10-Her Phone

As evening descended, the sky darkened, heavy clouds gathering above. Flocks of birds flew in waves, their silhouettes cutting through the growing dusk. 

Chanida and Youngdara sat in the same corner of the coffee shop, a quiet moment between them. 

Dara spoke on the phone with her uncle, Rith, while Nida, her eyes still scanning the menu just received, ordered more snacks from the waiter.

"So, you're telling me everything she left at Grandma's house was taken by my father?" Dara asked firmly.

"At first, the police came to collect everything, then they handed it over to Mr. Heng. That's what I know. Why, what's the significance?"

"I need her phone," Dara said, his tone decisive.

"Of course, I understand." Rith responded.

"Thanks, Uncle. See you later," he finished, before the line went silent.

Dara hung up the phone, exhaling sharply.

"What's happening?" Nida asked, her voice laced with concern.

"My carelessness, my damn carelessness!" Dara muttered, frustration mounting.

"Take a breath. Calm down."

"I'll sort things out when I get home—go through her things and be more careful. But right now, can we file a complaint?"

"Yes, of course. We can sort that out. I'll check with my senior or professor to advance our paper, or if we need to, we can reach out to a lawyer soon," Nida replied.

"Thank you so much!" Dara exclaimed.

"And you'll need a real lawyer, by the way."

"But I need you, no matter what!" Dara insisted.

"I'll still help," Nida reassured her.

"I don't know about anyone else…"

"I'll help with this, too," Nida promised.

"I am sure, I will repay you with all my gratitude," he vowed.

Nida chuckled softly.

"You must," she teased.

***

As soon as Dara arrived home, he rushed to his mother's room, searching frantically through the folds of her desk and every corner. 

But everything remained unchanged, the same documents he had seen before. His eyes then caught the old desktop. He quickly plugged in the cable and powered it on, waiting for it to load.

When the computer finally hummed to life, he opened the Telegram app, only to be met with an unexpected obstacle. It required a phone number—no existing account to rely on. A wave of frustration washed over him.

"Do I really have to meet that old man again?" he muttered, his disappointment growing.

Dara's mind, unwilling to surrender, pressed on. One by one, he sifted through the contents, his fingers brushing over a folder marked with names and places: a hotel in Kep province, a law office, garage construction site at hometown, a tour agency for trips abroad, and contacts for living overseas, the most notable being a name—Sun Sam.

"Sun Sam... I feel like I've heard that before."

The name lingered, elusive, but Dara couldn't quite place it. Without a second thought, he dialed the number, his pulse quickening as the call connected.

"Hello!" A man's voice crackled through the phone. Dara responded without hesitation.

"Hello, you're Mr. Sam, right?"

"Yes, I am. How can I help you?"

"I'm Dara. Did someone named Kong Saroath reach out to you?"

"Oh... Saroath, let me think... What's the matter?"

"She's my mother!"

"Ah, I see! Wait... Yes, she did contact me recently about visa services for her son. That would be you Heng Youngdara, right?"

"Yes, that's me," Dara replied.

"Okay," 

"When? When did she last contact you?" Dara's voice trembled with urgency.

"Hmm... two months ago, around the 5th. She said she'd reach out again... but there's been nothing since."

"What about the progress?" Dara asked, his tone steady.

"She's already made a partial payment for the basic documents," Sam replied. "She mentioned needing time to secure the rest of the funds. Do you want to move forward, or not?"

"I'll let you know later," Dara said, his mind already elsewhere. "But thank you for now."

"Okay, take your time," the other person said.

"See you," Dara responded, turning to hang up.

Dara sat motionless, unable to shake his thoughts. His gaze drifted, and something on the desk caught his attention. 

A piece of paper, its title in bold letters: Letter of Appointment from HBH Holding Group. His name, Leng Youngdara, was stamped across the top, making his heart skip a beat.

He grabbed the letter, leaning in to read it more closely. 

"Appoint me as Head of Marketing of my father's company...?"

