Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 322: Want to Marry into a Wealthy Family? You Need My Consent!

Chapter 322: Chapter 322: Want to Marry into a Wealthy Family? You Need My Consent!

Amelia was still on her way back to the company when the secretary called again.

"President Norton, where are you? That person is yelling loudly in the store, calling out your old name. We don’t know what to do!"

Amelia’s expression darkened. "If it really doesn’t work, just have security throw him out!"

"We want to, but he... he claims that he’s your father—so we... we didn’t dare to act rashly in case he gets hurt or something—"

Before the secretary could finish, Amelia’s face showed a hint of shock. "What did you say? He says he’s my father?"

"That’s what he claims..."

"Alright, I understand. Invite him to the company and have him wait for me there."

"Understood."

After hanging up, Amelia’s expression turned visibly troubled and grim.

How could she forget? She still had a heartless, cruel father.

So many years without contact, and now he suddenly shows up—he couldn’t possibly mean well.

She remembered Jacob once mentioned that Michael Garcia’s business had long been operating at a loss and was teetering on the brink of collapse—so she could vaguely guess why this beast of a father had come looking for her.

Thinking of Jacob, Amelia frowned again.

There’d been so much going on these days, she had almost forgotten about her younger brother.

Earlier, Lucas King had told her it was Christopher’s idea to give Jacob a chance, so he arranged for him to work at Seal-Cloud Corporation.

It’s been over two months now; she didn’t know how he was doing or if he had caused any trouble.

Initially, she wanted no ties whatsoever with her birth family, but life has a way of playing tricks—whatever you dread seems to find its way to you. These people kept forcing their way into her life, and it looked like she couldn’t shake them off.

Returning to the company, Amelia parked her car and rushed straight to her office.

Before she could push the door open, she heard Michael Garcia yelling inside.

The secretary was doing her best to pacify him, and upon seeing Amelia return, she visibly breathed a sigh of relief. "President Norton, thank goodness you’re back. He—"

"You can go now." Amelia instructed, and after the secretary left, she closed the door.

Her gaze shifted toward the man who had given her life but had never fulfilled his duties as a father. The temperature in her expression instantly dropped to freezing.

Michael Garcia hadn’t seen his eldest daughter in years. Now, upon seeing her, he couldn’t help but size her up, momentarily mistaking her for his long-deceased wife come back to life.

His eldest daughter resembled her mother more and more.

But it was precisely this face that made him dislike her even more the moment he saw her.

"Ungrateful brat! You even changed your surname to your mother’s?" Michael Garcia remarked bitterly, glaring at her after the brief appraisal.

Amelia walked to her desk, pulled out her chair, and sat down without even offering him a cup of water. Her tone was detached as she asked, "Why are you here?"

Michael Garcia’s brows tightened in anger. "What kind of attitude is this? Now that you’ve made it big, found someone to back you up, you don’t even care about your biological father?"

"You’ve got it backwards. From childhood till now, it’s always been you who didn’t care about me. When did I ever get a chance to return that sentiment to you?"

Michael Garcia grew even more furious. "You’re just like your mother—looks pretty and gentle, but actually sharp-tongued and tough as hell!"

"If my mom were as tough as you claim, she probably wouldn’t have been driven to an early death by you."

At the mention of her mother, all Amelia could summon was a blurry image.

Her mother passed away nearly twenty years ago. Amelia thought she’d forget those memories, considering she was so young then—but even though her mother’s face grew indistinct, she still vividly remembered the sorrowful days of running between hospital halls.

Not to mention, her mother’s despairing and heart-wrenching sobs.

"Your mother died of cancer, what does that have to do with me? Life happens, how can you pin that on me?"

"I was too young to understand back then, but I later learned that breast cancer is often linked to prolonged stress and repression. You argued with my mom day in and day out; how could she ever be happy?"

Michael Garcia felt no attachment to his late wife. Back then, the marriage had purely been driven by financial interests.

"Forget it, let’s not talk about that!" He waved his hand to dismiss this topic, knowing there was no point in discussing it, then moved to sit across from Amelia’s desk. His expression remained sour. "I came here to ask you—where have you taken Jacob?"

"You mean... Jacob Garcia?"

"Of course! Don’t pretend you don’t remember your own brother’s name!"

So he had come to ask about his son.

Amelia’s expression eased a little, and she replied wryly, "Your son is already twenty, an adult. Where he goes is his own choice; why are you coming to me for answers?"

"I heard he contacted you before."

"He did, but we haven’t been in touch since then." Amelia found it strange and frowned at him. "Why don’t you just call him?"

"If I could reach him, would I be bothering you?"

"In that case, I’m sorry, I don’t know either. If that’s the only reason you came, you may leave now." Amelia pressed the intercom, ready to have the secretary escort him out.

Michael Garcia growled, "What’s the rush? I’ve got other business!"

"What business?"

His expression became shifty and his eyes darted about. After a brief hesitation, he finally looked up. "I... I have an agreement here that needs your signature."

"Agreement?" Amelia looked puzzled.

What sort of agreement could exist between them?

"It’s about... the old family residence of your grandparents, the courtyard house in the Ancient Town... Someone has taken a liking to it and is offering a high price to buy it. But... back then your mom insisted on dragging me to the notary office, making me promise that selling the property would require your approval once you came of age. Now... I want to sell the courtyard house, and you need to cooperate and sign off!"

