Brandon Harper had always enjoyed reminding me of my place.
For three years, he'd treated me as something between a servant and a punching bag.
Sometimes he'd order me to wash his Maserati, then deliberately drive it through muddy water just so he could make me wash it again.
Other times, he'd arrive at the apartment unannounced and demand that I cook for him and whichever girlfriend he'd brought along.
And whenever the Harper family gathered for dinner, he inevitably found some excuse to ridicule me.
"Hey, Jeff! How much do delivery drivers make these days?"
"Jeff, my watch costs more than your annual salary!"
"Jeff, if you polish my shoes, maybe I'll give you a tip!"
I'd put up with it.
Not because I was afraid of him.
Not because I couldn't defend myself.
But because I loved Emily.
I'd believed that maintaining peace with her family was part of being a good husband.
Yesterday, I learned what that patience had earned me.
And today, Brandon was discovering that things had changed.
"All right, enough nonsense!"
He leaned out of his Maserati and pointed at the passenger seat.
"Get in the car. We need to get to the hotel before the guests arrive."
I looked at him.
"No."
He frowned.
"What?"
"I'm not going."
Brandon stared as though I'd started speaking another language.
Then he laughed.
"Jeff, don't be stupid."
I checked the time on my phone.
I still had a delivery scheduled.
"Brandon, I've already told you."
He waved dismissively.
"Grandma's birthday banquet is this evening. You're going to help greet the guests, and afterward, you'll take your punishment like a man."
I slowly looked up.
"My punishment?"
He grinned.
"Family discipline."
I studied him.
"And what exactly does that involve?"
Brandon laughed.
"Oh, don't worry. Grandma will explain."
"Brandon."
"What?"
"Answer the question."
His smile widened.
"Well, if she's feeling generous, you might just get the cane."
I said nothing.
He continued.
"A good beating. Enough to keep you in bed for a few days."
I stared.
He chuckled.
"But if she's really angry..."
He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers.
"...well, let's just say some relatives learned not to disobey after losing a finger or two."
For several seconds, I simply looked at him.
So that's what they're planning.
I knew the Harpers enjoyed threatening people.
I'd witnessed Susan slap servants.
I'd seen Robert intimidate employees over minor mistakes.
And I'd heard Eleanor boast that nobody in her family dared question her authority.
But apparently, they'd decided that my asking for a divorce justified physical punishment.
I slowly shook my head.
"Brandon."
He raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Tell Eleanor I'm not interested."
He stared.
Then burst out laughing.
"Not interested?"
"Correct."
"Jeff, this isn't an invitation!"
I nodded.
"I understand."
"Then get in the car!"
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"You worthless piece of trash."
I sighed.
"Here we go."
He pointed toward me.
"I think you're begging for another beating!"
I looked at him.
"Brandon, I'd strongly advise against that."
He sneered.
"What are you going to do? Cry?"
I remained silent.
He laughed.
"You've always been a spineless little loser!"
I glanced toward the road.
"Are you finished?"
Apparently, that was the wrong question.
Brandon's face turned bright red.
"YOU BASTARD!"
He flung open the driver's door.
Before I could say another word, he stepped out and aimed a hard kick at me while I was still seated on my scooter.
I shifted my weight.
The scooter leaned backward and turned slightly beneath me.
His foot swept past my leg.
Brandon stumbled.
"What the—"
I dismounted smoothly.
He turned.
And charged again.
This time, I didn't bother retreating.
I planted my foot.
Pivoted.
And delivered one controlled kick directly into his stomach.
The air rushed out of him.
His body lifted briefly before he stumbled backward and crashed onto the pavement.
For a moment, he simply lay there.
Then he curled onto his side, coughing.
I looked down at him.
"That was unnecessary."
Brandon wheezed.
"You..."
I sighed.
"You're the one who attacked me."
He struggled onto his knees.
"You hit me!"
"Yes."
"YOU ACTUALLY HIT ME!"
I blinked.
"Brandon, you kicked at me first."
He stared.
His expression was almost comical.
For three years, he'd pushed me around without resistance.
Apparently, he'd mistaken my patience for helplessness.
He slowly stood.
His face twisted with rage.
"YOU'RE DEAD!"
I frowned.
