2026-05-26 16:52:37
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Chapter Seventy: The Mayor's Offer
The thick, heavy silence that had settled over the ballroom upon Jack's entrance slowly began to fracture. A low murmur of voices replaced it. Even with James and Mary standing near the front of the room, the gravity of the entire event had completely shifted toward the isolated corner where Jack stood with Jane and Brandon.Jack quietly exhaled, his gaze sharpening as he continued to scan the crowd. Now that Jane was standing close as his official date for the evening, her stunning white dress and the sharp, protective aura she radiated kept the opportunistic guests at a distance.“Boss,” Brandon leaned in, whispering with a serious expression. “This crowd… Please don't trust them.”Jack arched his brows and nodded slowly. “I almost got fooled for a second, thinking they truly respected me. They're all hypocrites, just like most people in the city…”‘They do not love me…’ he added inwardly. ‘They only fear me…’And fear always bred resentment…and then, rebellion.“Don't worry about t
Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Grand Ball
The Grand Municipal Estate sat like a fortress of old money on the highest crest of the city's northern district. Tonight, its towering white marble pillars were bathed in the luminance of hidden ground-lighting… They cast long shadows against the stone facade. A massive limestone fountain bubbled at the center of the curving cobblestone driveway, its cascading waters catching the amber glow of the gas-lit torches lining the perimeter.This was Mayor Garrick BlueBird’s annual birthday gala, the undisputed epicenter of Kansas City’s true power structure.Outside the main entrance, a continuous parade of luxury vehicles drove along the pavement…Custom-armored Cadillac Escalades, pristine Rolls-Royce Phantoms, and low-rumbling Bentleys came to a smooth halt one after the other. The chauffeurs knew their duties and rushed toward the vehicles in crisp white gloves and black vests. They opened the doors, shielding the occupants from the chilling evening breeze.The air outside was thick wit
Chapter Sixty-Eight: Roses are Red
Mary's expression twisted as she watched the news. Her gaze was fixated on the news reporter, Martha, whose expression was stern as she talked on TV.“...Once more we are left with a heavy question in our hearts,” Mary said, her expression becoming solemn… It was as if she'd rehearsed this moment perfectly.She paused, exhaled, and shifted her gaze from the camera. A few seconds passed before she continued. “Are we still safe in Kansas City? Or has this city turned into the Valley of Death?”The news ended there, followed by a soap commercial. Mary was enraged and clenched her fists, flinging the remote across the room. She couldn't take the horrendous news anymore…“H-how can they believe that narrative?!” She asked herself, biting her lips. “Why would they think James is nothing but a corrupt billionaire colluding with criminal suspects…”For an entire week, several news channels had taken turns exposing her husband. It was unknown how they ended up with videos of James and his deal
Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Tycoon’s Ledger
For seven straight days, Kansas City was engulfed in a ruthless media firestorm. The leaked video of billionaire James Whitefield and the corrupt officers of the Kansas City Police Department meeting in that secluded alley on St. Jones Street was all over the news. Every major network, internet blog, and social media platform was screaming about the instant corruption. The public was absolutely furious, and the massive backlash forced the police department’s internal affairs to terminate the officers involved to protect their own skin. James Whitefield’s corporate reputation was burning, and his company’s stock prices were dropping violently by the hour. Financial analysts were already predicting a massive collapse if the board of directors couldn't contain the bleeding. But Jack didn't hear out, even though he was supposed to take out James Whitefield. Instead, he remained at the Neuman mansion, refusing to care about the noise outside. He ignored the media storm, refusing to take
Chapter Sixty-Six: The Master’s Combat Journey
Jack stood by the wide glass window of his study, his hands buried deep within his trousers pockets. It was evening and the sun was setting, its golden rays cutting across his face and painting the room in a crimson hue. It was such a picturesque scene that any artist would appreciate, but he was trapped in his thoughts. His mind was fixated on the blue interface of the system that had just labeled his mission as ‘Hard.’ It gave him one full month to eliminate James Whitefield, or he would meet instant death. He couldn't help but recall how snarky and funny the system had been those past few weeks… It didn't match the ominous warning within the message. He sighed and turned around, his eyes locking onto Jane who was still standing near his desk. She was also staring at him, her hand hovering in the air where she had just touched his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said and lowered it, looking down. She thought Jack was annoyed because she touched him. But she was wrong, because the next
Chapter Sixty-Five: “Mission Level… Hard!”
Jack sat behind his study desk, his eyes fixated on the piece of paper lying on the table. He held a black pen in his right hand, nodding slowly. Occasionally, he tapped the pen against the desk as he ransacked his mind for more strategists. He was currently laying out his plans against James Whitefield, but wasn’t sure it'd be an easy win. Although his enemies would view him as a manipulator, he preferred to describe himself as a strategist. As someone who'd been a financial consultant for years, he'd mastered the art of getting things from people. He did it by exploiting his targets’ fears, egos, and dreams, making them break and give him whatever he wanted. It worked with Winston and Darlington… The ex-agent had given him everything he wanted. But the case was different with James Whitefield… He believed every billionaire out there wasn't innocent… They'd definitely exploited people to get where they were. And since James Whitefield was a billionaire, he was a master of this art o
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