Now You Beg Me

Chapter 4. Envoy of the Northern Consortium

“We know what you took out of that building, Ethan.”

Ethan did not look away from the monitor. His fingers paused over the sticky keyboard, several of its letters already worn smooth. The presence of two men in gray suits on either side of him made the cramped one-by-one meter cubicle feel suddenly starved of oxygen.

The man on his right tossed a brown envelope onto the table. It landed with a dull thud.

“An advance,” he said. His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the constant hum of the internet café servers.

“People from the North always know how to appreciate talent that is… losing its direction.”

Ethan let the envelope sit there. He picked up his coffee, took a slow sip, then leaned back against the plastic chair, which creaked in protest under his weight. His gaze dipped briefly, catching a small detail on the cuff of the speaker’s shirt. A subtle embroidery shaped like an eagle.

Very refined, but unmistakable.

The Consortium. They were not even trying to hide it.

“So Robert Sterling’s ledger is worth this little now?”

Ethan smirked faintly, nudging the envelope away with the back of his hand. It was not even half an inch thick.

“This won’t even cover the cost of me running after I leak that data.”

The man on his left, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. With casual ease, he yanked the keyboard cable from Ethan’s PC, cutting his work off instantly.

“Listen,” he whispered, his presence far more lethal than his partner’s. “You are no longer Sterling’s golden boy. You are a drifter who happens to have a sharp memory. Take the envelope, hand over the copy, or we will not bother offering a second option.”

Ethan did not blink. The game had just shifted from a street-level threat into something much bigger. He needed more pieces of the puzzle, but he had to dig without looking like he was digging.

“Why go through the trouble of buying me?” Ethan crossed his arms, looking at them in turn. “The Young Master is back on his throne. Liam has access to all of Robert’s vaults now. Ask him.”

The man on the right let out a soft snort, a mocking chuckle slipping from his lips.

“That arrogant brat?” he scoffed, flicking his hand as if swatting a fly. “He cannot even tell the difference between a tax report and an apartment brochure. Our employer needs the full map. Someone who knows exactly where Robert buried the bodies. Not a defective pawn who only knows how to burn money on his new woman.”

Ethan’s face remained unreadable, but inside, a new piece of information locked firmly into place.

Defective pawn. Our employer.

Liam had never accidentally found his way back to the Sterling family. The boy was stupid and easily steered. The Northern Consortium was not taking advantage of his return, they orchestrated it. Liam was not just a lost son. He was a Trojan horse in human form, and far too foolish to realize it.

Ethan shifted his gaze back to the brown envelope on the table. A faint smile finally appeared.

“I see,” he murmured. “You brought a pig into the house, and now you need a butcher to tell you where the best cuts are.”

“If Liam is already in your hands, why bother chasing the ledger from me?” Ethan pressed again, testing the limits of their patience.

The man on the right clicked his tongue sharply. “That is none of your concern. Our employer prefers to work clean. It is not enough to bankrupt Robert. He has to be buried alive behind bars. Now, hand over the data.”

Ethan smiled faintly. A tired smile, but enough to make the veins on the man’s neck stand out in anger.

His confirmation was complete.

Sterling Group was digging its own grave, and they had opened the gates wide for the gravedigger.

“Take your pocket change and leave,” Ethan muttered, brushing the envelope off the table. “I do not deal with lackeys.”

The man on his right lost his patience. Without warning, he grabbed Ethan’s damp jacket collar and yanked him forward. A raw punch slammed hard into Ethan’s jaw.

His head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood instantly filled his mouth. If his body had not been shaking with fever since last night, that arm would have already been broken. But now, even his vision was spinning.

The man pressed forward again, shoving Ethan’s throat until his back hit the thin plywood partition of the cubicle. Trapped, Ethan’s right hand groped blindly across the table. His fingers brushed against the plastic cup of still-hot coffee. Without thinking, he flung its contents straight into his attacker’s face.

The man cursed loudly, his grip loosening as both hands flew to his scalded face.

