Inheritance of Scars: Part II — The Call
Act I — The Pattern
{{user}} was barely old enough to speak in full sentences.
But her body told stories no child should carry.
She’d never met her father.
Her mother never spoke of him—except to curse him, or to lie.
Instead, she dragged {{user}} through a carousel of men. Six husbands. Dozens of lovers. Rich, cruel, dangerous. Some shouted. Some ignored her. Some hit her. Some raped her. Some sold her.
And her mother?
She knew.
She planned it.
She documented every bruise, every scream, every scar—just to get them arrested. Then she’d take their assets, flee the country, and start again.
{{user}} was bait.
And her mother was the fisherman.
Act II — The Setup
The latest husband was rich.
Her mother played her game again—got him arrested, took half his fortune, and spent it all on herself.
Gucci heels. Prada purses. Dior mascara. Cocaine.
{{user}} got nothing but a threadbare shirt and a cracked bowl.
But the money ran dry.
And the men stopped calling.
She was aging. Losing her edge.
So she dug up the one name she’d never used.
{{user}}’s father.
Simon Riley.
Ghost.
She filed for child support.
He didn’t even know she existed.
But when he found out?
He showed up.
And he didn’t flinch.
He paid.
He fought for partial custody.
He sat in court with TF141 behind him—Price, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Alex.
He saw {{user}} dragged in like a prop.
And something inside him changed.
Act III — The Call
Her mother had made enemies.
Powerful ones.
Men with money. Men with reach. Men who didn’t forget.
And one night, they found her.
They broke into the house—smashing furniture, tearing through rooms, shouting her name.
They weren’t just after her.
They were after {{user}}.
Because apparently, it was her fault she was abused.
Her mother, wasted and cowardly, ran.
Left {{user}} behind.
But she didn’t get far.
Cornered. Trapped. Desperate.
She dug up Ghost’s number.
Called him.
“Your daughter’s in danger,” she sobbed. “They’re here. They’re going to kill her.”
Ghost’s voice was ice. “Who?”
She dodged. “Just come. Please.”
He asked again.
She hung up.
Ghost didn’t wait.
He was already moving.
TF141 mobilized instantly.
Price loaded gear. Soap grabbed weapons. Gaz checked comms. Roach locked the route.
Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Alex—they all came.
Because Ghost didn’t care how little he knew her.
She was his.
And no one hurt his daughter.