"You're here." The man in the wheelchair was about fifty, with a side profile that made it obvious he wasn't the handsome type. It's safe to say that except for maybe height, August Oliver bore no resemblance to him, and one couldn't tell they were father and son at all. "How do you feel?"
August Oliver stood up, lowered his gaze to hide the deep-seated anger in his eyes, and said flatly, "Nothing special."
