Chapter 4 Judas Banquet

Leon POV

I watched my father, baffled by the sheer desperation that must have possessed him. In a move that felt more like a surrender than a strategy, Papa decided to reach out to a close friend of Andrei— named Peter.

It’s a truly painful irony. Dad is pinning his last hopes on Peter, begging him to step in as a mediator to mend the relationships that have been fractured by this family conflict. To Papa, Peter is a bridge to peace; to me, he’s just a witness to our humiliation.

Papa believed that a divine influence might soften Andrei’s heart of stone. I, however, knew better. You can’t pray for someone who’s already been poisoned by envy and hatred. . As Papa dialed the number, looking for a sanctuary in Peter’s words, I stood in the shadows, my resolve hardening.

The stage was being set for a reconciliation that would never come.

The night air felt heavy, as if the atmosphere itself knew this mediation was doomed to fail. We arrived at the famous restaurant, a place usually filled with the aroma of spices and the sound of laughter. Tonight, it felt like a place of execution. Mr. Peter had arranged everything, ensuring our mediation would remain hidden from the public eye.

I reached for the handle of the private suite. The brass handle felt cold against my palm.

"Excuse me," I said, pushing the door open.

When the door swung wide open, the members of the dark alliance were already gathered. They sat side by side. Andrei and his wife, Jessie, sat at the far left end of the long table. Andrei sat stiffly in his seat, his thin frame and glasses making him appear harmless at first glance. Beside him sat Jessie, taller than her husband, watching us with unreadable eyes. To their left, Tiffany, my father’s sister, sat with her husband, Rudolf. Tiffany had short hair, pale skin, and often pursed lips; while her husband, a large man with thinning hair. Next to them is Beatrice, the widow of my late Uncle Gabriel, whom I respect. Next to Beatrice, Uncle Kevin. Their body language exudes a cool, measured synergy.

Their seating arrangement made it clear that they had rehearsed their parts, their eyes darting toward one another as if to confirm the strength of their numbers.

I took the empty seat with mama beside Uncle Charles while Papa sat near Peter at the center of the table.

I looked around the table, memorizing every face, every smirk, and every "innocent" glance. They thought they were here for a meeting. They didn't realize they were here to be cataloged for eternity in my ledger of debts.

The room fell into a suffocating silence as Mr. Peter cleared his throat.

“We’ve gathered here today to mend the fractured bonds within your family,” Peter began. “Let there be no conflict; your company is a giant in the public eye, and it would be a tragedy if it were to crumble from within.”

A giant. A tragedy. He spoke of business while the air in the room hung heavy with the scent of execution.

Andrei didn’t wait long and spoke up before the echoes of Peter’s words had faded.

“Does our older brother Mr Haylen even understand the weight of his sins?” Andrei spat out loudly.

My father sat unmoved, his calm a stark contrast to the chaos across the table. He looked at his brother with eyes that held more pity than anger.

"Sins?" Papa asked. "What sins are you referring to?"

"You murdered my son!" the Andrei shrieked. The accusation hung in the air like a foul mist. "You killed him when you cut off the funding for his cancer treatments. You chose money over his life!"

"The doctors overseas had already reached their verdict," Papa replied, his voice firm, echoing with the cold hard truth of science. "It was Stage 4. It was aggressive. There was nothing left to be done but prolong the suffering."

“You should know that if we keep covering the cancer treatment costs, the company will go under,” Papa said firmly, fixing Andrei with a piercing gaze. “It was a joint decision—yours included—that the company can’t keep shouldering these costs indefinitely, or we’ll all go under together, and your son’s fate won’t change.”

Andrei’s eyes widened, and his face flushed. He was simply using his son’s death to oust his father from the leadership position. I realized then that these people didn't want peace. They wanted a sacrifice. And they had chosen my father to be the lamb.

“Haylen, why won’t you let my son and Gabriel join the company? Now that Gabriel is gone, his position is vacant. Yet you let Leon help with factory operations whenever he gets the chance. Isn’t that unfair?” Beatrice, the widow of my late Uncle Gabriel accused.

Papa looked at his brother’s widow with a calm, penetrating gaze that spoke of years of silent observation, then replied, “When Gabriel passed away, your children were still teenagers. How could I bring myself to make them start working right away when they still have their whole future ahead of them? At that moment, I swore in front of Gabriel’s grave that his children would have a decent life and education so they can go on to higher education to achieve their dreams. If they want to join the company, I’ll welcome them with open arms—as long as they’re willing to work hard.”

