PAYBACK Of Johnson Lancaster

Chapter 6: Executive Subjugation

The bright camera still flashed at the Ben Group anniversary gala. Down in the quiet back corner near the service exit, Johnson still sat in his metallic wheelchair.

He looked entirely out of place among the sea of expensive silk suits and glittering diamonds. Yet, as he watched the crowd laugh and sip champagne, his dark eyes remained focused.

Up on the raised stage, Haven Tyler was still soaking in the roaring applause, his ego puffed up to the size of a hot-air balloon.

Isabella adjusted her diamond necklace, sneering down at the back of the room with open, venomous disgust.

Right behind them, pushing her way through the cluster of corporate executives, came Mrs. June Rice.

The status-obsessed mother-in-law wore a heavy emerald dress that made her look like an over-decorated Christmas tree.

Her face was twisted into an ugly, triumphant smirk as she spotted Johnson sitting in his wheelchair.

"Look at him!" Mrs. Rice shrieked, her loud, grating voice cutting sharply through the ambient chatter of the room.

She pointed a ring-adorned finger straight at Johnson, drawing the attention of dozens of nearby guests. "Look at this shameless piece of trash! He actually had the nerve to roll his crippled body into a high-society gala just to beg for scraps!"

Isabella giggled softly, leaning her head against Haven’s shoulder. "Mom, don't waste your breath on him. He's probably hoping someone will take pity on him and throw a few dollar bills into his lap."

"A beggar in a wheelchair!" Mrs. Rice cackled, throwing her head back with cruel delight. "When you and Haven kicked him out, you should have thrown him into a dumpster where he belongs! How dare he show his pathetic face where real people of status are celebrating!"

Nearby guests turned their heads, joining in with loud, mocking jeers.

"Pathetic to behold," a wealthy socialite muttered, swirling her glass of wine. "If my husband came home in a wheelchair and jobless, I would have thrown him out the window, too."

Haven chuckled darkly, adjusting his lapels as he stared down at Johnson like a king looking at a stray dog. "Let him stay in his corner, everyone. Every circus needs a clown, and Johnson is playing the part to absolute perfection."

Johnson watched their smiling, arrogant faces with detachment.

Just as the laughter reached its peak, a sudden, heavy chill swept through the front entrance of the ballroom.

The loud chatter abruptly died down. Heads turned toward the VIP section as Elena, the elite regional director of the Ben Group, began to move.

She wore a crimson suit that radiated an aura of authority. Her face shone with elegance, her eyes cold and distant as she stepped away from her private table.

Instead of walking toward the stage to congratulate Haven, Elena bypassed the executives entirely. Her heels clicked sharply on the floor, a commanding sound that drew every eye in the room.

Isabella’s smirk faltered. She blinked, leaning forward on the stage. "Wait... where is Elena going? Is she walking toward... toward that cripple?"

Haven’s confident smile twitched. He squinted through the stage lights, a sudden knot of unease tightening in his stomach.

Elena did not stop. She walked straight past the rows of stunned guests, marched all the way to the back corner, and came to a halt directly beside Johnson’s wheelchair.

To the absolute shock of everyone in the room, Elena did not look down on him with contempt. Instead, her posture softened into one of deep, respectful deference. She bowed her head slightly toward Johnson, her voice clear across the suddenly silent hall.

"Mr. Johnson," Elena said smoothly, her tone filled with loyalty and respect. "The seating in this section is far too loud for you. Would you like me to have the private executive lounge opened up immediately?"

The entire ballroom hushed as if struck by lightning.

Glasses stopped halfway to their mouths. Whispers vanished into thin air. Isabella’s jaw dropped so low her teeth almost clicked together, while Haven gripped the edges of the podium, his face turning sour.

"What did she just call him?" Isabella thought, her mind violently short-circuiting. "Did Elena, an elite regional director who wouldn't even look at a CEO twice, just bow to a broken, penniless ex-husband?!"

Mrs. Rice staggered back a step, her hands flying to her chest. "Has Elena lost her mind?! Why is she bowing to that fool?! Is she blind?!"

Before anyone could recover from the shock, the double doors at the front of the hall burst open once again.

A fresh wave of security personnel flooded the room, parting down the center aisle to create a clear path. Flanked by a team of high-ranking legal advisors and corporate officers, Natasha stepped into the ballroom.

Her eyes were sharp as steel; her expression hid her fury as she scanned the room.

