Their Little Brother Is the Supreme King

Chapter 005

Iris Smith felt a wave of nausea wash over her, a physical reaction to the sheer, unadulterated filth of Victor Jordan’s proposal. Her teeth were clenched so tightly that her jaw ached, and her eyes burned with a mixture of professional indignation and personal loathing.

"Victor Jordan," Iris spat, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Are you telling me that the Jordan Corporation is prepared to flagrantly breach a legally binding contract? This is a direct violation of our procurement agreement."

Victor didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned back, a predator’s smile spreading across his face. "Oh, we're breaching it, all right. If you reject me, we’ll simply walk away. Sure, my father might have to pay a settlement f*e for the breach, but think about your position, Iris. You’re sitting on a $750 million order from the McGill Corporation. Without our raw materials, your production line stops tonight. You won't just lose the profit; you’ll face a $450 million penalty for non-delivery. By this time next year, the Mosaic Corporation will be a memory, and you’ll be spending your prime years in a prison cell for corporate negligence."

Iris’s face drained of color. The cold reality of the trap closed around her. She had spent years building her empire, navigating the treacherous waters of Ambershire’s business world with meticulous care, only to be ambushed by a petty, entitled snake.

"So the McGill Corporation order... that was part of the design too?" she asked, her voice a jagged rasp of realization.

Victor let out a sharp, triumphant laugh. He felt a surge of intoxicating power. This was his specialty—using the leverage of his father’s supply chain to bend independent women to his will. "Exactly. If you had just played nice, I would have been the hero who brought you the biggest deal of your life. But you chose to humiliate me. You chose to keep that 'stay-at-home' loser around. Now, you’re going to learn that in this city, I hold the keys to your survival."

Behind the reception pillar, Ethan Smith stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable but his aura radiating a cold, killing intent. He had heard enough. This boy was like a weed that refused to die; it was time to salt the earth.

"Catherine Jones," Ethan said softly into his earpiece. "I want the head of the Jordan Corporation here in person to beg for forgiveness. If he isn't here within thirty minutes, make sure the Jordan Corporation ceases to exist by noon."

"Understood, Supreme King," Catherine replied from the tactical van outside.

Ethan stepped out from behind the pillar and walked into the center of the lobby. His stride was slow, deliberate, and carried the weight of an approaching storm.

"Who exactly has the audacity to claim my sister is going to prison?" Ethan’s voice echoed through the high-ceilinged lobby, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I think it’s you, Victor, who should be worried about your future. Or rather, the lack of one."

Victor jumped, his heart hammering against his ribs. The memory of the blood-stained pavement and the dual-wielding girl in pink flashed before his eyes. He had convinced himself that Ethan had been arrested for the murders, which was why he had dared to come here today. Seeing him standing there, untouched and calm, made Victor’s stomach turn.

"You... how are you here?" Victor stammered, backing away until he hit the marble reception desk. "You should be in a cage! Did you escape? Guards! Arrest this man!"

Ethan chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Escape? From who? In Solinar, there isn't a jail cell built that could hold me. Not in Veridian, not in the whole of the nine provinces." He tilted his head. "Didn't you check the morning news, Victor? I’m the victim. You’re the primary suspect in a botched kidnapping and assault. The law is very interested in you."

Victor fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking as he pulled up the local Ambershire headlines. His face turned a sickly shade of gray. The reports were clear: the police had classified the restaurant incident as a criminal ambush on a private citizen, with Victor Jordan being investigated as the financier of the thugs.

"This... this is a lie!" Victor shouted, though his voice lacked conviction. "I’m leaving. We're done here!"

He tried to bolt for the door, but Catherine Jones stepped into his path. She was no longer wearing her pink dress, but a tactical suit that made her look like a goddess of war.

"Where are you going, Mr. Jordan?" she asked, her voice like cracking ice. "The show is just beginning. You should stay and see how a real businessman handles a crisis."

Victor collapsed into a seated position on the floor, his legs refusing to support him. He looked at Catherine and saw the reaper. "Please... don't kill me..." he whimpered, sliding backward on his rear.