"Brandon—"
He hurried toward his Maserati.
Opened the trunk.
And began rummaging around inside.
I watched.
Please tell me he's getting back into the car.
Unfortunately, he wasn't.
He emerged holding a folding knife.
He snapped the blade open.
I stopped smiling.
"Brandon."
His eyes were wild.
"I'M CARRYING OUT GRANDMOTHER'S FAMILY DISCIPLINE!"
I looked at the knife.
"Put that away."
He lunged.
The blade flashed toward my chest.
I stepped aside.
He missed.
He slashed again.
I moved backward.
Another miss.
Then he swung a third time.
I shifted to the opposite side.
His arm passed harmlessly through the space where I'd been standing.
Brandon was breathing heavily.
"STOP MOVING!"
I stared at him.
"That's rather unreasonable."
He screamed and charged.
I caught his wrist.
Turned it sharply.
And struck the back of his hand.
The knife fell onto the pavement.
Brandon cried out.
"MY WRIST!"
I released him immediately.
"Then stop trying to stab people."
He staggered backward.
For a moment, I thought he might finally recognize the situation.
Instead, he threw a punch at my face.
I blocked it.
He threw another.
I deflected that too.
Then he attempted to grab my collar.
I sighed.
Apparently, we're doing this the hard way.
I'd studied martial arts since childhood.
It began as a hobby.
Later, when Apex became successful, I could afford instructors who'd trained professional fighters and military personnel.
I'd continued practicing because it helped me relax.
Some people played golf.
Some collected watches.
I enjoyed martial arts.
And cooking.
And, apparently, making spectacularly poor decisions about marriage.
Brandon swung again.
I stepped inside his reach.
A short Wing Chun-style chain of controlled punches drove him backward.
One caught his cheek.
Another struck his jaw.
The last landed across his nose.
He stumbled.
Lost his balance.
And fell onto the pavement.
This time, he didn't immediately get up.
Blood ran from his nose.
His lip was split.
He stared up at me in disbelief.
"You..."
I stood several feet away.
Breathing normally.
He swallowed.
"How dare you..."
I looked at him.
"Brandon."
His eyes narrowed.
"You'll regret this!"
I nodded.
"That's what everyone in your family keeps telling me."
He struggled to sit upright.
I continued.
"Let me explain something."
He glared.
"For three years, I tolerated your insults because I loved Emily."
His expression hardened.
"I cleaned your cars because I didn't want arguments."
I paused.
"I carried your luggage because it was easier than fighting."
He said nothing.
"And whenever you mocked me, I walked away."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"But I'm divorcing Emily."
Brandon's expression changed.
"And I'm finished allowing your family to treat me like a servant."
I glanced toward the fallen knife.
"Especially when your idea of family discipline involves attempted stabbing."
He swallowed.
I took out my phone and photographed the knife on the pavement, along with the surrounding area and his license plate.
Brandon looked alarmed.
"What are you doing?"
"Keeping a record."
"You can't!"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
He hesitated.
I looked at him.
"Go back and tell your family that I'm no longer someone they can summon and dismiss."
His face twisted.
"You think you're better than us?"
"No."
I put my phone away.
"But I know I don't belong to you."
I walked toward my scooter.
Brandon shouted behind me.
"GRANDMOTHER WILL DESTROY YOU!"
I put on my helmet.
"Then tell her to take a number."
I started the engine.
And rode away.
Behind me, Brandon remained seated beside his Maserati, staring in disbelief.
By the time Brandon returned to Sterling Heights Villa District, the Harper family was preparing to leave for the hotel.
A long line of expensive vehicles waited outside the villa.
Michael Harper was speaking to several relatives.
Robert was checking his watch.
Susan was adjusting Emily's dress.
Jessica was taking photographs in front of the fountain.
And Eleanor Harper stood beneath the entrance portico, holding her beloved poodle.
Victoria Harper, Michael's wife, noticed a familiar Maserati approaching.
"Oh! Brandon's back!"
Eleanor smiled.
"Good."
She stroked her dog's head.
"That boy has always been efficient."
Michael nodded proudly.
"Of course, Mother."
Everyone expected Brandon to climb out with Jeff.
Perhaps Jeff would be frightened.
Perhaps he'd already been slapped around.
