The officer asked the goons to give their statements. Their accounts mostly matched mine, except for the part about the fight.
They claimed I started it, which was true, but I denied it. They said I smashed the bottle over their leader's head.
They told parts of the truth, but they avoided mentioning the bastard who caused all of this. They kept dodging that part.
Then another officer walked in and handed over footage from the club.
The video showed exactly what I had told them.
Everyone in the room went quiet.
The goons started panicking, insisting they were telling the truth, all of them talking at once.
But it didn't matter anymore. The police saw us as the victims. We were let go.
Before leaving the station, I looked back at them and smirked as I walked out.
Our car had been brought to the station, so we drove home and went straight to bed.
It had been a long day.
The next morning, my mother wanted to talk. Not about last night, I had already told her about SPACE editing the footage, and she had probably figured it out anyway.
My face was still bruised. She pulled me aside, trying to take care of me.
[A/N: I don't know how should I put it.]
While she was taking care of me, my mother started a conversation.
"Phil, can I ask you something?" she said in a low, sad voice.
"You can ask me anything."
"Can you look up where Rick lives?" she said quietly.
"Come on, Mom. You're not seriously thinking about getting back together with him, are you?" I asked, annoyed.
"It's not about that," she said. "It's about his daughter… and possibly his wife too." She paused, stopped applying the band-aid, and looked me in the eyes.
"What happens if I find them? Would you… care for them?"
"Well… maybe. The child is still young, and they're living in debt because of him."
"So you're saying I should pay their debts?"
"I don't know. That's up to you. Phil… you're rich. Just don't let money decide who you are. I've seen how you try to do everything by yourself. Sooner or later, you'll care about them, and if something happens, you'll blame yourself," she said, pausing for a moment.
"I'm not asking for myself or for them, I'm asking for you. What do you want to do?" She stood up and left the room.
We don't live in a fancy house, just a bungalow with a basement. My basement doubles as my workspace and laundry area. I went there to think about what she said.
"SPACE, show his information."
«Alright, sir.»
FULL NAME: DERRICK J. BLAINE
BORN: March 16, 1962 (Chicago, Illinois)
JOB: UNEMPLOYED
SPOUSE: LAUREN BLAINE
CHILDREN: 1
SPACE displayed his information and location. Only his daughter is officially recognized by the government, which didn't surprise me, since I never saw him when I was born.
His daughter's name is Riley Blaine.
His wife, Lauren, works constantly in the family business and has to give him an allowance to gamble. She's stuck paying off his debts and never gets a moment to rest.
I spent the entire morning working on smart glasses. I bought every pair of glasses and rings I could find and experimented until I created a working model.
I kept failing, but eventually I combined OLED and LCD technology to make the glasses. I coded them with FUI(Feeling User Interface) a system I developed when I created my phones.
It uses physical sensation, emotional state, speech patterns, and intuition to interact. I didn't include speakers yet, either I didn't want them, didn't have the parts, or used them all on my phones.
SPACE is integrated into the glasses I'll need to buy more components today.
I grabbed the glasses, hopped into my mother's BMW 7 Series (E38), and drove to where Lauren works.
For those wondering how I learned to drive: my mother taught me at 13, and I got my license last year, in 1996.
It was afternoon. Lauren was working at a supermarket. I watched her from my car, she looked exhausted, like she had no will to live, just holding onto hope.
I got out and walked up to her at the counter, still wearing my smart glasses.
"Good afternoon," I said.
"Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?" she replied, forcing the brightest smile possible. I could tell immediately it was fake.
She was used to putting up fronts, for her daughter, at work, even with her husband.
"Can I take you out?" I blurted, without thinking.
"Kid, I'm a married woman. Just buy what you need and leave," she said, looking at me. She noticed my bruised face but didn't care.
"Oh, not like a romantic date or anything. Let's just call it platonic." She looked at me but didn't say anything for a moment.
"Who are you?" I wasn't surprised by her question.
"Oh, sorry about that. My name is Felix," I said, holding out my hand for a handshake. She didn't return it, she just stared at my hand.
"And there it is," she said, looking straight at me. I was caught off guard by what she said.
"Where? What are you talking about?" I asked, glancing around.
"You introduced yourself without asking my name, which means you probably already knew about me. When I mentioned I was married, you didn't react at all, like you already knew. You came in that black BMW, sat there for 5–10 minutes watching me work before deciding to enter the store. You didn't even pretend to look around, you just walked straight to me," she said, her gaze sharp and suspicious.
I was taken aback. I just stared at her for a moment.
SPACE decided to reveal all her information in my glasses.
"I'm surprised, Mrs. Blaine. You graduated early from high school because you skipped two grades in primary school and one in middle school. You applied for a scholarship to study Juris Doctor, and after earning that degree, you studied Forensic Science," I said. She froze for a moment.
"Oh, it doesn't end there. You studied Criminal Justice and got your degree in just two years because you already understood the law. So you graduated high school at 15, got your JD at 18, your FS degree at 21, and CJ at 23." Her eyes widened as I listed it all.
"Oh, and you got pregnant before completing your CJ degree. You never worked at a law firm or became law enforcement because no one would hire someone with a child. When your daughter was two, you married her father because Rick forced himself into it and avoided paying child support by being present." I paused to let that sink in.
"Guess how he found that loophole in child support? You told him. If you took him to court, you'd lose, because he technically didn't break the law. He kept borrowing money under the pretext of paying child support. So by law, he's still paying child support." I said, smirking at the end.
[A/N: I don't know, I just made stuff up. I'm not that smart.]
"What do you want?" she said, resigned, bowing her head slightly.
"I told you, I just want to take you out."