Confusion swept over him. At the bottom of the page, he saw the names—CEO Ms. Han Monica and the Board of Director/MC, Mrs. Lee Dalin—yet there was no signature, no company stamp. Just a draft.

In a fit of anger, he crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it across the room, frustration burning within him.

"The fu*k!" 

***

The next day, Dara walked into the HBH car company, located along the main road. The showroom was sparse, with a few cars on display and a handful of staff working quietly.

"Hello, how can I help you?" A female receptionist greeted him.

"I need to see Monica," Dara replied, his tone firm.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Do you know her?" Dara asked, impatience creeping into his voice.

"I do, but I don't know you," she said, her expression blank. "Sorry."

"I'm her brother," Dara stated, his voice laced with frustration.

"Really?" The receptionist's disbelief was evident.

"Tell her that Dara wants to meet her!" Dara firmly replied.

A few other female staff members hurried over to assist. One approached, her tone polite but businesslike. 

"Excuse me, can you tell me who you are and how we can assist you?"

"I'm here to meet my sister, Monica. Is she available now?"

"She's in a meeting right now, but she'll be free in about twenty minutes. Have you contacted her beforehand?"

"No, I haven't."

The staff exchanged confused glances.

"Alright, please wait. Your name is...?"

"Dara."

"Got it."

Some staff began to whisper about Dara, their conversation barely audible.

***

In the CEO's office, Dara and Monica sat across from each other on the plush sofa. Monica, a woman of striking appearance, offered a warm smile to her younger half-sibling.

"How have you been?" she asked.

"So-so," he replied briefly.

"Hmm, alright. What can I do for you?" Monica spoke with a sweet, attentive tone.

"Don't speak to me like that. I don't like it."

"I knew you wouldn't."

"Don't bring up my preferences or my personal taste."

"You brought it up first."

"Fine, let's drop it."

Monica's playful nature was hard to ignore. Sheleaned back in her chair, her gaze steady. 

"So, let's get to the point. What brought you here today?" she asked, her tone calm but probing.

Dara crossed her arms. "Your mother and father are already divorced, and yet you still hold onto everything you think you deserve."

Monica's expression didn't falter. "And what's your purpose in bringing this up?"

"I'm just saying what's obvious," Dara replied with a shrug.

Monica's lips curved into a faint, unamused smile. "Then act like an adult. I can't stand people who show jealousy without offering any real effort."

"I'm not jealous," Dara snapped, though her voice betrayed her.

"It's not easy for me, either," Monica said, her voice sharpening. "If you think you're entitled to what I have, then take it—prove yourself. Compete with real ability."

Dara chuckled, her tone laced with skepticism. "Real ability? You think you have it?"

Monica leaned forward slightly, her eyes firm and unreadable.

Monica's voice trembled with anger. 

"You can't imagine the pain I went through without my mom by my side. I was bitterly trained by Dad and Madam Dalin—as stepmom. Now, go to them and tell them you want the company. Deal with it."

Dara's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp. "Monica, I don't want control of the company. I want justice for my mom."

The CEO froze, visibly startled. "Your mom? Justice? "Clarify it for me!"

Dara let out a mirthless laugh, her expression cold. "You seem surprised. I have to uncover why my mom chose to die, and I'll make everyone who hurt her pay the price."

Monica hesitated, confusion flickering across her face. She inhaled deeply. "Alright... So tell me, how can I help you?"

"Her belongings from her hometown. Mr. Heng has them. Bring them to me."

"That's all?"

"Yes. For now!"

"Then why did you make it seem so serious? Oh, my!" Monica exclaimed, her brows furrowing.

"If it sounds easy to you, then get it for me," Dara replied calmly.

"Why didn't you come to get it yourself? He is your dad too!"

"I didn't want to see him right now. I wanted to see you, the CEO."

Monica stared at him, speechless, until then muttered, "You're too much!"

Dara met Monica's gaze without flinching. She let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. I'll ask Dad to hand it over."

Standing up, Dara said simply, "Thanks in advance," before walking away.

Monica's expression shifted, her face hardening into something unreadable—a steel mask impossible to crack.

***