Perhaps he'd arrive on his knees begging forgiveness.
Instead, the Maserati stopped.
The driver's door opened.
And Brandon climbed out alone.
His nose was swollen.
His cheek was bruised.
His lower lip was split.
Dried blood stained his shirt.
Victoria screamed.
"BRANDON!"
Michael spun around.
"Son?!"
Eleanor froze.
Then hurried forward.
"My precious grandson!"
Brandon looked toward his grandmother.
His expression crumpled.
"Grandma!"
Eleanor gripped his shoulders.
"Who did this to you?"
Brandon sniffled.
"Grandma..."
He pointed toward his face.
"It was Jeff!"
Silence.
Then Michael roared.
"WHAT?!"
Brandon nodded.
"Emily's worthless husband beat me!"
Victoria began crying.
"My poor boy!"
She touched Brandon's cheek.
He winced dramatically.
"Mom, careful!"
Eleanor's hands trembled.
"That beast..."
Brandon lowered his head.
"I was just trying to bring him here like you asked."
Eleanor stared.
"And he attacked you?"
Brandon nodded rapidly.
"Yes!"
Michael turned toward Robert.
His face was crimson.
"ROBERT!"
Robert stiffened.
Michael pointed at him.
"YOUR SON-IN-LAW DID THIS TO MY SON!"
Susan immediately stepped forward.
"Michael, don't blame us!"
"WHO ELSE SHOULD I BLAME?"
Robert clenched his fists.
"That worthless trash has gone completely mad!"
Emily stood silently beside her mother.
Her eyes moved over Brandon's injuries.
She remembered the Jeff she'd known.
The one who apologized whenever Brandon insulted him.
The one who quietly cleaned up after everyone.
The one who never raised his voice at family gatherings.
He hit Brandon?
She couldn't understand it.
Victoria was sobbing.
"Look at his face! What if he's scarred?"
Brandon leaned into his mother's embrace.
"Mom, it hurts..."
Eleanor looked furious.
"Call the family doctor."
Michael nodded.
"Immediately."
Brandon suddenly lifted his head.
"Grandma..."
She looked at him.
"Yes, child?"
"Should we call the police?"
Eleanor's expression darkened.
"Police?"
Brandon nodded.
"Jeff assaulted me!"
She shook her head.
"No."
Michael looked surprised.
"Mother?"
"This is a family matter."
Eleanor struck her cane against the ground.
"We don't involve outsiders in family discipline."
Brandon looked relieved.
He certainly didn't want anyone investigating why he'd pulled a knife.
Eleanor continued.
"If the police become involved, they might create a scandal before my birthday banquet."
Susan nodded.
"Exactly."
The old woman looked toward Michael.
"Michael."
"Yes, Mother?"
"You know people who handle troublesome individuals."
Michael's expression slowly changed.
"Yes."
Eleanor narrowed her eyes.
"Contact them."
Robert looked up.
"Mother?"
She ignored him.
"I want Jeff Sterling brought before me."
Her voice became cold.
"If he refuses, they can use force."
Brandon smiled faintly.
Eleanor continued.
"And once he's here..."
She gripped her cane.
"...he'll learn what happens when someone disrespects the Harper family."
Michael nodded.
"Understood."
He stepped aside.
Took out his phone.
And called a man whose number he'd obtained years earlier through several questionable business relationships.
The call connected.
"Mr. Harper?"
Michael's expression hardened.
"I need two men."
A pause.
"What's the job?"
"Find someone."
"Who?"
Michael looked toward his injured son.
"Jeff Sterling."
Another pause.
"What do you want done?"
Michael answered coldly.
"Bring him to the family villa. He can walk, or he can be carried."
Half an hour later, I was descending the stairs of an old apartment building.
The place had six floors.
No elevator.
Narrow concrete steps.
And a faint smell of detergent mixed with damp carpeting.
I'd just delivered noodles and dumplings to a gentleman on the fifth floor.
He'd apologized for making me climb the stairs.
I'd told him it was no trouble.
Honestly, after spending most of the morning sitting on my scooter, I appreciated the exercise.
I checked my phone.
11:42 a.m.
One delivery remaining.
After that, my final shift with Swift Delivery would officially be over.
I smiled faintly.
"Almost done."
