The invincible Tony Clark

chapter 5: Check mate 1

Standing in the center of the dead-silent lobby, Tony stared down at Harold Foster, who remained bent in a deep ninety-degree bow before him.

All around them, doctors, nurses, and patients were frozen in shock, with dozens of smartphones raised to record every second of the surreal standoff.

Young Master?

Despite his confusion, a slow, satisfied grin spread across Tony’s face as his gaze drifted to Liam, clutching his swollen cheeks.

"I have to admit, I'm really enjoying this," Tony whispered "Watching Liam get slapped twice in a row is easily the best entertainment I've had all year."

Down on the floor, Liam’s face twisted with humiliated fury, his eyes glistening with hot, angry tears that he barely held back.

Letting out a breath, Tony raised his good hand in awkward denial.

"As much as I appreciate you teaching your son some manners, Mr. Foster, I'm sorry—you must have gotten the wrong person. I'm nobody's Young Master."

Hoping to slip away before things got any weirder, Tony took a step backward—only to bump straight into a wall of muscle.

Glancing over his shoulder, he cursed under his breath. Four massive bodyguards in black tactical suits had silently closed ranks behind him, blocking any chance of escape.

"Shit..." Swallowing hard, Tony turned back to the hospital director and stammered, "Look, I'm sorry if I caused a scene, Dr. Harrison, but what the hell is going on here?"

Director Harrison stepped forward respectfully, his voice hushed with awe. "Sir, the donor whose blood matched yours last night is none other than Daniel Ragnar himself. You have the royal blood of the Ragnar Dynasty flowing through your veins."

Tony blinked, convinced he was hallucinating.

"What? Is this some kind of movie prank?"

Half-expecting a film crew to jump out from behind the reception desk, he scanned the ceiling corners for hidden cameras before staring back at Harrison in disbelief. "Wait... you mean the Daniel Ragnar? The most dangerous and richest man in the entire world?!"

"Yes, Young Master," the director confirmed with a solemn nod.

Tony’s heart skipped a beat as the terrifying logic clicked into place. "Hold on... if his blood was a direct genetic match to mine, that means Daniel Ragnar is... my father?"

Before Director Harrison could nod again, the deep, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades vibrated through the building.

Outside the glass walls, the roar of the thousands gathered in the streets erupted into a deafening frenzy of screams and cheers.

Suddenly, everything made sense. The crowds, the reporters, the tight security—they hadn't just come to catch a glimpse of a trillionaire. They had come to see the long-lost heir of the Ragnar Dynasty.

And that heir was standing right here in a faded hospital gown.

With a sharp whoosh, the grand entrance doors slid open. Flanked by a phalanx of elite guards, a tall, broad-shouldered man strode into the lobby wearing an immaculate white coat, a neatly trimmed silver mustache framing his commanding face.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as his vanguard marched forward, roughly shoving a terrified Liam out of the path like a piece of roadside trash before halting in two crisp lines.

Daniel Ragnar stopped directly in front of Tony, his piercing dark eyes locking onto the young man's face.

Under the weight of that legendary gaze, Tony’s brain completely short-circuited. "Uh, hello, sir!" he blurted out, his voice cracking nervously. "I mean—Sir Ragnar! Mr. Ragnar Daniel—Wait, no, Daniel Sir—"

Wincing at his own rambling, Tony took a deep breath, rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and offered an awkward smile. "Look, since we're apparently doing this... can I just call you Dad?"

For a second, the most feared man on the planet simply stared at him. Then, the icy aura around Daniel melted into a warm, genuine smile.

Stepping forward, he pulled Tony into a fierce, one-armed embrace, careful not to jostle his injured arm.

"Son," Daniel whispered, his deep voice thick with emotion. "I have been looking for you for so many years."

Pulling back slightly, Daniel took in the thick bandages wrapped around Tony’s forehead and the sling supporting his dislocated arm.

Instantly, pain and fury flashed across the patriarch's eyes. Turning his head slowly, he pinned Harold Foster with a gaze cold enough to freeze blood. "Foster. Explain to me right now what happened here."

Harold began to tremble violently, cold sweat drenching his collar. He knew that if Daniel discovered Liam had bullied and tried to murder his newly found heir, the entire Foster bloodline would be wiped off the face of the earth before noon.

Beside the pillar, Liam looked so terrified he was seconds away from wetting himself.

Seeing their terror, Tony decided to save his revenge for when he could savor it personally.

"It's nothing, Dad," Tony said smoothly, resting a hand on his father's sleeve. "Just a minor misunderstanding on my way out."

Studying Tony’s calm expression, Daniel understood immediately and gave a proud nod

. "Very well. Let's head home and get you out of these hospital clothes. Tonight, I am throwing the grandest banquet Star City has ever seen to celebrate my son's return!"

Still feeling as though he were walking through a dream, Tony nodded and fell into step beside his father.

Halfway to the exit, however, he paused in front of Liam, who was hunched on the floor staring at his shoes in utter shame.

"What's wrong, Liam?" Tony asked casually. "Why are you looking at the floor? Cat got your tongue?"

Liam’s head jerked up. His face was deathly pale, his chest heaving as a sudden panic attack seized his lungs.

Wheezing for air, he fumbled blindly in his pocket for his asthma inhaler, only for his shaking fingers to drop the plastic canister onto the tiles.

Bending down, Tony picked up the inhaler and crouched at eye level with the man who had ruined his life the night before.

"Don't think I'm going to let you fall that easily," Tony whispered, his voice so low that only Liam could hear. "Remember what I promised you on the floor of the Clark mansion? I told you I would make you regret ever crossing my path. When I'm done engineering your downfall, you're going to beg for death—and you won't find it. Your life is in my hands now. Welcome to hell, Liam Foster."

Pressing the inhaler into Liam’s clammy palm, Tony patted his cheek twice, stood up, and strode out of the hospital alongside his father.

Once the Ragnar convoy pulled away, Liam scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to his father in a quiet side corridor.

"Dad, I'm so sorry," Liam wheezed, his voice shaking. "I had no idea that piece of trash was—"

"Shut your mouth!" Harold hissed, his eyes burning with a dark, venomous humiliation. "Do you have any idea how disgraceful it was for me—the head of the great Foster family—to bow before a low-level street rat that the entire city mocked yesterday?!"

Taking a sharp breath to compose himself, Harold smoothed down his suit jacket, a sinister calmness settling over his features.

"You were careless, Liam, which is why I had to grovel in public to deflect suspicion. If everyone believes we are terrified of them, no one will look at us when Daniel Ragnar drops dead of poison at tonight's banquet."

Liam’s eyes widened in shock. "Wait... you're going to poison Daniel Ragnar tonight?!"

"Better than that," Harold replied, his lips curling into a chilling smile. "Every single shred of evidence we plant tonight will point directly to his precious newfound heir. By tomorrow morning, Tony Clark will be arrested for murdering his own father to steal the fifty-trillion-dollar inheritance."

Realization dawned on Liam’s face, and a cruel laugh escaped his throat. Soon, both father and son were laughing together in the shadows of the hallway.

"Enjoy your last few hours of glory, Daniel Ragnar," Harold whispered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Checkmate."