the child's face, which looked like they were caused by some kind of string of spheres, appearing extremely eerie.
"Son!" the child's father shouted, rushing over and kneeling beside the child. With trembling hands, he gently patted the child's cheeks, trying to wake him, his voice filled with urgency and fear, "Son, wake up, what on earth happened?"
The child's eyelids fluttered slightly, and a faint groan escaped his throat as he slowly regained consciousness.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he felt a searing pain in his face, as if countless needles were pricking him simultaneously.
"Hiss..." the child gasped, his brows tightly furrowed.
After his short-circuited brain reconnected, the child seemed to remember something and burst into tears with a "waah," his cries filled with grievance and fear.
Seeing this, the father grew more anxious and quickly pressed, "Son, what exactly happened? Tell Daddy quickly! Was anything stolen from the house?"
As he spoke, he gently stroked the child's head, trying to soothe his emotions.
The child sobbed and choked, eventually stopping his crying after a long while: "Those two girls from the Wayne Family came over earlier. They... they beat me up."
At this, he seemed to recall something and gritted his teeth, but then he seemed to remember something else, and a slight tremor entered the end of his voice.
The child's father's eyes instantly widened, a flash of anger and shock in his gaze as he demanded, "When did this happen?!"
The child struggled to remember, a pained expression on his face, and said, "I don't quite remember, but when I opened the door, it should have been a little past 9 o'clock. As soon as I opened the door, they rushed in..."
The child's voice grew softer and softer, as if the memories made him afraid to continue.
"Daddy, you must stand up for me," the child cried, clutching his father's arm tightly, his eyes full of expectation and trust.
The father looked at the child with a pained heart, gently patted his hand, and comforted him, "Son, don't worry, Daddy will definitely not let them get away with this."
After saying that, the parent excitedly—no, worriedly—began to carefully examine the child's injuries.
The child not only had a bruised and swollen face but also many bruises on his body, and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth looked very gruesome.
The father confirmed that the child was seriously injured and almost jumped for joy.
Yay, he could extort—no, seek justice for his child again!
"Come, son, we're going to the Wayne Family now. This time, they must give us an explanation, and they must compensate us," the father said through gritted teeth, a resolute glint in his eyes.
He stood up, helped the child slowly out of the house, and walked towards the car.
This time, he was going to achieve financial freedom—no, get justice for his child!