I am a retired veteran, living with a group of old comrades in a shabby veterans’ retirement home on the outskirts of Los Angeles. To outsiders, we all look like nothing more than a bunch of frail old men and women.

My grandson, Michael Hayes, was working part-time during the summer, delivering food near the home. One day, just because he stopped in front of a car to check a delivery order, a young couple inside accused him of secretly filming under the woman’s skirt. They beat him until he was barely conscious.

Michael called me for help.

When the wealthy young woman saw me walk out from the rundown home, her arrogance grew even more.

“So this is who you called? Just some old man? You think he can help you?”

I forced down my anger and said, “There must be some mistake. My grandson would never take inappropriate photos of you.”

But they wouldn’t listen. They beat both of us again, fists and kicks flying.

Just then, the gate of the veterans’ home slowly opened. George Miller, who had been playing chess, and Helen Carter, who had been watering flowers, came out leaning on their canes.

The rich girl’s backer rushed over, only to freeze in shock when he recognized us. He dropped to his knees immediately.

“Mr. Hayes… Mr. Miller… Mrs. Carter… all of you here…?”

…

The phone rang while I was playing chess with George. He had taken back his moves three times, and I was just about to tease him for it.

But when I saw Michael’s name flash on the screen, my heart tightened. Michael was a sensible boy; he knew our routines and would never call at this hour—unless something was wrong.

I answered. A weak, suppressed voice came through the receiver.

“Grandpa… could you come outside? Right at the gate…”

His voice broke off, mixed with the loud curses of strangers.

I gripped the phone tightly, dread rising in my chest. George noticed my expression, and the humor vanished from his face.

“Edward, what happened?”

I didn’t answer. I stood up and strode outside.

The moment I pushed open the rusty iron gate, I saw Michael surrounded by a group of young people. He was wearing his delivery uniform, curled up on the ground, with a clear handprint across his face and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

A heavily made-up girl in a skimpy outfit was pointing at his nose and shouting,

“What are you staring at? Pointing that cheap phone at me, what are you plotting? Disgusting!”

Beside her stood a bleached-haired young man, twirling the keys to a brand-new Maserati. He sneered at me.

“He wasn’t just pointing it—he was filming under my girlfriend’s skirt! I’ve seen shameless people before, but never anyone as shameless as him!”

Michael spotted me. The tall young man, usually so strong, had tears of humiliation in his eyes.

“Grandpa, I didn’t do it!”

I lifted him up, my heart aching at the sight of his injuries. I had raised him since he lost his parents as a child—I knew his character better than anyone. He would never behave like that.

“Still denying it? Who would frame you? Don’t think just because someone showed up, I’ll back down. You think I’m afraid?”

The bleached-haired youth gave me a contemptuous once-over. No wonder—my faded old U.S. Army uniform was threadbare, and the cloth shoes on my feet had holes in the toes. I must have looked pathetic.

“And here I thought you’d bring someone useful. Turns out it’s just an old relic. Are you sure he can help you? He looks more like dead weight.”

His girlfriend laughed mockingly.

“Didn’t I tell you? The poor always travel in packs.”

“That old man came out of that broken-down place—looks like a lonely geezer with nobody to care for him.”

Since Michael hadn’t suffered life-threatening injuries, I hadn’t wanted to argue with these young people. But their words were far too insulting.

“Young people, watch your tongues. There must be some misunderstanding. My grandson would never spy on you.”

“Misunderstanding?” the girl sneered.

“He pointed his phone under my skirt, and you call that a misunderstanding? Old man, stop pretending. Make your grandson kneel down and apologize right now!”

I kept my temper under control, though my voice turned cold.

“Words have consequences. You had no evidence, yet you beat my grandson and now demand he kneel? Where’s your sense of justice?”

Jason Coleman snorted and stepped forward, jabbing his finger into my chest.

“Justice? With you? Do you think you deserve it, old man?”

“This isn’t over today. Your grandson will kneel and kowtow to me and Samantha Lee, and then pay us a hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress. Otherwise, I’ll see both of you carried into that ‘graveyard for the living’ you call a home.”

“One hundred thousand?” I laughed bitterly.

I had faced bullets and shells all my life, but never had I seen such brazen shamelessness.

Michael quickly moved in front of me, whispering, “Grandpa, let’s call the police.”

“Call the police?” one of Jason’s thugs burst out laughing.

“Go ahead! Let’s see whose side the cops take—yours, or Jason’s!”

As he spoke, he kicked Michael’s delivery bag so hard the spilled soup splattered all over Michael’s pants.