Clearly feeling guilty, Michael Garcia mumbled his way through the explanation, unable to meet Amelia’s eyes.

Amelia froze in shock after hearing this, rendered speechless for a long time.

She knew nothing about this matter.

Back when her mother passed away, she was only seven or eight—her mother likely thought she was too young to understand such things, so never told her.

All this time, she’d assumed that, given Michael Garcia’s cruel greed and shamelessness, her grandparents’ entire estate would have been sold off long ago!

After all, when her grandmother was sick and hospitalized, their savings were already depleted.

Michael Garcia refused to pay for treatment, and Amelia had no money then either. That was when Old Master Hart approached her with a marriage proposal to Christopher, offering to cover her grandmother’s medical expenses as one of the conditions.

Since the courtyard house was still intact, why hadn’t her grandmother sold it to fund her treatment?

On second thought, her grandmother must have feared that selling the house would only lead to Michael Garcia scheming to seize the money.

In that case, it would be throwing the family’s last refuge away along with their financial hopes.

"The courtyard house is my grandparents’ inheritance. What makes you think you can sell it? You’ve got some nerve to even suggest this."

Having grasped the situation, Amelia quickly formed a firm stance in her heart.

If Michael Garcia were a competent father and a decent human being, her mother wouldn’t have felt the need to notarize the property.

The notarization clearly reflected her mother’s intent to prevent Michael Garcia from selling it.

Therefore, Amelia was determined to protect her mother’s wishes at all costs.

Michael Garcia knew she wouldn’t easily agree, but hearing her outright refusal still infuriated him. "The people are dead, and it’s been years. Why keep a useless old house?"

"If it’s so useless, then I’m sure it won’t fetch much money. Have you fallen to this level of desperation?"

"You—! You brat don’t understand anything!"

Provoked by his daughter’s cutting words, Michael Garcia exploded with rage, stomping and shouting, "I regret having you as a daughter! My whole family was ruined because of you! One’s in jail, another ran away, and here you are living your best life! This is absolutely unjust!"

Watching his apoplectic fit, Amelia was neither intimidated nor sympathetic—she found it laughable instead.

The old saying goes, "Even from rotten bamboo grows fine shoots." She considered herself lucky; despite being born to such a father, she turned out upright and morally sound, untainted by his toxic ways.

In hindsight, she felt oddly grateful for Michael Garcia’s neglect over the years.

It spared her from his "poison" and preserved the good part of her mother’s genetics.

There was no point reasoning with a rabid dog. Amelia pressed the intercom and told her secretary, "Bring security upstairs."

"What are you doing?" Michael Garcia panicked, springing to his feet. "If you don’t agree to sign today, I’m not leaving!"

Amelia faced him calmly, her voice steady and resolute. "That courtyard house will never be sold—not even after you die."

"You—!" Enraged, Michael Garcia grabbed the stack of documents from the desk and hurled them at her.

Amelia instinctively shielded her head with her arms, but she couldn’t completely dodge—the folder struck her, sending searing pain across her face.

"You ungrateful wretch! I’m your father! I gave you life, and this is how you repay me? Listen up, you brat—I’ll make sure you suffer just as you made me suffer! Christopher is crippled, how much longer can he protect you? You want to marry into wealth? You’ll have to go through me first!"

Michael Garcia was like a madman, sweeping everything off her desk onto the floor.

Amelia instinctively stood and backed away, trying to escape the office, but he grabbed her with a firm grasp. "Will you sign? Will you sign? If you drive me into a corner, I’ll drag you down with me—!"

As they wrestled, the secretary entered with security, who immediately restrained Michael Garcia.

"President Norton, are you okay? Should we call the police?" the secretary asked worriedly.

Amelia considered that calling the police would mean dealing with paperwork and confronting this vile creature again at the station. She replied coldly, "No need, just throw him out."

"Understood."

Michael Garcia cursed and raged all the way out, condemning his eldest daughter’s "unfilial ways" and slandering her reputation.

Fortunately, back when Amelia’s story was exposed online, public discussions also brought up her birth family.

Many people already knew about her family situation.

"President Norton really has it rough... Her birth mother passed away years ago, her stepmother abused her, and her father doesn’t care for her. Now that she’s successful, he demands repayment."

"Oh, this happens all the time! Some people really don’t deserve to be parents!"

"But I think... since he’s her biological father, shouldn’t she help him out a little? Isn’t she with President Hart of Seal-Cloud Corporation? It’s not like money is an issue for her."

"That’s such a typical ’saintly’ perspective."

"Exactly. If you haven’t lived through someone else’s suffering, don’t preach morality. Some relatives aren’t family—they’re parasites!"

The office door was still open, so some of these comments inevitably drifted into Amelia’s ears.

After all she’d gone through, she had long learned to remain composed and unfazed.

Other people’s opinions couldn’t sway her decisions.

Ultimately, it was her life to live, and only she would bear its ups and downs.

She was determined to safeguard the courtyard house, ensuring that Michael Garcia—an utter disgrace of a human—would end up destitute and alone.

Still, his outburst made her long for her mother and grandparents...