Chapter 71

At his words, I turned and carefully examined him from head to toe. Though cleaning, his movements lacked grace; he wasn't even wearing a janitor's uniform. His clothes weren't expensive, but far from shabby. Even his shoes shone, dust-free. He seemed to have simply noticed the mess and begun cleaning without a second thought.

Just then, he turned, and I saw his face clearly. Recognition dawned. He looked familiar—like someone from a few contract photocopies in the marketing department: Martin Zamora. The photo depicted a younger man, but a second glance erased any doubt. I walked toward him. If he weren't Martin, Zachary wouldn't have asked me to take a second look. Confirming with Zachary was unnecessary; I needed to learn more about Martin's situation.

As I stepped forward, a group passed, one discarding an empty water bottle. Martin frowned, about to clean it. I quickly picked it up and disposed of it. My grandfather used to say the quickest way to bond with someone is to do as they do; sometimes, a little strategy works wonders. When I glanced back, Martin smiled.

I was about to speak when a familiar figure appeared. "Uncle Martin, what are you doing sweeping the floor? Aren't you supposed to be at the store?" The voice was Dylan's.

I looked up and saw Dylan's handsome face, concern etched on his features as he held Martin's arm. Noticing me, Dylan's eyes lit up with surprise and joy. "Yvonne! What a coincidence!"

"You two know each other?" Martin asked, bewildered. That's when I remembered Martin's connection to the Zamora family.

"Yeah, Uncle Martin, this is my senior, Yvonne. She's amazing, one of the top students at our school," Dylan said, "I was just introducing her."

I felt embarrassed. I wasn't that outstanding; I'd merely made a donation to the school. "It's not a big deal, Dylan, don't exaggerate," I interrupted.

"But it's true," Dylan insisted, nodding earnestly. I didn't know how to explain.

Martin seemed to believe him, smiling. "Dylan never lies. You must be excellent. I saw you pick up that water bottle. There aren't many kids like you these days."

My cheeks flushed. "Mr. Zamora, actually, I just…" I almost admitted my purpose but stopped, too embarrassed. In such situations, discretion was preferable. Not everything needs sharing.

Dylan, oblivious to my discomfort, returned to Martin. "Uncle Martin, why aren't you at the store?"

"Don't even mention it. The store's being renovated, a mess. No one knows what's going on," Martin sighed, worry clouding his face. Remembering the store's bright, spacious interior, I wondered if there was a misunderstanding.

Dylan, puzzled, asked, "Uncle Martin, what's going on? Didn't you say you paid the rent? Why is someone else renovating?"

"It's all Irene's fault!" Martin snapped, anger evident. "She promised a week's grace period, but secretly rented the store to someone else. When I returned to pay the rent, nobody told me. Now, Harrison claims it's his and has started renovations!" He looked ready to explode.

Dylan sighed sympathetically. "What are we going to do? This store has been your business for a lifetime, Uncle Martin."

From this, I pieced together the situation. No wonder the marketing department clients didn't want compensation; Martin wouldn't let go easily.

I asked, "Mr. Zamora, have you talked to Irene about this?"

"What good would that do?" Martin growled. "She's left the company. I can't find her. They just pass the blame around."

Dylan tried to calm Martin, but I noticed Zachary's intense gaze from a distance. He watched me with a twisted smile. Martin was my focus, but Zachary's amusement unnerved me. What's with that look? Why does he find this so entertaining?

Before I could ponder it, Dylan, supporting Martin, started toward the store. At the door, burly men blocked our path.

"Martin, you dare show up!" one sneered. "Mr. Robinson says if you step foot in this store, we'll break your legs."

They began shouting aggressively. "You… you guys," Martin stammered, trembling with rage, but helpless. Dylan pulled him back, shouting, "Who the hell are you guys? This store was rented by Uncle Martin!"

"This is Mr. Robinson's territory," their leader sneered. "Get out, or your whole family will regret it." He raised a baseball bat.

"You dare threaten us?" Martin yelled. "What you're doing is illegal!"

Things escalated rapidly. I grabbed Dylan's arm, urging, "Let's leave. It's not worth it. There are too many of them; we're at a disadvantage."

Before Dylan could respond, a man, enraged by Martin's words, swung his bat at me. I couldn't understand why I was the target. Did he think I wouldn't fight back? But my thoughts were interrupted.

In an instant, Dylan spun, shielding me with his body.

Bang!

The bat connected with Dylan's body. I froze. I'd never imagined someone stepping in front of me like that, fiercely protecting me.

In the distance, a long lens appeared, a camera clicking rapidly. A voice grinned. "Mrs. Parker, all cozy in broad daylight. This is spicy. I wonder how Hayden will react to these pictures, and how much he'll pay to buy them?"