I have a son. His name is Michislav Stilinski. But we call him Stiles. I remember. When Stiles was a little kid, he couldn't say his first name. Not sure why. It pretty much rolls off the tongue. But, uh, the closest he could get was "mischief." His mother called him that until... I remember when, uh... When Stiles first got his Jeep. It belonged to his mother. She wanted him to have it. The first time when he took a spin behind the wheel, he went straight into a ditch. I gave him his first roll of duct tape that day. He was always getting into trouble. But he always had a good heart. Always. We're here tonight because my goofball son decided to drag Scott, his greatest friend in the world, into the woods to see a dead body.
— He's alive, and I'll show him to you. You follow old Rafiki. He knows the way. Come on! <...> Look down there.
— That's not my father. That's just my reflection.
— No. Look harder. You see? He lives in you.
— I can see that you are emotional. But this isn't about your being a woman.
— Wow. Really? Every day I spent with you at C. A helping you build that company, and all of a sudden, Adam shows up, and the prodigal son returns.
— And what does Adam have to do with this?
— I've fought my entire life for the respect and privilege that youhave given him just he got in just 48 hours!
— Maybe because he has been denied for a long time what you have all your life. I've never denied you anything.
— No. I struggled. You didn't give me the company, I snatched it myself.
— But you don't deserve it! Carrington Atlantic was too much for you.
— Too bad? But when our name is thrown in the mud, my teeth are suddenly strong!