“A worthless delivery boy dares to argue with us? Do you know who Jason’s father is? Saying his name would scare you half to death!”

I didn’t bother arguing. I pulled out my old flip phone to call for help.

Jason lunged forward, snatching it from my hand and smashing it to the ground. It shattered into pieces.

“Old fool! Still trying to call someone? I told you—no one can save you today!”

He shoved me hard. My aging body staggered backward, slamming against the car.

“Grandpa!” Michael cried, trying to help me up, but two thugs grabbed him, yanking his hair and kicking the back of his knees until he collapsed with a scream.

“You punk, still trying to help?” Samantha’s eyes flashed with cruelty as she raised her hand to slap him again.

“Stop!” I shouted desperately.

In that moment, Samantha’s gaze fell on the locket hanging from Michael’s neck, and her eyes glinted with mockery.

“Well, well… this little trinket looks interesting.”

It was his grandmother’s heirloom pendant. She reached for it.

“Don’t touch it!” Michael cried.

“What could a poor boy like you possibly have that’s worth anything? Probably just a cheap piece of glass from a flea market.”

Her lips curled in disdain, but her hand didn’t stop. She yanked it off his neck, the string scraping his skin red.

“Give it back!”

Michael struggled fiercely, but the others pinned him down, grinding his hands against the pavement.

Samantha dangled the pendant in front of him, smirking.

“This piece of junk? Fine, take it back—it’s filthy anyway.”

She tossed it onto the ground and wiped her hands with a tissue.

That pendant had been my late wife’s most cherished possession. Before she died, she gave it to Michael, saying she hoped it would protect him for the rest of his life.

Thankfully, the pendant hadn’t broken.

Ignoring the pain in my back, I summoned every ounce of restraint and said coldly,

“Pick it up.”

Samantha sneered.

“A piece of trash? I’ll crush it instead. What can you do about it?”

The more I spoke, the more defiant she became. She raised her high heel and brought it down.

Crack.

The sound of shattering tore through the air—and with it, my fury erupted.

“You’ve gone too far. You’re courting death!”

Jason blinked in surprise, then burst into arrogant laughter.

“Death? From you? Old man, you must be senile! You think you can threaten me?”

“Apologize,” I demanded.

Jason and Samantha exchanged glances, then doubled over laughing.

“Apologize? To you? Do you even know who I am?”

Jason jabbed his finger at my face, spittle flying.

“My father is Richard Coleman! Ever heard of Coleman Enterprises? He controls the entire city’s economy in his hands! You want me to apologize? I’ll make sure you don’t live to see tonight’s sunset!”

I could take no more. I moved to teach this arrogant brat a lesson, but my injured back slowed me down.

“Old fool, you dare fight back?” Jason kicked me hard in the knee.

I gasped, collapsing onto one knee. Agonizing pain shot through my bones.

Then they started raining blows on both me and Michael.

Onlookers gathered, but no one dared step in when they saw the Maserati and Jason’s swagger.

Michael shielded me with his body, taking most of the beating.

“Don’t hurt my grandpa! If you want to hit someone, hit me!”

I had endured countless scars in my life without flinching. But watching my grandson suffer for me left me seething with helpless rage.

Finally, Jason grew tired and planted his foot on my back.

“Now you’re scared, aren’t you? Here’s your last chance—kneel, kowtow, and pay up! Otherwise, I’ll kill both of you right here!”

Samantha pulled out her phone and started livestreaming.

“Everyone, take a look at these two shameless old liars. Tried to take dirty pictures and then attacked us—we’re just defending ourselves!”

The camera zoomed in on our battered faces, and a flood of vile comments poured in.

I felt my blood boil as I stared at the screen.

“Stop now, and I might spare your family. But if you dare lay another finger on my grandson, I swear your family will disappear from Los Angeles.”

Jason froze for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“You’ve lost your mind, old man. Threaten me? Watch this. You said not to touch his fingers? Then I’ll crush every single one of them!”

He kicked me down again, then ordered his thugs to pin Michael’s hands to the ground.

“Watch closely, old man!” Jason stomped down on Michael’s fingers.

Not satisfied, he had Samantha and the others join in, grinding his hand until it was a bloody mess.

“This is what happens when you mess with my girlfriend!”

“No!” I tried to crawl forward, but the searing pain in my knee left me immobile.

Michael’s screams grew weaker, his face pale as paper.

Only when his hand was mangled beyond recognition did Jason finally step back, satisfied.