RULE NUMBER ONE: DON'T MESS WITH MR. BURGESS

CHAPTER 4

Garrick Nash lowered his head even further, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands at his sides. 

The billionaire tycoon, who held the financial fate of entire conglomerates in his hands, looked like a defeated soldier awaiting execution.

"Forgive me, Boss," Garrick choked out, a cold sweat breaking out beneath his flawless, custom-tailored suit. "My wording was a grave insult to your name. I will personally ensure that the title of 'Mrs. Burgess' is legally expunged from every database on Earth, so that her name never taints yours again."

Warden Victor Cross felt his knees buckle.

He lunged for the edge of his desk just to keep from collapsing onto the polished floor. 

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

‘Divorced? One year ago?’

The Warden’s mind raced frantically through the dozens of phone calls he had received over the past twelve months. 

Calls from Dominic Vokal. 

Calls from Harlyn Darrow’s personal secretaries. 

They had funneled millions into his offshore accounts to make Slayde Burgess’s life a living hell. 

They had ordered him to arrange accidents in the showers, unleash the prison's most ruthless gangs, and starve him into submission.

Cross had blindly assumed he was helping a powerful, grieving CEO punish her treacherous, fraud-committing ex-husband. 

He thought he was doing a favor for the city's elite.

But looking at Garrick Nash, a man whose net worth could buy this entire state, bowing like a broken servant, the horrifying truth finally shattered the Warden's delusion.

Slayde Burgess hadn't been trapped here. 

He had been biding his time.

"M-Mr. Nash..." Cross stammered, his voice reduced to a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. 

He took a trembling step forward, his previous power-tripping rage utterly forgotten. 

"There... there must be some kind of misunderstanding. The paperwork from the federal court explicitly stated that Burgess was a dangerous corporate spy—"

Slayde didn't even turn his head. 

He simply shifted his eyes toward the coffee table, his expression completely flat.

"Garrick," Slayde murmured.

"Yes, Boss!" Garrick responded instantly, straightening his spine just enough to show his absolute readiness to execute any order.

"The Warden's voice is grating on my nerves," Slayde said, his tone entirely devoid of emotion. "And I still haven't seen the final release papers signed."

Garrick’s eyes flashed with a sudden sharpness behind his silver-rimmed glasses. 

The submissive, tense posture he held before Slayde vanished the moment he turned to face Warden Cross. 

In a fraction of a second, the cold, terrifying aura of a multi-billionaire shadow tycoon returned.

Garrick stepped toward the desk, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the floor. 

He didn't say a word. He merely reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek, matte-black tablet, and tossed it casually onto Cross’s desk.

"Warden Cross," Garrick said, his voice dropping into a chilling, corporate drone. "At exactly 11:00 AM today, Nash Global Holdings finalized the acquisition of the private security firm that funds this entire penitentiary. As of six minutes ago, you no longer work for the state. You work for me."

Cross blinked, his face draining of all color as he stared down at the tablet. 

The screen displayed an official, encrypted corporate registry.

His name was listed right at the top, directly beneath a massive red stamp that read: TERMINATION PENDING AUDIT.

"Furthermore," Garrick continued, leaning forward slightly, his silver glasses catching the harsh fluorescent light of the office, "we have spent the last year monitoring every single offshore transaction routed from Dominic Vokal’s shadow accounts into your personal Cayman registry. Every bribe you took to arrange 'accidents' for my Boss has been logged, certified, and handed to the Supreme Court. The only reason federal agents aren't storming this room right now to throw you in a cage next to the very men you lock up... is that the Boss hasn't decided what to do with you yet."

Warden Cross gasped for air, his hands shaking so violently that he knocked over a gold pen holder. 

The heavy pens clattered across the wood, echoing loudly in the dead silence of the room. 

He looked at Slayde, who was still sitting lazily on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other, completely unbothered by the absolute ruin of a man’s life happening right in front of him.

"P-Please..." Cross whimpered, scrambling around the desk and dropping straight to his knees on the hard floor. 

He crawled a few inches toward Slayde, his eyes wide with pure terror. 

"Mr. Burgess... I didn't know! I was just following orders from Vokal Tech! They told me you were a nobody! If I knew who you were, I would have given you the executive suite! I would have served you myself!"

Slayde finally looked down at the pathetic man kneeling before him. 

A cold, knowing smile barely touched his lips, the exact same smile he had given the transfer inmates in the yard right before shattering their bones.

"You tried to starve me for three weeks in solitary, Cross," Slayde said softly, his voice cutting through the Warden's frantic apologies. "You sent the Iron Blood gang into my cell block with shivs. You even cut the power to the laundry block during the winter freeze."

Slayde leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pinning the Warden with a gaze so heavy it felt like a physical weight crushing the man's chest.

"Did you really think your little prison could break a titan?" Slayde asked flatly.

"No! No, I was a fool! A stupid, arrogant fool!" Cross shrieked, tears of genuine terror spilling over his cheeks. 

He frantically snatched the official release document from his desk, along with a gold fountain pen, holding them up with both hands like an offering to a wrathful god.

"The clearance is already pushed through the federal registry! You are entirely free, Mr. Burgess! All records of your arrest have been permanently erased from history! Just sign the physical copy for the local log, and you can leave! Please!"

Slayde looked at the gold pen, then reached out and casually plucked it from the Warden’s trembling fingers. 

With a swift, elegant motion, he scribbled his signature across the bottom of the document.

The moment the ink dried, Slayde stood up.

He didn't look at Cross again. He didn't need to. 

The man was already dead in the eyes of the financial and legal world.