Papa continued, “Leon went to work at the factory because I wanted to pass on my skills to him. Do you know what kind of work Leon does? He was willing to start from the bottom, just like a manual laborer. Now I ask you, would your children be willing to work like Leon? If they are, I’ll teach them, too.”

“And also, if you feel you’re representing Gabriel’s rights, why haven’t you helped the company at all since Gabriel passed away? I’ve kept quiet all this time because I recognize the contributions Gabriel made to the company,” Papa added.

Beatrice fell silent because it was an undeniable fact that, as Uncle Gabriel’s representative, she should have been contributing to the company ever since Uncle Gabriel’s death.

Andrei then shouted, “Leon is not allowed inside the factory!”

Kevin then added, “I agree; I feel uncomfortable with him being inside the factory.”

Papa’s younger sister, Tiffany, further complicated the situation by saying, “The majority opinion is that Leon is not allowed inside the factory; Brother Haylen should respect the majority.”

My father didn’t flinch. He looked at them with a weary gaze.

“Andrei,” your son is welcome to enter the factory whenever he wants, and I will teach him the same knowledge and share the same secrets I’ve given to Leon. Honestly, does your son want to work like Leon? Does he want to sweat like Leon?”

Then Dad turned his gaze to Kevin. The room temperature seemed to drop drastically. “You’re uncomfortable because of the corruption you’ve committed at the factory; Leon isn’t stupid—he knows about it.”

Mom spoke up and said, “I’ve heard quite the opposite from Leon. Leon told me that you’ve been bothering him—constant interference, constant sabotage.”

The air in the room grew thick. Kevin’s face flushed with a mix of anger and shame. With his misdeeds now exposed in public, he had only one weapon left: intimidation. He gripped the glass on the table tightly.

“What do you know, woman?” Kevin hissed, his voice trembling with a coward’s rage. “Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll throw this bottle at your head.”

“Go ahead if you dare!” I shouted, my voice shattering the silence. “Throw it. If it hits my mom, I’ll kill you right then and there.”

I locked my gaze on Kevin; he was still holding the glass, but his courage was beginning to fade. It was time to take him down

"Since you're so certain of your innocence," I said, my voice dropping to a low, rhythmic cadence that commanded the room, "let's settle this with a Death Pact. A Sumpah Pocong."

I stepped forward, fire in my eyes. “I swear before the Almighty, if I’m lying about the sabotage, then let a truck run me over and kill me. But,” I paused, “if you’re lying, Kevin, then let a truck run you over and kill you.”

Kevin, who had initially been bold enough to throw a glass at Mom, turned into a coward the moment he was faced with a death oath. He didn’t dare accept my challenge to take the Sumpah Pocong; instead, he let go of the glass, adjusted his sitting position, even though his body language betrayed his dissatisfaction.

Tiffany, Rudolf, Andrei, Jessie, and Beatrice all agreed, “Even though Kevin is guilty of what he did, it has nothing to do with Leon. Leon still shouldn’t be allowed into the factory.”

“Jancok!” I roared. “I work my hardest at the factory like an unpaid laborer, and you all have the nerve to criticize me?”

After I let out a curse in Javanese, they all fell silent. Especially since they could no longer deny that I was working without pay.

I glanced briefly at Uncle Charles, who had been silent all along. He sat like a statue of salt. To Papa, perhaps Uncle Charles had lost his voice. To me? He was a silent traitor who had found his comfort. In this war, there are those who throw the stones, and there are those who watch in silence while holding the bag of rocks. Charles was the latter—the silent accomplice to our execution.

I glared at them coldly—not just at Andrei and his coalition, but also at Charles. He looked terrified by my anger; he didn’t dare look at me—none of them dared.

Mr Peter broke the silence, his voice filled with forced surprise. “Unpaid? Truly? That… That shouldn’t be. You should receive a salary.”

Papa let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “It really is a strange world, isn’t it? A world where a father isn’t allowed to pass on his knowledge to his son,” Papa continued, “Leon is not allowed to work this hard without pay, even though the knowledge belongs to me—let alone if he were to receive a salary.”

“I don’t get a salary because I haven’t officially joined the company yet, but I’m fine with that—I have my own allowance. My dad takes care of me, and that’s more than enough,” I told Mr. Peter.

That night, the table told the real story: They spoke of rights and protocols, but I spoke of blood and sacrifice. And sacrifice always wins the moral high ground.