The Inheritor Of The Houston Empire

4• Most Important Client

“Get him cleaned up!” the chief commanded the officer. “And bring him to my office. Now.”

The officer, along with another that had just arrived, scrambled to obey. They lifted Matthew and half-dragged him to the station's medical room where they hastily patched up his wounds, cleaned the blood and urine with a wet rag, then wore him old, lost and found clothes.

Although he was too dazed to comprehend what was happening, Matthew had caught snippets of their nervous conversation. Who was this Harold Wellington and why had he come for him? Matthew had no friends in high places, no connections to power. It made no sense.

Within minutes, he was ushered into the chief's office where a man in an expensive tailored suit stood by the window, holding a briefcase. He had dark hair, and his eyes were sharp behind his pair of glasses as he assessed Matthew.

‘Who is this?’ Matthew wondered. ‘What is going on?’

“You harmed him,” the man said to the police chief once he was done with his assessment.

“Nah, we didn't,” the chief lied. “He got into a fight and took the brunt of it.”

“That doesn't look like a fight. That looks like he was beaten up, assaulted, and from the amount of cuts and bruises, it was done by a considerable number of men.”

“He attacked a man and the man beat him up!” the chief opposed. “The kid's a terrible fighter with guts that doesn't match his strength.”

The man with the briefcase returned his gaze to Matthew, and his tone softened. “Is that what happened, Matthew?” he asked.

Still completely dazzled by all of this, Matthew glanced at the chief, who had a warning in his eyes. Normally, Matthew would succumb to this warning and lie, but something about the man standing before him made him believe he could trust him.

“No,” his answer came. “He locked me inside a cell and had me beaten up by a gang of prisoners… One of them— one of them urinated on me.”

A look of disgust, anger and disbelief painted itself on the man's face. He turned to the chief. “And this happened in your station. Under your watch?”

The Chief swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Okay listen. It wasn't supposed to go that far.”

“That far?!” the man yelled. “How far was it supposed to go? Not only is this unacceptable, it's illegal!”

“The kid needed to be taught a lesson. He attacked Darrell Ferguson. You know how powerful the Fergusons are, Mr. Wellington.”

“The Fergusons?!!!” Wellington's voice thundered. “Is that the family you are afraid of? You are a fool. There are more powerful families to fear, and you have just crossed the most powerful of all.”

The chief blinked, confused. “Family? What are you talking about? He’s just a car washer.”

Wellington did not say anything to him. He turned on his heel and walked out of the office, pulling his phone from his pocket as he did. Once in the hallway, he selected a number from his important contact list and made a call.

Minutes later he returned to the office, a stern look on his face, and not long after, the phone on the table rang. The chief glanced at the phone, then at Mr. Wellington.

“Pick it,” Wellington said to him. “That should be the councilman.”

The chief’s heart sank. The councilman, one of the most influential figures in the country, calling him now, after everything that had just transpired? What exactly was happening? What powerful family had he crossed?

“Councilman,” he began once he picked the phone.

“What is this I hear, Chief Edmund?!” The councilman’s voice roared at the other end of the line. “How dare you touch a member of the Houston family? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Are you not aware of how powerful they are?!”

“The Houstons?!” Chief Edmund’s eyes widened. The powerful family that owned the legendary Houston Empire? The family name that carried immense weight, synonymous with power, influence, and untouchable status.

No, it's not possible! Why would a Houston be working as a car washer?

“Sir. There— there is no Houston here,” he stammered. “Only a mere car washer.”

“You fool!” the councilman thundered. “You have no idea what you have done! Effective immediately, you’ve been relieved of your duties. You will be lucky if you aren’t facing criminal charges by the end of the day. Pack your things and get out of that station right this instant!”

And then the line went dead, leaving the chief standing there, the phone still pressed to his ear as he realized his life just crumbled before him under the power of the Houston Family.

His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, begging Matthew to forgive him.

“I had no idea who you were! Please, please! Forgive me! I can not lose my job! I can not go to prison!”

Matthew stared down at him, confused as to what was going on. Wellington opened the door and gestured for Matthew. “Come on, Matthew," he said, his tone much gentler now. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Matthew nodded and walked towards the ajar door.

“As for you,” Wellington looked down at the pitiful figure of the chief. “Everyone knows that the Houston Family never forgets. This is what you deserve.”

He evacuated the room with Matthew and slammed the door, leaving the pathetic chief crying on his knees.