My father sat in the heavy metal chair and stared at the cold concrete walls of the basement. He looked at the two large security guards standing in the corners of the room, and he looked at David guarding the heavy door. The reality of his captivity finally set in, but his selfish nature refused to accept defeat. He still believed he held leverage over me because we shared the same blood.
"You cannot lock me in a basement, Freya," my father argued while he gripped the metal armrests of his chair. "I am your biological parent, and you owe me a basic level of respect. If you try to hold me here against my will, I will walk out of this house and call the local newspapers. I will tell the journalists that the famous Kingsley family kidnapped me."
I did not feel any fear when he made his threat, and I did not raise my voice to shout at him. I just felt a deep, profound disappointment that he had not changed his ways at all.
