A SON IN LAW TURNS BILLIONAIRE AFTER DIVORCE

Chapter 30

The elevator doors slid open again, breaking the heavy silence, and four burly men shoved their way into the cabin. Their exposed arms and necks were completely covered in thick, jagged tattoos, and one of them wore a glinting silver earring. They looked so rough they might as well have had the word “THUG” stamped right across their foreheads.

The unkempt, debt-ridden man who smelled faintly of alcohol—the same guy who had just been eyeing Leonard with bitter envy—visibly turned pale. He shrank back, trying to vanish into the corner, but the elevator was so cramped that his back slammed hard against the mirrored wall.

The man with the earring casually reached out, jammed his fingers into the control panel to cancel both selected floors, and planted his heavy boot right in the doorway to keep the doors from sliding shut.

“Well, well, Paul. When the hell are you planning to pay us back?” A potbellied man pushed his way to the front, stepping right into Paul’s personal space with a terrifying, menacing grin. He was clearly the boss of the bunch.

Just a moment ago, Paul had been standing outside acting smug and looking down his nose at Leonard. But standing in front of this ruthless loan shark, Paul was shaking like a newborn chick cornered by a hawk.

“B-Boss Hudson... please, I'm begging you, just give me two more days!” Paul whimpered, his voice trembling so hard it cracked. “I'll definitely scrape the money together and pay you back!”

“More time? How many goddamn extensions have we already given you, you piece of garbage?!”

SLAP!

The potbellied boss didn't hesitate. He reared back and slammed his heavy palm across Paul’s cheek, sending a sharp, echoing crack through the elevator.

Paul didn't even dare to raise a hand to block it or dodge. He just squeezed his eyes shut, clutched his burning face, and kept muttering desperate pleas.

Leonard stood right beside them, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. Collect your blood money if you want, but why did these idiots have to block the elevator and trap everyone else on the floor?

“Take your little domestic dispute outside,” Leonard said evenly, his voice cutting through the panic. “You're holding everyone up.”

The potbellied boss stopped slapping Paul for a split second, whipped his head around, and glared at Leonard like a rabid dog. While keeping a tight grip on Paul’s shirt collar, he snarled, “Get the fuck out of here, you nosy bastard, before I give you something to cry about!”

Was Leonard afraid of him? Not even a little. If he were scared, he would have just squeezed past them and walked out without uttering a single word.

If this were the apocalypse, Leonard thought coldly, I could kill men like these a dozen times over with a single flick of my wrist.

But the world hadn't frozen over yet. If he pulled out a military-grade handgun from his dimensional ring right now and blew them away in a civilian elevator, he’d end up locked in a maximum-security prison trying to explain where he got illegal firearms. That was a headache he didn't feel like dealing with today.

Even without a gun, though, he wasn't about to back down. After nearly two weeks of intense physical conditioning, his body was transforming. He had already possessed dense muscle and fast reflexes, but now he was stronger and sharper than ever.

One against four? He figured it would be a decent workout.

“Even if you owned an apartment in this building—which you clearly don't—you wouldn't have the right to trap people in the lobby,” Leonard said, shaking his head with a cold smirk. “The only ones leaving right now are you lot. Hurry up. You've already wasted enough of my time.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” the potbellied boss roared, spitting onto the elevator floor.

His three henchmen instantly surged forward. The thug with the silver earring reached out with a heavy, tattooed hand to grab Leonard by the collar.

Thud!

Leonard didn't wait for him to grab fabric. His fist shot out like a piston, burying deep into the man’s stomach. The thug instantly doubled over, his eyes bulging out of his head. He dropped hard to his knees on the metal floor and began violently vomiting his lunch.

Outraged that Leonard had thrown the first punch, the other three thugs bellowed in anger and lunged at him all at once, throwing wild, heavy hooks.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

It was a chaotic, brutal brawl inside the confined space. Arms and legs flew in the tight quarters, but within seconds, all three remaining thugs were either drop-kicked or dragged bodily out through the open doors, tumbling out onto the hallway carpet in a heap of groaning limbs.

Leonard stood inside the elevator, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. He had taken a couple of glancing punches to the shoulder and ribs, but thanks to his rock-solid physique, they barely stung—nothing more than a dull ache.