It felt strange.
For three years, I'd worn that yellow uniform almost every day.
I'd driven through rainstorms.
Waited outside restaurants.
Carried orders up countless flights of stairs.
Met rude customers.
Met wonderful customers.
Been shouted at by people who blamed me when restaurants forgot their drinks.
And occasionally received handwritten thank-you notes from elderly customers who appreciated someone bringing them a meal.
It had been an interesting experience.
I didn't regret the work.
I regretted the reason I'd spent so long pretending to be someone with no money.
I reached the landing between the third and second floors.
Then stopped.
Two men stood at the bottom of the staircase.
Both were enormous.
Over six feet tall.
Broad shoulders.
Thick necks.
Tattooed arms.
One leaned against the railing.
The other stood directly in front of the exit.
I looked at them.
They looked at me.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the larger man smiled.
"Jeff Sterling?"
I sighed.
Of course.
"Yes?"
He straightened.
"Come with us."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Where?"
"Harper family villa."
I looked toward the exit.
Then back at him.
"Michael sent you?"
The men exchanged glances.
The first man grinned.
"Smart guy."
I shook my head.
"Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid I'm busy."
The second man frowned.
"Busy?"
"Yes."
I lifted my delivery bag.
"I have one order remaining."
The larger man stared at it.
Then laughed.
"Are you serious?"
"Very."
He stepped closer.
"We don't care about your food."
I nodded.
"That's unfortunate. My customer probably does."
The second man cracked his knuckles.
"Listen, little man."
I looked at him.
"Yes?"
"You're coming with us."
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"What?"
"I'm not going."
The larger man sighed.
"You really want to do this the hard way?"
I looked at both of them.
"Not particularly."
He grinned.
"Good."
"That's why I'd prefer you move aside."
The second man laughed.
"Oh, you're funny."
I glanced at my watch.
"Sometimes."
The larger man stepped forward.
"Last chance."
I remained still.
He reached toward my collar.
I moved slightly.
His hand closed on empty air.
He frowned.
"Hey!"
I sighed.
"Please don't."
He lunged.
I shifted sideways.
His shoulder struck the wall.
The impact rattled the stairwell railing.
He cursed.
The second man immediately threw a punch.
I leaned backward.
His fist passed in front of my face.
Before he could recover, I caught his arm and redirected him toward the opposite wall.
He collided with it.
Hard.
The larger man recovered.
His face twisted.
"You little bastard!"
He charged.
I stepped forward.
One short strike to his abdomen stopped him.
He doubled over.
I caught his shoulder before he could tumble down the stairs.
Then guided him onto the landing.
"Sit."
He sank onto the concrete, breathing heavily.
The second man stared.
His expression changed.
The confidence was gone.
"What the hell are you?"
I looked at him.
"Jeff."
He blinked.
"Jeff Sterling."
Silence.
He glanced toward his partner.
The larger man was still trying to catch his breath.
Then he looked back at me.
"You're supposed to be a delivery driver."
I nodded.
"I am."
He swallowed.
"Then how—"
"Exercise."
He stared.
I smiled faintly.
"Very important."
For several seconds, neither man moved.
Then the second slowly raised his hands.
"Look, man..."
I waited.
"We were just hired to bring you in."
I nodded.
"By Michael Harper."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
I retrieved my phone.
His expression changed.
"What are you doing?"
"Documenting this."
He looked nervous.
I continued.
"Two men intercepted me inside a residential building and attempted to force me to accompany them."
He swallowed.
I glanced toward a security camera mounted above the stairs.
Then smiled faintly.
"And it looks like the building has excellent surveillance."
Both men looked up.
The camera's red indicator light blinked steadily.
The larger man groaned.
"Oh, hell."
I nodded.
"That about sums it up."
The second man lowered his hands.
"Listen, we don't want trouble."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting time to discover that."
He looked away.
I continued.
"Tell Michael Harper something for me."
He nodded quickly.
"Anything."
"Don't send anyone else."
The man swallowed.
I glanced toward his partner.
"And don't try to force people into cars for money. It tends to end badly."
Neither responded.
I walked past them.
Reached the exit.
Then stopped.
Turned around.
"Oh, one more thing."
Both men froze.
I pointed toward the larger man's arm.
