FROM PRISON TRASH TO GOD OF WAR

Chapter 3: The War God Arrives

The Grand Marquis Hotel's ballroom glittered like a jewel box. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors, while champagne flowed from fountains carved from ice. The city's elite moved through the space in designer gowns and tailored suits, their jewelry worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.

"Have you heard? The War God is actually coming here tonight!"

"I still can't believe it. My father waited at the airport for six hours and didn't even get close."

"Six hours? Senator Morrison was there for eight. They wouldn't let him past the security checkpoint."

Margaret Ashford, heiress to the Ashford pharmaceutical empire, adjusted her diamond necklace. "I heard they had to bring in fighter jets. An entire squadron just for escort duty."

"Not just fighter jets," her companion whispered. "Thirty thousand special forces soldiers locked down every route from the airport to the city. The highway was completely closed."

A portly businessman mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief. "I spent two hundred thousand dollars on gifts and had my secretary camp out at the airport with business cards. They collected thousands of them—literally thousands—and every single one was rejected."

"Everyone was rejected," someone else added bitterly. "The Morgan family. The Chen corporation. Even Governor Williams himself."

"So how did the Thompson family manage it?"

All eyes turned toward the center of the room, where Robert Thompson held court like a king, his wife Victoria beside him in a blood-red gown that probably cost six figures. Their son, Jason Thompson, stood nearby, chest puffed out with barely contained pride.

"Robert! You absolute genius!" A CEO clasped Robert's shoulder. "How did you convince the War God to attend your banquet?"

Robert waved his hand modestly, though his smile was anything but humble. "Oh, it was nothing really. Just happened to have the right connections at the right time."

"Nothing? Robert, every major family in five states tried and failed. You must have some incredible influence."

Victoria laughed, the sound like champagne bubbles. "My husband is simply exceptional. That's why the Thompson family has grown so successfully under his leadership."

"Absolutely!" another guest gushed. "The company valuation has tripled since you took over, hasn't it?"

"Four times, actually," Jason interjected proudly. "Father's business acumen is unmatched."

The crowd murmured appreciation. Robert soaked it in, his chest swelling.

An older woman in pearls shook her head admiringly. "You know, it's such a blessing that you took control when you did, Robert. Can you imagine if that little bastard—what was his name? Alexander?—if he had inherited everything?"

The festive atmosphere stuttered, then stopped entirely for half a heartbeat.

Then someone laughed. "Oh God, Alexander Kane! I'd almost forgotten about that piece of trash!"

The floodgates opened.

"That perverted little worm nearly destroyed this family's reputation!"

"Wasn't he the one who tried to rape his own stepmother?"

Victoria's face arranged itself into an expression of pained dignity. "On his wedding night, no less. I still have nightmares about that evening."

"How traumatic for you, dear," a society matron cooed sympathetically.

Robert's expression darkened with righteous anger. "That boy was a disgrace. An absolute disgrace to the Thompson name. The things he did—abandoning his bride, attacking Victoria—I couldn't let him taint this family any longer."

"You did the right thing throwing him out," the CEO agreed. "Some people are just born rotten."

"Born rotten?" Jason scoffed. "More like raised soft. Father gave him everything, and he repaid us with depravity."

A younger businessman raised his glass. "I heard he died in prison. Good riddance, I say."

"Hear, hear!"

"Should have died sooner, if you ask me."

"Saved the taxpayers money on a trial at least."

"Prison was too good for him. Should have been put down like a rabid dog."

The laughter grew crueler, feeding on itself. Victoria dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, playing the tragic victim perfectly.

"That animal put this family through hell," someone said. "Five years of people whispering behind our backs."

"All because one spoiled brat couldn't control his urges."

"Probably for the best he's dead. Imagine if he'd gotten out? Might have come crawling back, begging for scraps."

"Ha! Like we'd let that trash through the door!"

Robert held up his hands, his face serious but his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Please, everyone. Let's not speak ill of the dead, even if Alexander brought it upon himself. Tonight is about celebration, not the past."

The crowd quieted, properly chastened.

"You're right, of course," Margaret said. "Tonight is about the future. About the War God honoring your family."

Robert's smile returned. "Indeed. In fact—" He gestured to a servant, who handed him a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention!"

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Robert as he stepped onto the small stage that had been prepared.

"Thank you all for joining us this evening. The Thompson family is humbled and honored by your presence." He paused for effect. "But we are even more honored to announce that our most distinguished guest is already en route. The War God himself will be arriving at any moment!"

The ballroom exploded with applause. Champagne glasses raised in toast. People pressed closer to the entrance, jockeying for the best view.

"This is incredible!"

"The War God, here!"

"Thompson, you magnificent bastard, you actually did it!"

Victoria clasped her hands together, eyes shining with barely suppressed greed. "When he arrives, everyone must show proper respect. This is a man who saved our nation."

"And he chose your family to honor," someone added. "That says everything about the Thompson legacy."

Jason straightened his designer tie. "Father, should I be the one to greet him?"

"We'll greet him together, son. This is a family triumph."

The crowd positioned themselves strategically—close enough to seem interested, but not so close as to appear presumptuous. The most powerful people in the city arranged themselves like courtiers awaiting royalty.

Someone near the entrance called out, "I think I see headlights!"

"Is it him?"

"It must be!"

The massive double doors at the end of the red carpet began to swing open. Every conversation died. Every eye fixed on the entrance.

Slowly, deliberately, a figure emerged from the shadows beyond the doorway.

Tall. Ramrod straight posture. Military bearing evident in every step.

The figure walked forward into the light.

Robert's welcoming smile froze on his face.

Victoria's champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor.

Jason's face went from red to white in an instant.

Because the man walking down the red carpet toward them—the man the entire city had been waiting for, the man whose name shook nations—was not a stranger.

"Good evening," he said softly. "I believe I was invited to a banquet."

The silence was absolute.