Chapter 19 — At the end of the week when I was fired, I made the 3.9 billion contract into waste paper

Tham Nghien looked at me. Say nothing more. My father still bowed his head. It took a long time to speak up.

"If you eat rice, you eat rice."

"What's the point of saying such things?"

Mom immediately burst out laughing.

"Don't say."

But I see. The chopsticks in my father's hand stopped a long time ago. The meal ended at nearly nine o'clock. Mom pulled me out to the living room to eat fruit. My brother took the phone call and went to handle the work. My father also went upstairs. Everything seemed like a very normal evening. But I know. This meal. It was our first real family meal in seven years. About half past nine. I'm about to go home. Mom held me back.

"It's late."

"Stay one night."

I thought for a few seconds then nodded. My old room remains the same. From the color of the curtains. Go to the bookshelf. Even the university textbooks were still in their original positions. I walked along the second floor hallway. About to return to the room. Then I saw that my father's office door was still open. The light inside hasn't turned off yet. I hesitated a bit. Then step forward. The door is not locked. I was just going to take a look and leave. But the moment my eyes glanced inside. I was motionless. On the wall opposite the desk. Not a calligraphy painting. Not an honorary certificate. It's dozens of carefully framed photos. There is a photo of me receiving my first year certificate of merit at Hoa Nhac. There is a photo of me speaking at an investment conference my third year. There is a photo of an article about the fifth successful business deal. There is a screenshot of the financial analysis I once posted. There's even a photo of me standing in the parking lot at midnight after working overtime. I slowly walked in. Look at each picture one by one. Times listed below. First year. Second year. Third year. Until this year. For seven years. Not a single year is missing. Suddenly. I heard a voice behind me.

"Your father brings it back every time he sees news about you."

I turned my head. Mom is standing at the door. She looked at the photo frames on the wall and smiled.

"Originally there was only one picture."

"Then into two panels."

"Then it became a whole wall."

I looked towards that wall. It felt like something vibrated in my heart. The past seven years. I always think I'm walking forward alone. But it turns out. Back. There are always people standing there. Watch me step by step. I stood in front of the photo wall in my father's office for a long time. Under the pale yellow light, each photo frame is cleaned cleanly, without a speck of dust. Some photos I still clearly remember the date they were taken, some photos I don't even know who took them. The first picture is the year I just entered Hoa Nhac. At that time, I was still the lowest-level risk control specialist. Every day I carried documents and ran between departments. Even when my superiors forced me to edit reports until midnight, I didn't dare to argue. In the photo, I'm wearing a white shirt, standing in the last corner of a summary meeting. Other people smiled brightly, only I bowed my head and looked at the documents in my hand. Below the photo frame is a small text.

"First year, Mau Thanh project."

I reached out and gently touched the glass. Then there's the second year photo. An internal Hoa Nhac article was written about the project team that had just completed appraisal of a complex deal. My name appears on the last line, just a very small name in the list of support members. But my father still cut out the article and framed it. Third year. My first time First appointed as project manager. Fourth year. I spoke at the industry conference as a representative of Hoa Nhac. Fifth year. I led the team to handle a deal that three departments previously did not dare to accept. Sixth year. I officially became the Director of Risk Control. Seventh year. It's a photo of me standing under the Hoa Nhac building on a weekend morning, holding a cardboard box and leaving. I looked at that last photo and my throat suddenly tightened. That day I thought I was leaving the place that had mistreated me for seven years in silence. Unexpectedly, someone behind him still saw it. I turned around and asked my mother:

"Who took this picture?"

Mom sighed.

"Your father's person."

I was silent. Mom walked into the room and stood next to me.

"Don't blame him."

"I don't blame you."

I spoke very quietly. I just don't know how to feel. For the past seven years, I always thought my father didn't understand me. I think he just wanted me to return to Thinh Ninh, sit in the position he had arranged, become a qualified heir, living in the eyes of admiration and suspicion of others. So I left home. I want to prove that I can stand firm without the last name Tham. I want all my achievements to have nothing to do with my family. I want when others mention Tham Nhuoc Ninh, they remember my abilities, not who my father is. But I never thought. While I tried to cut off all ties with the Tham family, my father silently kept every trace of my growth. The office door echoed with footsteps. Tham Nghien walked in. He looked at me, then at the wall of photos.

"I finally see it."

I don't turn around.

"How long have you known?"

"Then why didn't you tell me?"