SON-IN-LAW BY DAY, UNDERGROUND KING BY NIGHT

6

.”

Thompson held the car door open for Mikael, and they both climbed into the nearest sedan, the convoy starting its movement immediately.

“How?” Mikael asked, his gaze fixed on the older man. “By involving the Charles family? Do you know what kind of power she has? This complicates everything.”

“Believe me, I didn't willingly tell her about you, sir. She approached me with the information. She came up with the final plan that ensures your absolute freedom. You died,” Thompson said simply, sliding a set of official-looking documents and a grainy photograph across to Mikael as the car drove smoothly through the night. “A cellmate, ‘driven to fall’ by the harsh prison life, took his own life last night. Unfortunately, the circumstances were so messy that the body is ‘unidentifiable’ until an autopsy is completed. The news is already making its way through the right, bribed channels. Mikael Dray is officially gone forever.”

Mikael picked up the photograph. It was blurry, showing a commotion in a prison corridor—the same image Helen had shown him on her tablet. The details were indistinct, but the narrative was horrifyingly clear: he was dead, vanished forever. The only evidence of his existence now belonged to the man sitting in front of him.

“How did she manage to make it so clean, or did you involve the Carters?” Mikael murmured, a chilling realization settling in. He did not want to owe anyone outside of his immediate, loyal circle. “I hope you didn’t do that, Thompson, because I don’t want my history to be known.”

“I followed your exact instructions, sir, of not involving the Carters when you went to prison,” Thompson confirmed with a decisive nod. “Miss Charles simply provided the political leverage and the untraceable funds to make the bureaucracy move perfectly. We had to break you down to nothing, Mikael, so you could rebuild without their shackles and without any possibility of Arthur coming after you again.”

Mikael looked out the tinted window, still unable to fully grasp the fact that he was already out of prison and untouchable. The convoy of sleek, black, unmarked sedans followed their lead car, their engines idling softly, waiting patiently for his command. The entire scene was a dramatic display of hidden, quiet power.

“Mr. Dray, a luxury suite is ready for you in the heart of the city,” Mr. Thompson stated, gesturing toward the lead car at their front. “We have everything you need. All we await is your command.”

Mikael inhaled the freedom of the city air deeply. He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair, the thin, cheap prison clothes feeling like a deliberate insult against his newly acquired freedom.

“The suite can wait,” Mikael said, a rare, hard glint of defiance settling in his eyes. “But for now, I want a drink. A congratulations-you-are-out-of-prison drink. A very public one.”

Thompson nodded, taking out his phone.

“What about Miss Helen? What should I tell her when she calls or invites me over?” Thompson asked, looking for clear instructions on how to handle the powerful young woman.

“Tell her I am not interested in her proposal. Tell her I will send the reimbursement check and that I wish her luck with her father,” Mikael commanded, his tone final.

Thompson smiled, a genuine expression of profound relief that Mikael’s focus was sharp and ruthless, not sentimental. “Your wish is my command, sir.”

Mikael’s voice gained a sudden, commanding resonance that instantly drew the attention of the waiting men. He spoke into the car phone connected to the security detail. “Everyone, we are going to the McPherson Bar. Proceed immediately.” He paused, turning to Thompson with a calculated glint in his eye. “And Thompson, I want to own that bar, hotel and all, by the time my first drink is poured at the table.”

“Yes, sir,” Thompson and all the men answered in unison, the command confirmed across the closed communication line.

The convoy immediately increased speed, slicing through the city traffic with practiced ease. Within minutes, they arrived at the McPherson Bar, a dimly lit, upscale establishment known for its high-end clientele and expensive drinks.

Mikael and his impressive entourage took a large, semi-private booth in the back. Thompson immediately secured a phone call, quietly initiating the complex, corporate takeover of the property, a task made easy by the shadow funds they controlled, buying out the failing owner in a matter of minutes.

A nervous waiter, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of serious men, brought their order—a round of top-shelf scotch. Mikael raised his heavy glass.

“To the future,” Mikael toasted, his voice low and intense. “And to never being a stray dog again.”

“To the future, sir,” Thompson and the men echoed, clinking their glasses quietly.

They drank, the smooth, aged liquor a welcome, luxurious burn in Mikael’s throat. Thompson leaned in. “It’s done, sir. The McPherson Hotel and Bar now belongs to your holding company. We will finalize the paperwork in the morning. You are the legal owner.”

As the quiet congratulations continued, a sudden, sharp commotion erupted near the front entrance, cutting dramatically through the soft jazz music and conversation.

A woman’s voice, sharp and stressed with panic, cut through the noise. “Leave me alone! I said leave me alone!”

Mikael looked over immediately. A beautiful woman, dressed elegantly, was struggling fiercely to pull away from an older man in a loud, expensive suit. A hulking bouncer stepped in quickly to mediate.

The Bouncer spoke stiffly, trying to maintain order. “Sir, how can I help you resolve this situation peacefully?”

The Elderly Man scowled, tightening his grip on the woman’s arm, his face red and angry. “She is my blind date for the evening. We were set for tonight, but now I want her to come with me to my place as per the agreement we discussed. She’s suddenly refusing to honor her part.”

The Bouncer turned to the woman. “Lady, is he saying the truth about the arrangement?”

“He is lying!” the woman cried out, pulling harder, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes. “It was supposed to be just a blind date. He’s trying to force me into something I don’t want to do. I just want to get out of here, please!”

The woman finally wrenched her arm free with a desperate movement, causing the bouncer to step forward quickly to separate them completely. In the sudden scuffle, the woman stumbled backward, losing her balance on the slippery floor. She fell awkwardly, crying out sharply as her lower back hit the floor with a painful thud. “Ouuuch!”

Mikael pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. The sight of a woman in distress, helpless, and now in pain, cut through his carefully constructed coldness. He moved to stand up, but Thompson immediately placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, his expression urgent and deeply worried.

“No, sir. You absolutely cannot afford to do that, not after four years in prison,” Thompson cautioned, his voice strained and low. “Remember Arthur’s threats. Any public incident, any accusation of violence or assault, and they will drag you back in a heartbeat using your old record as proof. We just got you out, Mikael. Please, let the staff handle it.”

Mikael’s eyes narrowed, fixed on the man who was still shouting threats at the fallen woman. He removed Thompson’s hand with a decisive, firm movement, rising slowly to his full, imposing height.

“I just bought this place, Mr. Thompson,” Mikael said, his voice hard, reflecting his new, dangerous freedom and proprietorship. “You know how I do business. I leave no loose ends aside. And you also know that Mikael Dray is dead. The man dealing with this now is the owner, and the owner is the law in his establishment.”