Iris watched the exchange, her mind spinning. She ran to Ethan’s side, grabbing his arm. "Ethan, where were you? I was so worried! And please, you shouldn't talk to him like that. He’s dangerous, and his family controls our supply line."

"Don't worry, Iris," Ethan said, patting her hand. "I was just taking care of some errands. And as for the 'danger,' you’ll find that the Jordans are very eager to cooperate today."

Thirty minutes later, the silence of the lobby was shattered by the screech of tires. A black Lamborghini roared to a halt at the curb, followed by a staggering convoy of one hundred heavy-duty freight trucks. The sheer scale of the arrival stopped traffic for blocks.

A man in his fifties, dressed in a sharp but disheveled suit, practically tumbled out of the Lamborghini. This was Brown Jordan, the Chairman of the Jordan Corporation. He sprinted into the lobby, his face drenched in sweat.

Thud.

To the absolute horror of the gathered staff and Iris Smith, the titan of the textile industry dropped to his knees in the middle of the lobby.

"I am Brown Jordan!" he cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. "I am here to beg for the Chairwoman’s mercy! My degenerate son has offended the Mosaic Corporation, and I am here to make amends. I have brought $150 million worth of raw materials—the entire stock of our warehouses—as a gift. No charge! Just please... please spare my family!"

Victor stared at his father, his mouth agape. "Dad? What are you doing? Why are you kneeling to these people?"

Brown Jordan turned and delivered a backhanded slap that sent Victor sprawling across the marble. "You arrogant parasite!" the father roared. "Do you have any idea who you’ve provoked? In one hour, our credit lines were frozen, our overseas assets were seized, and the Governor personally called me to say I’d be lucky to keep my head! You’ve destroyed us!"

Victor began to sob, the reality finally sinking in. If his father was this terrified, there was no escape.

"Iris," Brown Jordan pleaded, turning back to her. "I have officially stripped this boy of his inheritance. He is no longer a Jordan. He is nothing. Please, accept the materials and tell your... 'associates' to stop the liquidation."

Iris stood there, completely stunned. She looked at the hundred trucks parked outside, then at the kneeling billionaire. She glanced at Ethan, who was casually checking his watch. She assumed this must be the work of her fourth sister, Bree, using her influence as Deputy Governor.

"Fine," Iris said, her voice regaining its professional strength. "Have the trucks unloaded at our North Warehouse. And keep your son away from my building."

"Thank you! Thank you!" Brown Jordan scrambled to his feet, dragging his sobbing son out by the collar like a piece of refuse.

As the chaos subsided, Iris’s phone rang. She answered, expecting more business news, but her expression instantly shifted from triumph to pure, unadulterated terror.

"Hello? Yes, this is Iris Smith... what? Where?" Her hand began to shake, and the phone nearly slipped from her fingers. "Which hospital? We’re coming. We’re coming right now!"

She hung up, her eyes flooded with tears. "Ethan... it’s Bree. She’s been ambushed. Two stab wounds and a gunshot to the chest. She’s lost a massive amount of blood and she’s in a coma at the Ambershire People's Hospital."

Ethan felt the world go cold. The Herman family had struck back. He had wanted to give Bree the glory of the bust, but he had underestimated the desperation of the traffickers.

"Call our seventh sister, Alice Smiths," Iris sobbed as she pulled Ethan toward the door. "She’s the best surgeon in the country. She’s the only one who can save her!"

Iris frantically dialed Alice, who answered on the second ring. "Alice! Get to Ambershire! Bree is dying. Someone tried to assassinate her during the raid!"

"I’m already at the airport," Alice’s voice came through, calm but sharp as a scalpel. "I’ll be there in two hours. Keep her heart beating until I arrive."

Ethan climbed into the car with Iris, his jaw set in a grim line of iron. He had returned to protect his family, and within twenty-four hours, one of his sisters was fighting for her life. As the car sped toward the hospital, Ethan sent a final text to Catherine.

“Activate the Guards of Supreme. I want the Herman family erased from the map. No survivors.”