Trash Son-in-law is the Almighty Marshal

“Shit,” Marcus looked at the worn out watch on his wrist and sucked in a breath.

The time read 4:38pm. He had approximately twenty minutes to make it to his destination on time.

He rode his scooter faster as he swerved through the cars on the busy roads of downtown Eastwood.

Today was his wife Katie Johnson’s brand launch. It was finally happening. She had dreamt about this since she was a little girl, and Marcus had worked his socks off to help her get there.

He had paid for her fashion school, taking every job he could find just to keep her dreams alive.

Construction worker, Trash collector, Janitor, Plumber, Delivery man, you name it.

He never told her how much it cost him. He just did it. His knees hurt all the time now, but it didn't matter. If he had to go back and do it all over again, he would. That was how much she mattered to him.

He was subconsciously smiling when his phone rang. The smile vanished the moment he saw the caller ID.

It was Belinda Johnson. His mother-in-law.

Marcus gulped and picked up. "Hello?"

"You good-for-nothing idiot!" Her shrill voice pierced his eardrums, making him wince. "Katie's launch is about to start, and you’re not here? Who exactly do you think is going to serve her guests?!”

"I'm on my way, Mother. I—"

"I don't want to hear whatever garbage you’re about to spill!" Belinda snapped, cutting him off. "Katie has worked too hard to have her big day ruined by a useless husband like you. For once in your miserable life, make yourself useful and get here immediately! Nonsense!

She abruptly hung up before Marcus could respond. He placed the phone back in his pocket and sighed.

This wasn’t new to him. Belinda had never liked him and he had given up trying to get her to like him a long time ago.

As far as she was concerned, he was nothing more than a burden her daughter married. Marcus had learned the hard way to accept whatever she threw at him.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the small dog running into the road until it was too late.

“Shit!” His eyes widened in panic and he grabbed his handbrake a little too hard.

The scooter’s back wheel screeched as he swerved sideways, and at that exact moment, a black Bentley emerged from the corner.

There was no time to stop as the front of his scooter crashed into the back of the Bentley.

Marcus flew off the seat and landed hard on the sidewalk, scraping his elbow against the concrete in the process.

His head spun as he lay there for a second, but then he remembered the dog and immediately sat up.

"Phew," he blew out a sigh of relief when he looked around and saw that it was nowhere in sight.

He slowly got to his feet and walked toward his scooter. There were a few scratches when he picked it up and looked it over, but thankfully nothing was broken.

The Bentley’s door slammed shut and Marcus spun around.

A man in a navy blue suit and sunglasses had stepped out of it, and Marcus scratched the side of his head as the man walked straight to the back of the car and inspected the damage.

For a few seconds, the man stared at the small dent like he couldn’t believe it was real. Then he pulled his sunglasses off and turned toward Marcus.

"What the hell is this?" He barked, his face reddening. "What did you just do to my car?"

"I'm sorry, man." Marcus held his hand up as he approached. "A dog ran into the road, and I had to swerve to avoid hitting it."

"A dog?!" The man’s voice rose. "You wrecked my car because of a dog? Do you know how much it costs?"

"I'll pay for it,” Marcus offered in a bid to diffuse the situation. “Just tell me how much the repairs will be."

"Pay for it." The man scoffed and gave Marcus a condescending once over. "With what? Look at you. You look like you sleep in a dumpster. You can't even afford a real bike, yet you want to pay for my Bentley’s repair?”

By now, people had started to stop and stare. A few even crossed the street to get a better view of the argument.

Someone laughed. "That dude sure is in serious trouble,”

"Yeah!” Another agreed, pointing at Marcus’s scooter with disgust. “He hit a Bentley with that piece of junk!”

Marcus ignored them and looked back at the man. "Look, I don't want any trouble. Just give me your number. I promise to get the damage fixed."

"You already asked for trouble the moment you wrecked my car." The man’s face darkened as he stepped closer, invading Marcus's space. "You don’t get to tell me how this is going to go!”

"That bumpkin's got some nerve," another spectator scoffed. “I bet he doesn’t even know who he’s talking to!”

"Hear that?” The man smirked haughtily. “Everyone knows trash like you has no place standing next to a man of my caliber. I could obliterate your entire existence with a snap of my fingers.”

Marcus glanced at his wrist watch again and felt a drop in his stomach. He had only but five minutes to be at his wife’s event.

His jaw ticked as he sharply looked up at the man. “I never questioned who you were,” he argued. “I’m trying to solve this amicably, but you’re being difficult!

“Difficult?” The man’s brow rose before he let out a furious laugh. “You called me difficult?! Do you even know who I am?”

Marcus stared at him blankly. “No.”

“By God,” someone interjected, slapping their forehead. “This loser doesn’t know he’s speaking to Gerard Hall.”

“Gerald Hall?” Another onlooker repeated, their voice dripping with amazement. “The Gerard Hall?! As in the heir to one of the most powerful Gold-tier families in Eastwood?”

“Oh shit!” Someone else gasped. “I knew that man wasn’t ordinary. But being from the prestigious Hall family? Damn, that fool is going to get it now.”

“He’s toast for sure!” Another person chuckled in anticipation.”

The comments from the passersby seemed to feed Gerard’s already enormous ego.

He turned up his nose and looked at Marcus. “See? You’re not even worthy to be a chewing gum under my shoe.”

Marcus didn’t seem fazed and this seemed to irritate Gerard even more.

“You still think you’re shit, huh?!” He hissed. “I’ll teach you what difficult is! You’ll rot in jail!”

The moment Marcus heard that, his face drained of all color. “No, no. I can’t go to jail. I have somewhere to be. If I don’t show up, they’ll kill me!”

His eyes turned pleading. “I’ll do anything, please just don’t let me go to jail!”

Gerard’s expression turned smug. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” he chuckled as the wheels in his head turned mischievously.

“You’ll do anything?!” He poked at Marcus’s desperation.

“Yes!” Marcus nodded vigorously. “Whatever it is!”

Gerard turned toward his Bentley and casually ran a finger across its dusty hood before looking back at Marcus.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he began. “Get down on your knees, crawl to my car and lick every speck of dust off it.”

The crowd murmured collectively and Gerard's eyes glistened with calculated malice.

“I want the entire car sparkling clean,” he continued. “Otherwise, you’ll sleep in jail till I’m satisfied.”