Why?
Why was it Wilson Finley?
She could hardly believe what she was witnessing.
Wilson Finley... had murdered her father.
Right in front of her.
Yvonne Finley reached to cover the wound on Alexander Johnson's chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. Her expression was rigid, tinged with a hint of uncontrollable panic.
Struggling to speak, she said, "Save him."
She even ventured to save Alexander Johnson's life.
Her palms were already wet.
Alexander Johnson, unable to speak from the intense pain, lifted his hand and clenched onto Yvonne Finley's wrist. There was no attachment or surprise in his eyes, only resignation and reconciliation towards his impending death.
"Don't..."
"Make it difficult..."
He spoke with great effort.
Still, with his last breath, he managed to say, "Your father was wrong towards you, and... your mother."
"I am a dying man. To be able to die like this is a gift to me."
"Thank you, for letting me truly be your father today."