Seeing his partner stagger, the second man lunged from the left. Ethan had no time to think. He grabbed the heavy keyboard, yanked it free until the cable snapped, then swung it with full force into the man’s face.

Crash!

Keys scattered into the air. The sharp crack of cartilage breaking was followed by fresh blood pouring from the man’s nose. His body reeled backward, crashing into another customer’s chair before collapsing onto the floor.

The commotion threw the entire place into chaos. The attendant shouted from the operator desk. Chairs scraped loudly as people pushed back and gathered.

Realizing the situation could turn into a mob attack, the first man quickly pulled his groaning partner up.

“This is not over, bastard,” he hissed through the pain. The two of them rushed out, disappearing into the heavy rain beyond the glass door.

The moment they were gone, Ethan’s remaining strength drained completely. He coughed violently, spitting a streak of red onto the floor, then slumped weakly in his chair. Clutching his cramping stomach, he shut his eyes, fighting off the dizziness and the cold that now cut deeper into his bones.

His head throbbed. He pressed his forehead against the dusty table, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady his trembling body.

He just needed to last until morning.

The drizzle finally stopped as the sky turned into the dirty gray of early morning.

The screech of tires against wet asphalt slowly pulled Ethan’s eyes open. A black European sedan had stopped outside, its license plate striking yet understated enough to suggest its owner did not like being disturbed.

The front passenger door opened. Victoria stepped out. No umbrella, no hesitation. Her heels moved quickly through the puddles toward the internet café. Her dark gray suit looked too pristine, too expensive for a place like this.

She entered, scanned the room briefly, then walked straight to cubicle number nine. Her expression remained flat, professional, but there was a trace of relief in her eyes when she found him.

“My apologies for being slightly late,” Victoria said softly, her voice nearly a whisper yet firm.

Ethan tried to push himself up from the chair. The moment he put weight on his legs, his vision spun. Before he could stagger, Victoria’s hand was already on his arm, supporting his weight with practiced balance.

“The car is outside,” she said, wasting no time.

“Get me out of here,” Ethan muttered hoarsely, letting her guide him through the cold morning air.

The driver had already pulled the black sedan into motion, cutting through the wet streets before the stunned attendant could even close his mouth.

The warm cabin temperature slowly eased the shivering in Ethan’s shoulders. He let his body sink into the leather seat, eyes closed as he endured the sharp ache at the back of his head.

From the front seat, Victoria turned slightly. She opened a small carbon steel compartment and handed him a retina scanner the size of a cigarette pack.

Without a word, Ethan leaned forward. Infrared light swept across his eyes in silence. A soft beep followed, and the indicator shifted from red to a steady green.

A silent witness that the discarded dog of the Sterling family had just reactivated control access to tens of billions of dollars belonging to Apex Capital.

“The port?” Ethan asked hoarsely, eyes still closed.

“Red light. Their steel will not move,” Victoria reported efficiently, her fingers moving quickly across the tablet screen. “Sterling Tower is completely paralyzed as of this morning.”

She passed the tablet back. “Panic has begun among the board. Robert is scrambling, contacting every bank he knows for emergency liquidity.”

Ethan opened his eyes, glancing briefly at the red volatility graph on the screen. “Pressure those banks. Shut off all their credit lines.”

“I can release the order now, but…” Victoria paused as he handed the tablet back. Her gaze sharpened.

“The Northern Consortium is waiting on the sidelines. If we suffocate Sterling today, they will step in with cheap funding and take them over. We will lose foreclosure rights.”

Ethan froze. The pain in his head was briefly forgotten, replaced by a cold surge of adrenaline. The words from last night echoed in his mind. The Consortium wanted Sterling destroyed.

“Let Robert borrow money, sir,” Victoria suggested calmly, her tone lethal in its composure. “But from us. Use our shell investment firm in the Caymans. Offer him a toxic interest rate secured against all Sterling Group assets. Let him place his own neck into our noose.”

Ethan stared at his assistant in silence for a few seconds.

Slowly, a crooked smile formed on his pale face.

“Do it,” Ethan murmured.

“Make sure the draft agreement is on Robert’s desk before lunch.”