I haven't been in enough real street fights lately, Leonard mused to himself, shaking out his knuckles. With a bit more sparring experience, I could have ducked those sloppy swings entirely. This cramped elevator didn't give me much room to maneuver, either.

Outside in the corridor, the four beaten men scrambled backward in sheer terror, realizing they had picked a fight with a monster. They picked themselves up off the floor and bolted down the hall without looking back.

No one was blocking the doors anymore. The metallic panels slid smoothly shut, and Leonard calmly reached out and pressed the button for the 15th floor.

“You nouveau riche piece of trash! Don't you dare think I'm going to thank you just because you accidentally helped me get rid of them!” Paul suddenly snapped, his voice trembling with defensive pride as he wiped his bleeding lip. “I never asked you to play hero!”

Was that any way to talk to someone who just bailed you out?

Leonard turned his head slowly, casting a cold, sideways glance at the pathetic man standing beside him. They didn't even know each other, so why was this stranger dripping with such pure, venomous hostility?

Unless... he harbored a deep, burning hatred for anyone with money.

That explained it instantly. Paul reeked of cheap alcohol, was drowning in violent debt, and had just spat the word nouveau riche like an insult. Clearly, his miserable life was falling apart at the seams. And since the news of Leonard winning a five-hundred-million-dollar lottery jackpot had been the talk of the entire neighborhood for days, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

It also made total sense why Paul had been shooting him those ugly looks of envy and contempt earlier. The man was undoubtedly sitting in his room every night, cursing Leonard as a lucky, unearned upstart who didn't deserve his wealth.

Leonard felt a sudden urge to twist the knife. He smiled faintly, deliberately poking right at a fresh nerve. “So... how much money do you actually owe those guys, anyway?”

Paul’s face twisted in panic, and he instantly clamped his mouth shut, refusing to utter another syllable.

“Or maybe I should reach over and press the button for the first floor again?” Leonard added smoothly, keeping his tone casual. “Those four gentlemen are probably still waiting down by the lobby doors. I'm sure they'd love a second round.”

Paul shuddered violently from head to toe, his eyes wide with terror at the mere thought.

“Look, Paul, maybe I didn't throw those punches specifically to save your skin, but the fact is, I did save you,” Leonard continued, his voice dropping into a chilling register. “Instead of saying a simple thank you, you open your mouth and insult me. That's not how civilized people behave. You owe me a proper apology.”

Leonard casually drifted his finger over the glowing button for the ground floor. He genuinely wouldn't mind dragging Paul right back down and tossing him out to face his creditors.

Paul’s tough-guy act completely evaporated. His shoulders slumped in total defeat. “I... I'm sorry.”

“Speak up. I didn't quite catch that,” Leonard replied evenly, not moving his finger away from the button.

“I'm sorry!” Paul shouted louder, his voice cracking with humiliation.

Inside, Paul felt utterly degraded to his core. But after watching Leonard effortlessly dismantle four armed thugs in three seconds flat, he didn't dare cross him. He could only stand there shaking, clenching his fists so hard his fingernails dug deep into his palms with pure, burning hatred.

Leonard sneered inwardly. You're damn lucky the apocalypse hasn't started yet, Paul. Once the ice hits, I could put a bullet right between your eyes, and no one in this frozen wasteland would ever care.

Ding!

The elevator chimed, and the doors glided open on the 15th floor. Leonard and Paul stepped out into the hallway and headed in opposite directions.

As Paul limped away toward the far end of the corridor, Leonard noticed the direction he was walking led straight toward Sara Davis’s apartment.

Wait... could that pathetic drunk actually be Sara’s husband?

If so, that poor woman drew the absolute shortest straw in life being tied to a parasite like him. Still, it was none of Leonard’s business. He wasn't about to waste his energy playing marriage counselor. If Paul ever tried to cause trouble after the global freeze set in, Leonard could easily lure Sara over to his fortified mansion with a warm package of food right in front of her husband's starving eyes.

The thought of Sara’s mature, striking appearance crossed his mind, and Leonard couldn't deny a mild flicker of amusement.

But the moment he turned the corner and walked down his own private wing toward his front door, his steps came to an abrupt halt.

Waiting quietly in the dim hallway outside his threshold wasn't Sara.

It was Susan.