Chapter 6

Adrian's POV

Mr. Cooper gave a firm order. Four security guards gripping rubber batons surrounded us in a fan formation.

Ethan stood on the outer circle, pointing at me and shouting.

"Don't let him hurt the child! This man's mentally unstable. Grab the kid!"

I ignored him, shielding my son with one arm and turning to face the approaching human wall.

"I'd like to see who dares."

My hand, steady from years of holding carving knives, didn't waver. My voice wasn't loud, but those security guards instinctively stopped.

My son looked up at me from within my arms, not particularly scared-if anything, a bit excited.

I brushed the dust off his clothes.

"Still going to run off?"

Seeing the guards weren't moving, Ethan flew into a rage and tried to charge over.

"You-"

My gaze swept over him.

"I'm his father. When is it your turn to teach me how to raise my child?"

Ethan's accusation caught in his throat halfway through.

His gaze darted between my blue work clothes stained with paper scraps and my son's logo-free athletic wear.

My son's clothes were bought by Sabrina, custom made without tags.

But to Ethan's eyes, they looked like street market goods.

He gave a cold laugh, seemingly finding a new point of attack.

"Father? No wonder he has no manners. The kid just said the painting was fake. You taught him that, didn't you? Making up lies to avoid compensation."

My son bristled and tugged at my sleeve.

"Dad, it really is fake. Mom's upstairs preparing to speak. I got bored and came down. And the paper used for this painting is obviously new."

He pouted, complaining quietly.

"You're usually stricter about those old books than you are about me. How would I dare touch something real?"

I sighed and picked him up.

Seeing me ignore him, Ethan was completely enraged.

He pulled out his phone and waved it at Jeff.

"If you won't act, then I'm calling the police. Destroying a national treasure is enough to get you seven or eight years."

Veronica walked over at this point.

She grabbed Ethan's arm and looked at me with an expression of disappointed frustration.

"Adrian, at a time like this you're still being stubborn? Just have the child apologize and pay some compensation. If this really gets to the police station and you get a criminal record, your life is ruined."

I looked at these two people and found it somewhat amusing.

"Call the police? Fine."

I pointed at the painting.

"Perfect timing for the police to come see what brand of printer was used to make your so-called antique."

Ethan's expression changed, his voice jumping several octaves.

"I see you won't shed tears until you see your coffin!"

Just then, Mr. Cooper came rushing over.

He had no interest in listening to our argument. While wiping sweat, he pointed at me.

"I don't care who he is. Throw him out! Don't block the entrance! Professor Quinn is about to come in! If she sees this scene, none of you will have jobs!"

With the leader's directive, the security guards no longer hesitated.

A baton whistled through the air, aimed straight at my shoulder.

I didn't retreat. I advanced.

My left hand protected my child's head while my right hand rose, precisely blocking the descending baton the instant it fell.

Clean and efficient.

The guard stumbled back a step, losing his balance.

Gasps rose from the surrounding crowd.

My son suddenly shouted toward the back of the crowd.

"Mom!"

Mr. Cooper was about to lose his temper when he heard this shout. He instinctively followed the child's line of sight, and his entire body froze.

A few meters away, Sabrina was striding over with a group of university leaders following behind.

Her face was frighteningly cold.

Mr. Cooper looked back at me, then at my son's face that bore some resemblance to Sabrina's. Cold sweat immediately broke out.

His legs buckled. He bent nearly double, his voice shaking.

"You... you're Professor Quinn's husband?"

I lowered my blocking hand and straightened my son's collar.

"Yes. Here to pick up my child."

Mr. Cooper's jowls twitched twice as he forced on a smile more painful-looking than crying.

"Oh my, what a misunderstanding! Mr. Parker, you're our special consultant. Please, come this way to be seated."