Chapter 2

The Painting

Becky fell silent, she looked around the room, she knew she had no other choice but to listen to whatever James Miller had to say.

"Go ahead," she said curtly.

James snorted, he was quite surprised at how brave the woman in front of him was. He thought she was going to cry and kneel to him or something but she was not.

"This is the choice I give you, if you and your father couldn't return what he stole from me, the first option will be to send your father to jail as he should be and charge him with first-degree theft with a sentence of fifteen years in prison and you know what? I'll make sure your father got the worst prison ever!"

Becky glared, her body was shaking violently, in her life she had never had to deal with legal matters. She could not imagine that her fifty-eight-year-old father would languish and die in prison.

"Please don't do that to my father..." she pleaded with a trembling voice.

James Miller tilted his head, surveying Becky from head to toe.

"You still have a second choice," he said with a sinister smile.

Becky's eyes sparkled with hope, "Please?"

"If you love your father that much and don't want him to go to jail, well I can give him some leniency..." he was deliberately stalling for time, enjoying the game.

Becky nodded, smiling expectantly.

"I would give him more time to return what he stole from me, but in exchange..." he stared at Becky intensely and made her nervous.

"You'll have to come with me, and practically become my slave, well actually I told your father since the first time I found out that it was him who stole my painting, so basically I'll just wait for his approval, but he disappeared right now, so..." muttered James casually.

Becky rose to her feet, her face bright red.

"What did my father steal from you to make you so confident of turning me into a slave? You think I can't earn some money to pay back whatever it is he stole from you?!" she shouted, pointing angrily at James Miller's face.

"Hahaha! What did you just say? Earning some money to pay back what you're father has stolen from me? Wait, excuse me but what's your job at Dupont Communications? Public relations staff, isn't it? Let me guess, your salary for a year is probably around one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, am I right? " rambled James Miller which made Becky even more shrunken because his guess was almost right.

He took a step forward, his face right in front of her.

"So with that small amount of money that you have, how are you going to pay back the four hundred million dollars Leonardo Da Vinci painting that your father stole from me?"

Becky glared, her eyes almost popping out of place.

"What did you say? Four hundred million dollars?" she hissed in disbelief. She thought James was going to say he was joking or something, but the very serious expression on his face made her feel sick instantly.

"I need to throw up right now..." she mumbled expressionlessly.

James Miller raised an eyebrow, not taking her words seriously. But seconds later, Rebecca Beckett spitted out the vomit of the tuna sandwich she ate for lunch onto his expensive suit, causing him to close his eyes with his jaw clenched in anger.

Becky closed her eyes, panicking. She knew James Miller would curse her to death. Her brain was working fast, looking for a way. She had no other way but to relax her body and collapse onto his chest, pretending to be unconscious. But seconds later she regretted her decision because it made her smell her vomit that was stuck on James Miller's suit.

"TIM! FOR GOD'S SAKE! TAKE THIS WOMAN AWAY FROM ME!" shouted James Miller furiously.

Becky remained limply against her chest, hoping that she would be rescued from the situation soon. Moments later she heard footsteps that seemed to be Tim approaching her. Then she felt someone pull her off James's body and carried her away from there.

"Wake up! I know you're faking it!" chirped Tim as he threw Becky's body onto the sofa.

Becky opened her eyes, she quickly sat up and looked around, only Tim and her. She breathed a sigh of relief, "That was so close..." she muttered. Tim just snorted, turning his face the other way because Becky's skirt was lifted to reveal her underwear, but she soon noticed it and adjusted her skirt in annoyance.

"Where am I?" she asked curtly, her hands were busy cleaning her face which was exposed to her vomit with the tissue lying on the table in front of her.

"Los Angeles," answered Tim promptly.

Becky took a deep breath, she felt very miserable.

"And where is my father?" she asked, almost in tears.

"Your father? Of course, he's looking for what he stole from Mr. Miller! do you think he's having a nice day or something?" Tim said in disbelief.

Becky snorted, "Hey! It wasn't your painting that was stolen! Why are you being such a nuisance like that arrogant man?!" she snapped.

Tim took a deep breath, he looked at her intently.

"I interviewed your father and recommended him to Mr. Miller to be one of the security guards in this mansion and see what he did in return!" he babbled with hardened jaws.

Hearing Tim's explanation, she immediately lowered her head in shame. She bit her lip, wondering what to do next. "Where's my bag and my cell phone? I have to go now and save my life!"

Tim stared at her for a long time, then he walked over to a table not far from him, opened the drawer, and pulled Becky's bag out of it. Without saying much, she rushed to grab her bag and then walked quickly towards the exit of the room that looked like a security office.

"Ms. Beckett!"

Suddenly Tim shouted out loud making her stop in her tracks. She turned to look at him with a frown, "What else?!" she snapped.

He took a deep breath, looking at her with pity.

"Your father is not what you think, you should just let him go to prison, he deserves it..."