2025-04-11 18:17:40The moment Mr. Tusk gave the order, the security guards moved.
Jackson didn’t flinch.
Instead, he turned to Mr. Tusk, eyes calm but sharp. “And who exactly are you to order my arrest?”
The audacity.
The lounge went silent. Even the air seemed to pause.
The girls in the reception area exchanged quick glances, their expressions shifting from contempt to shock.
He was being accused of theft. At Evergreen Lounge. And yet—he had the nerve to stand there, unbothered, challenging one of the wealthiest regulars?
Who was this guy?
Mr. Tusk’s gaze darkened. “Are you questioning me?”
Jackson’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk, but close.
“I don’t recall this lounge being owned by a ‘Mr. Tusk.’ So, yes. I am questioning you.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Even Tricia, the lead receptionist, hesitated.
She had already dismissed Jackson as a nobody—but now, his confidence was making her second-guess.
Mr. Tusk’s date—his ‘exotic’ girlfriend, as she clearly wanted to be perceived—let out an amused laugh, breaking the tension. She clutched onto his arm, looking up at him with mock concern.
“Baby, I thought you said Evergreen Lounge was the most luxurious and exclusive place in Sky Tower.” She glanced at Jackson, nose scrunching. “If that’s true, then… why is someone like him here?”
Jackson had met people like her before. The kind who only valued others based on who they knew and how much they had.
It wasn’t new. It wasn’t surprising.
But it was always disgusting.
Tricia stepped forward, all too eager to fix the ‘situation.’
“Apologies, Mr. Tusk,” she said, voice smooth with practiced customer service. “This won’t take long. I’ll have him removed immediately.”
Mr. Tusk barely spared her a glance. “See that you do. I have foreign guests coming soon, and I don’t want him lurking around. Even our staff are better dressed than this.”
His girlfriend giggled, clearly pleased. “And let’s not forget your relationship with Mr. Webb.”
Carl Webb. The owner of Evergreen Lounge.
Jackson caught the flicker of pride in Mr. Tusk’s expression.
So that was his real power here.
Not wealth. Not status.
Just connections.
Jackson exhaled slowly. He had been here less than an hour, and already, people like Tusk were revealing themselves.
Tricia turned to Jackson, her patience wearing thin. “Sir, I’m asking you one last time—leave. Or security will remove you.”
Jackson met her gaze. Then, without a word, he pulled out his phone.
Tricia’s jaw tensed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making a call.”
The audacity.
The exotic girlfriend let out another laugh, louder this time. “Who on earth could you possibly call?” She turned to the receptionists. “Do you hear this? He actually thinks he has connections.”
Mr. Tusk smirked, amused. “Alright. Let’s see it then.”
Jackson didn’t respond. He just dialed the number.
Mr. Copper.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
Jackson frowned slightly and tried again.
Still no answer.
Tricia folded her arms, clearly impatient.
Mr. Tusk and his girlfriend exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.
“This is embarrassing,” the woman giggled. “Baby, please, show him what real connections look like.”
Mr. Tusk played along, pretending to hesitate. “I don’t know… should I?”
The pressure worked. She kept pushing, and he gave in.
With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled out his own phone. “Fine. Since you insist…”
Jackson watched, curious.
Who was he calling?
“Carl Webb,” Tusk announced. “The man who actually owns this place.”
But his girlfriend wasn’t impressed.
She pouted, shaking her head. “That’s too easy. If you really want to prove a point, you should call Carl Webb’s boss.”
Mr. Tusk froze.
The smirk on his face stiffened for half a second before he quickly recovered.
Jerry Haas.
The real power behind Sky Tower.
Mr. Tusk didn’t have Jerry Haas’ number.
The closest they had ever been was a handshake at the grand opening of Evergreen Lounge.
And even then—Jerry hadn’t even been paying attention.
Still, the pressure was on.
His girlfriend was watching, waiting, expecting him to prove himself.
So he faked confidence.
With a lazy chuckle, he said, “Calling Mr. Haas over something so small? That’s beneath him. He’s an important man—he wouldn’t waste his time on this.”
His girlfriend, however, wasn’t letting it go.
She tilted her head, unimpressed. “Then try. Call him now.”
The words hit like a challenge.
Now, everyone was watching.
Tricia looked nervous. The other receptionists were struggling to hide their curiosity.
Jackson… simply waited.
Mr. Tusk hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing a few buttons on his phone. Then, with all the arrogance he could muster, he held it up to his ear.
The call rang once.
Twice.
Then—busy tone.
His heart pounded.
He already knew why it was busy.
Jerry Haas didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers.
Mr. Tusk’s number was unknown.
And just like that, his entire act crumbled.
But he wasn’t about to admit it.
He lowered his phone with a fake amused chuckle. “Ah. Must be the network.”
His girlfriend frowned. “Try again.”
Tusk wiped his palms on his trousers, forcing a smile. “No need for that. I’ll just call Carl Webb instead.”
Before he could dial, a low chuckle came from beside him.
Jackson.
The sound wasn’t loud, but in that moment—it felt deafening.
Tusk snapped his head toward him.
Jackson wasn’t mocking him outright.
He was just smiling.
And somehow—that was worse.
Tusk’s face burned.
He felt exposed, humiliated, played.
“What’s so funny?” he snapped.
Jackson simply shook his head, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
He didn’t even have to answer.
The damage was done.
Fuming, Tusk dialed Carl Webb’s number.
This time, the call was picked up immediately.
Within minutes, Carl Webb himself appeared at the scene, his sharp eyes scanning the room.
At the same time—Jackson’s phone buzzed.
He answered calmly.
“Mr. Copper.”
The older man’s voice came through instantly, sounding apologetic.
“Jackson, my deepest apologies. I missed your calls—I was in the shower.”
Jackson’s voice remained neutral. “It’s fine.”
“What’s going on?”
Jackson glanced at the scene in front of him.
Then, casually, he said:
“I’m at Evergreen Lounge. Some people here seem to think I don’t belong.”
Silence.
Then—Mr. Copper’s tone shifted.
Sharp. Cold.
“Give me two minutes. I’m calling Jerry.”
Jackson smiled.
This night was about to get very interesting.
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