As Johnson’s sister and a figure in the upper echelons of the corporate world, Natasha’s sudden appearance sent a fresh wave of panic through the management team.

Haven scrambled forward, abandoning his microphone for a second as he desperately tried to fix his tie, to suck up to the arriving executive. "N-Natasha! Welcome! We are deeply honored—"

Natasha didn't even look at Haven. Her cold, piercing gaze locked straight onto the back corner of the room, specifically at the sight of Isabella, Haven, and Mrs. Rice pointing fingers and sneering down at Johnson in his wheelchair.

Blood boiled in Natasha's veins. These pathetic, ungrateful leeches had not only betrayed her brother, but they were publicly humiliating him while bathing in stolen success.

Natasha marched down the center aisle, her heels striking the floor. She stopped right beside Elena and Johnson, turning to face the stage with a voice that echoed like thunder through the massive sound system.

No one was aware that Natasha was Johnson's younger sister, and the knowledge would reveal Johnson's identity and ultimately blow his cover.

She wasn't in support of Johnson living as a live-in son-in-law in disguise, but had to stick to the game plan.

"Haven Tyler," Natasha called out, her voice dripping with lethal contempt. "You and your pathetic family have crossed a line you can never step back across."

Haven swallowed hard, his knees shaking slightly under the pressure. He forced a stiff, nervous smile, trying to salvage his dignity in front of the entire elite society. "Natasha, there must be some kind of misunderstanding... we were just dealing with a trespasser, a jobless ex-husband who—"

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Natasha snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "You stand up on that stage acting like a king, yet you are nothing more than a blind insect barking at the man who saved my life two years ago!”

“Apologize to him right now! Bow down and beg for forgiveness, or I will strip your title, dissolve your contracts, and throw your entire family out onto the street within the hour!"

The ballroom erupted into chaos.

Gasping echoes bounced off the walls. Guests stared back and forth between Natasha, Elena, and the wheelchair in disbelief.

Isabella clutched her head, her face twisting in pure hysteria. "No! This is insane! Natasha, have you gone mad?! Why are you defending this crippled loser just because he saved your life?! He is nothing! He has no money, no job, and no family!"

Mrs. Rice shrieked, her eyes glaring at Natasha. "You must be out of your mind! That man is good for nothing! Why are you demanding my future son-in-law bow to a beggar?! Because of some little nice gesture he did two years ago?"

Up on the stage, Haven’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. Panic clawed at his throat, but his bloated ego and deep, desperate ignorance refused to let him see beyond mere eyes.

His brain desperately searched for any excuse, any delusion whatsoever to protect his fragile pride.

Suddenly, a twisted, arrogant light flashed in Haven's eyes. He threw his head back and let out a loud, high-pitched laugh that sounded entirely unhinged.

"I see what's happening!" Haven shouted into his microphone, flashing a bloodshot gaze toward Johnson with a smug grin. "You two! Elena! Natasha! You're falling for this con artist's tricks!"

Isabella blinked through her widened eyes, latching onto Haven's words like a drowning swimmer grabbing a lifeline. "What do you mean, Haven?!"

Haven puffed out his chest again, his arrogant smirk returning with a vengeance as he looked down at Johnson with renewed contempt.

"Look at him! He's sitting in a wheelchair looking like a stray! He has no money of his own, so he must have spent the last few weeks using his face! He's nothing more than a cheap, shameless gigolo sleeping around with wealthy corporate women!"

The high-society crowd gasped, and then a wave of understanding washed over the room.

"Of course!" guests muttered to one another, nodding sagely. "A gigolo! That explains why high-profile women like Elena and Natasha are standing near him! He's just a kept man using his good looks!"

Isabella let out a shrill, hysterical sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Oh, thank god! You're right, Haven! He's just a filthy gigolo! He probably seduced them with lies just to sneak into this gala!"

Mrs. Rice cackled loudly, her confidence instantly returning as she pointed at Johnson with renewed venom. "You disgusting womanizer! You really think sleeping around gives you status?! You're still a penniless buffoon!"

Down in the wheelchair, Johnson let out a single, soundless breath. He raised his hand, making a subtle, two-finger gesture toward Natasha.

Natasha caught the signal instantly. Her glacial expression dissolved into a razor-sharp, predatory grin.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped a single button, and projected a live financial feed onto the massive overhead LED screen behind the stage, revealing that the entire Ben Group liquidity pool had just been frozen under a court-ordered emergency audit initiated by Lancaster Capital.