The Mysterious Chairman Keith

Chapter 8

MORE DISGRACE

The echo of that slap still seemed to linger in the air. The security guard lay dazed against the marble wall, the imprint of Manuel’s palm bright on his cheek.

Gasps rippled through the lobby. A few employees instinctively backed away, unsure whether to call more security or pretend they hadn’t seen anything.

Lisa’s eyes widened in shock. “He actually hit him…”

Jamie’s disbelief quickly turned into a sneer. “You’re dead, Reeves. Do you have any idea where you are? This is Nightingale Group headquarters, not some back alley you can throw punches in!”

Manuel’s gaze remained calm, almost detached. “Then maybe your people should learn to behave accordingly.”

Before Jamie could retort, the rapid click of leather shoes approached.

“What’s going on here?”

A man in a tailored gray suit strode toward them, his expression tight with annoyance. His nametag read Richard Lane – Lobby Manager. Two assistants trailed behind him, tablets in hand.

The injured guard scrambled up and pointed accusingly. “Sir! That man assaulted me! He tried to force his way in using a fake card!”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Fake card?”

Jamie stepped forward, seizing the moment. “Exactly. He claims he has some kind of ‘executive pass,’ but anyone can print a shiny card these days. My girlfriend and I were just trying to protect your company’s image.”

Lisa nodded smoothly. “He’s been causing trouble since he walked in. You should have him arrested.”

Richard turned his gaze on Manuel, his corporate smile cold. “Sir, if you have an invitation or a valid pass, present it now. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask you to leave immediately.”

Manuel reached into his jacket once more, drew out the sleek black card, and placed it on the marble counter beside them. Its surface shimmered faintly under the lobby lights, the engraved dragon seeming almost alive.

For a moment, Richard froze.

He had seen black cards before — limited-edition executive passes issued only to the Group’s uppermost directors. There were barely a dozen in circulation across the entire conglomerate. But this one was… different. More intricate, more refined.

Could it be—?

No. Impossible.

He leaned closer, studying the faint silver pattern winding around the edge. His frown deepened. “This design… it’s not standard issue.”

Jamie smirked. “See? I told you it was fake.”

Lisa added, “He probably found an image online and had it custom printed. Pathetic, really.”

Richard straightened, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes quickly replaced by corporate arrogance. “Sir, this card is clearly not authentic. I’ll have to confiscate it for verification.”

Manuel’s expression didn’t change. “You’re sure you want to do that?”

“Quite sure.”

Richard gestured sharply. “Security, detain him.”

From the side doors, four additional guards rushed out, each heavier-built than the first. They surrounded Manuel in a semicircle, hands hovering near their batons.

Jamie folded his arms, smirking. “You can’t talk your way out of this one.”

Manuel exhaled softly, almost like he was bored. “I warned you people once already.”

The first guard lunged. Manuel barely moved. His hand flicked out — one precise motion.

Bang!

The man staggered backward, clutching his chest, air rushing from his lungs.

The second swung his baton, but Manuel caught it mid-arc and twisted.

Kraa!

A sharp snap echoed; the weapon clattered to the floor. The man dropped to his knees, gasping.

The other two hesitated, but their manager’s shout pushed them forward. “What are you waiting for? Grab him!”

They charged together. Manuel shifted his weight, striking twice.

Pow! Pow!

Two clean, almost effortless slaps.

Both men spun halfway around before hitting the floor, groaning in pain.

It had all happened in seconds.

This time, though, Manuel had controlled his strength — enough to make a point without sending anyone through the wall. Still, the sheer speed of it left the lobby stunned into silence.

Richard’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. “You—you dare assault my staff?!”

Manuel turned to him slowly. “I defended myself. You might want to teach them not to raise hands first.”

The manager’s face turned red. “You think you can intimidate me? I’ll personally see you banned from every Nightingale property in the city and then locked up for this action of yours!”

Jamie barked a laugh. “Finally, someone’s putting him in his place.”

Lisa added with a smirk, “Don’t waste your time on him, Manager Lane. He’s beneath you.”

Manuel’s eyes flicked toward them, cold and unreadable. He took a single step forward — and the air itself seemed to shift, thick with quiet pressure.

Richard opened his mouth again to shout—

“—What is the meaning of this?”

The voice came from across the lobby — deep, commanding, instantly silencing everyone.

All heads turned.

A man in his fifties strode in through the private elevator corridor, his sharp black suit adorned with a silver pin shaped like the Nightingale insignia. His presence exuded authority; even the air seemed to straighten around him.

Richard paled. “Mr. Voss! Sir—”

The newcomer’s eyes swept over the scene — the groaning guards, the shattered baton, the toppled signboard — before landing on Manuel.

Then he saw the card on the counter.

For an instant, his entire expression changed.

He stepped forward quickly, picked up the card with both hands, and examined it closely under the light. The embossed dragon glimmered — unmistakable.

The Chairman’s Black Card.

Only one existed in the entire Group.

Voss’s hand trembled slightly as he turned to Richard. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Richard blinked, confused. “A—a fake, sir. I was just about to—”

Pow!

The sound of a slap cracked across the marble hall.

Richard staggered sideways, clutching his cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Fake?” Voss’s voice was low, dangerous. “You dared accuse the holder of The Card of counterfeiting?”

The color drained from Richard’s face. “The… card?”

Voss turned to Manuel instantly, bowing so deeply it seemed almost impossible for a man of his rank. “My deepest apologies, sir! I didn’t know you were coming personally. If I had—”

Jamie and Lisa froze, staring.

“What—Which card is that?” Jamie stammered. “This… this is impossible. I thought you were supposed to—”

Lisa’s words died in her throat as realization began to sink in, though her mind refused to accept it.

Voss whirled on the remaining staff. “You! Get medical attention for these idiots. And you—” he jabbed a finger toward Richard “—you’re suspended immediately. One more sentence, and you’ll be out of the company before sunset.”

Richard’s lips trembled. “Sir, I—”

“Out!”

Two assistants hurried to drag the disgraced manager away.

The once-bustling lobby had gone dead silent again.

Manuel simply stood there, calm as ever, watching it all unfold like he’d known it would.

Voss bowed again. “Sir, please forgive this disgraceful display. The anniversary celebration is about to begin upstairs. The board and senior staff are already assembled. May I personally escort you?”

Manuel’s gaze flicked briefly toward Jamie and Lisa — both still frozen in disbelief — before returning to Voss. A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said quietly. “I know the way.”

And with that, he turned toward the private elevator, the black card glinting faintly between his fingers.

Each step echoed softly on the marble floor — steady, deliberate, unstoppable.

The crowd parted without a word.

Behind him, the whispers began… fearful, awed, uncertain.

Jamie’s face had gone pale. Lisa’s hands trembled slightly at her sides. They didn't understand what had just happened.