The Legendary Martin Garvey

Chapter 7

“Hahaha! Look at you—still have the nerve to talk back to me now? You really don’t know who you’re dealing with!”

Ethan took two steps forward and hissed into Martin’s ear.

“You know, everyone in this city bows when they hear my family’s name. If I make up a lie, they’ll swallow it without thinking. Now, whether that necklace is fake or not, nobody will care. If I say it’s genuine, they’ll believe me.”

“Fine, if that’s what you think,” Martin smiled. “Let’s see who gets the last laugh.”

He turned his gaze to the crowd.

“You’re free to disbelieve me. But I’m not lying.”

Martin then walked up to the large glass display where the Eclat d’Or sat.

“I have a way to prove it. I just want everyone to do exactly as I ask.”

He wasn’t bluffing. Martin knew that a reputable company like Victoria's would have methods to guarantee the authenticity of the pieces they sold, such as serial tags on the jewelry, matching numbers on the box, and an inventory tag on the display. Earlier, he’d glimpsed the serial number on the case and noticed that it didn’t match the number on the display. This convinced him that the piece was fake.

But convincing these people wouldn’t be simple. If anything, his claim would only anger them more.

“Hey, trash!”

The chubby man who had been taunting Martin didn’t hesitate to insult him further.

“Aren’t you tired of making up lies? Whatever you say, we won’t believe you!”

“Yeah! Nobody believes him!” others chimed in almost at once.

“You so sure I’m wrong?” Martin asked, chuckling as if their rejection was absurd. “Alright then — how about a bet?”

“If I’m right, you’ll leave this place stripped naked. You got the guts?” he challenged.

“How dare you!” The fat man’s face flushed crimson. He pointed and shouted. “You think I’m scared? Fine — let’s do it. But if you’re wrong, you must divorce your wife this instant!”

At the sound of the wager, the entire crowd lit up with excitement. Catherine’s smile stretched wide.

“Foolish move,” she muttered under her breath. “Is this how you prove you’re useful? You’re just making life harder.”

In her view, there was no point fighting Ethan — a man far superior and more polished in every way. Still, she was secretly pleased: if Martin lost, she wouldn’t have to beg him to divorce her daughter.

Quinn, however, stepped forward, anxious.

“Martin, isn’t this going too far? Marriage isn’t a thing to gamble with.”

Even though she’d declared she wanted a divorce, the prospect of this public challenge unsettled her.

“Also, don’t you know who Mr. Downey is? If you keep pushing him, he could make things very difficult for both of us.”

“It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Martin smiled and looked at the fat man again.

“Deal. I accept.”

The man stalked over to where Martin stood.

“Fine. Tell me what to do,” he snapped, impatient. “And remember — if you lose, you divorce her right now!”

“Sure.” Martin’s smile never wavered, completely unprovoked.

“Miss, could you please take that box out for us?” he asked Delilah on the other side of the display.

Delilah said nothing; her face had gone pale and nervous.

“Calm down — I’m not going to steal it. There are plenty of CCTVs here. You can have me arrested immediately if I try.” Martin had expected her hesitation. He stayed gentle, aiming to get to the next step.

“It’s okay, miss. Please, bring out the box.” The fat man’s impatience leaked through; he wanted the spectacle.

Delilah hesitated, sweat beading on her forehead. Her hand trembled on the glass counter; her breath came heavier.

“S-sorry… I can’t do it,” she stammered at last.

“But, miss…”

The fat man’s disappointment was obvious — he had been looking forward to watching Martin lose today.

But before he could say another word, Delilah continued,

“Please, at least let me speak with Ethan— I mean, Mr. Downey— first.”