The God of War Comeback

Chapter 9

Julius's legs gave out; he dropped to his knees the moment he saw the president walk through the door, his cane tapping against the marble floor like a countdown.

Jonathan Adams was in his fifties, hair grey at the temples, his eyes sharp behind thick glasses that had seen too much and forgiven too little. Two bodyguards flanked him, silent and massive, and every staff member in the hall lowered their heads the second his gaze swept past them.

"Mr. Adams, thank God you're here." Julius pressed his handkerchief to his nose, blood soaking through the white cloth. He pointed a shaking finger at Alfred. "This man attacked me; he walked in demanding a hundred thousand dollar loan, and when I refused because of his record, he lost his mind. He beat me and Gerald half to death. If the police hadn't come, he would have killed us."

Gerald staggered to his feet, cradling his hand against his chest. "He broke my fingers, Mr. Adams. Look at me. This man is a criminal; he needs to be locked up for life."

Alfred didn't move; he watched Adams, and when their eyes met, he saw the flicker of recognition pass through the old man's face. "If I were you," Alfred said, his voice low and even, "I wouldn't believe a word this man says."

Angela stepped closer to Alfred's side, her hand brushing his sleeve without thinking. She had seen enough people cower before Adams to know what usually came next, and her stomach twisted with dread.

Adams crossed the room; every step echoed. Julius smiled with each one, certain the cane was about to come down on Alfred's skull. Instead, Adams stopped in front of Alfred and bowed his head, just slightly, the way a man bows to someone he respects and fears in equal measure.

"You must be Mr. Alfred." His voice had lost its edge, replaced with something close to humility. "I'm sorry for what you've experienced here. This is not how my bank operates, and I intend to find out exactly what happened. Please, follow my men to my office. I'll join you shortly."

The room went silent.

Gerald's mouth fell open, while Julius stared, blood still dripping from his nose, unable to understand why the most powerful man in the building was apologising to the man he'd just accused of assault.

Alfred studied him for a long moment before nodding once. "Fine. I'll wait. But you had better handle this the right way, Adams, or I'll make sure the right people hear about it."

The threat landed like a blade; Adams's jaw tightened, and something close to fear crossed his face. He knew exactly what the right people meant. It meant his license. It meant everything he had built over thirty years, gone in a single phone call.

He turned back to Julius so fast his coat snapped through the air. "Do you want to destroy me, Julius? Is that what this is? You think I built this bank so you could throw it away over your own greed?"

Before Julius could answer, the cane cracked across his head. He screamed, dropping to the floor, both hands flying up to cover the wound.

"You son of a bitch," Adams hissed.

Gerald took a step forward, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Mr. Adams, wait. You haven't even asked what happened. How can you take his word over ours? He works for you, we've worked together for years, and you should know whom to believe."

Adams turned on him next, and the slap came so fast that Gerald didn't have time to brace for it. His head snapped sideways, and he crashed into the wall, sliding down it, stunned.

"Spoiled brat," Adams said coldly. "I blame myself for doing business with your family."

Whispers broke out across the room, staff members exchanging glances, too afraid to speak louder than a murmur.

Adams turned to Angela, his voice softening again. "Ma'am, you were here. Tell me what really happened; I need the truth."

Angela's throat tightened. She looked at Alfred, and he gave her the smallest nod, enough to steady her. She took a breath and let the words come.

"My husband and I came here this morning because the manager was supposed to be his friend. We needed an emergency loan, and my husband offered a property deed as collateral. At first, Julius was kind. Then he changed the subject; he told my husband he would approve everything if I agreed to stay with him for two months, and he wanted my husband to record it on video as an agreement. When my husband refused, Gerald accused him of stealing the documents from his own father. It isn't true. None of it is true."

The room fell into stunned silence, then erupted into a storm of whispers. Adams's face darkened, his knuckles turned ghostly white around the head of his cane, his breathing slow and heavy like a man forcing himself not to explode.

Julius saw it, and he knew exactly what that look meant, and he tried to run, but a man in the crowd shoved him back before he'd taken three steps, and he crashed to the ground.

Adams was on him in seconds, the cane rising and falling, again and again, each strike landing with a sound that made the whole room flinch. No one moved to stop him, not the guards. Not the police standing near the entrance. They knew better than to interfere with a man like Adams, and worse, they knew Julius deserved it.

"You crazy old bastard," Julius screamed, arms raised to shield his face. The cane caught his wrist instead, and something cracked. He curled into himself on the floor, sobbing. "You're trying to destroy me; do you want me dead? I'll kill you, I swear it, I'll kill you."

Adams didn't stop. The cane came down on his legs next, continuously, until Julius could no longer form words, only broken sounds of pain.

"Get him out of my sight," Adams finally said, breathless, his voice shaking with fury. "Take him to the police station myself. Make sure he rots in a cell."

The guards moved without hesitation, hauling Julius up by his arms and dragging him toward the door. He left a smear of blood across the marble floor behind him.

Then Adams turned toward Gerald, who was still slumped against the wall, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror.

"Mr. Adams." Gerald's voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Please."