"That looks like it's going to bruise. You should get it checked."
He stared.
I nodded politely.
"Take care."
Then I left.
Outside, the afternoon sunlight felt wonderful.
I walked toward my scooter.
Placed the delivery bag in its compartment.
And checked my phone.
A new message from Sebastian.
Sebastian: Chairman, Horizon Group's senior executives are requesting confirmation of your attendance at tomorrow's investment review.
I smiled.
Tomorrow.
That seemed reasonable.
I typed a reply.
Jeff: Confirmed. Keep my identity confidential.
A moment later, Sebastian answered.
Sebastian: Of course, Chairman.
Then another message arrived.
Sebastian: Also, our legal team has finished reviewing the preliminary evidence concerning the Harper family's threats. I strongly recommend avoiding further personal confrontations.
I considered that.
Then typed:
Jeff: Agreed. They can communicate through my attorney.
I put the phone away.
Then started my scooter.
One delivery left.
One more customer.
And then I could finally return to my actual work.
I was looking forward to it.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at my final delivery address.
It was a modest apartment building near the eastern edge of Riverforge.
A woman in her seventies answered the door.
She wore a faded blue cardigan and held a small white cat against her chest.
"Oh, hello!"
I smiled.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Swift Delivery."
Her expression brightened.
"My lunch!"
I handed her the bag.
"One chicken noodle soup, one grilled cheese sandwich, and a slice of apple pie."
She smiled.
"Wonderful."
The cat looked at me suspiciously.
I looked back.
"Good afternoon to you too."
The woman laughed.
"His name is Mr. Pickles."
I raised an eyebrow.
"An excellent name."
She chuckled.
"He's very judgmental."
I studied the cat.
Mr. Pickles continued staring at me.
"Yes, I can see that."
The woman laughed again.
Then she looked at my uniform.
"Are you working late today?"
I shook my head.
"Actually, this is my last delivery."
Her expression changed.
"Oh?"
"I'm leaving Swift Delivery."
She smiled warmly.
"Moving on to something better?"
I considered that.
Then nodded.
"Something like that."
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out a five-dollar bill.
And handed it to me.
"Well, congratulations."
I blinked.
"Ma'am, you don't have to—"
"Take it."
She smiled.
"Buy yourself something nice."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Five dollars.
I'd signed billion-dollar acquisitions without feeling particularly emotional.
I'd negotiated deals involving entire industries.
I'd watched Apex Holdings grow from a tiny startup into one of the world's largest financial empires.
And here was a kind elderly woman handing me five dollars because she wanted to congratulate me.
I accepted it.
"Thank you."
She nodded.
"You're welcome, dear."
Then she smiled.
"Whatever you're moving on to, I hope it makes you happy."
I swallowed.
"Thank you."
She closed the door.
I stood outside for several moments.
Then looked down at the bill.
Five dollars.
I folded it carefully.
And placed it in my wallet.
Not because I needed it.
But because it was a reminder.
There were still decent people in the world.
People who treated strangers kindly.
People who didn't measure human worth by the price of a car or the size of a bank account.
I smiled faintly.
"Take care, Mr. Pickles."
Then I returned to my scooter.
My final shift ended at 12:17 p.m.
I parked outside the Swift Delivery station and walked inside.
The dispatcher, a middle-aged man named Martin, glanced up from his computer.
"Jeff."
"Afternoon."
He frowned.
"You're late returning."
I checked the time.
"By about three minutes."
He grunted.
"Still late."
I nodded.
"Understood."
Martin looked at his screen.
"Your last delivery was completed?"
"Yes."
He clicked through several windows.
Then looked up.
"You're really resigning?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
He leaned back.
"Why?"
"Personal reasons."
Martin grunted.
"Well, don't expect me to keep your position open."
I smiled.
"I wouldn't."
He looked almost disappointed that I wasn't begging.
"Drivers are replaceable, Jeff."
I nodded.
"Of course."
He continued.
"Plenty of people want this job."
"I'm sure."
He frowned.
"And don't think leaving means you can come crawling back whenever you want."
I paused.
Then smiled faintly.
"That's a surprisingly popular phrase today."
Martin stared.
"What?"
"Nothing."
I removed my delivery jacket.
Folded it neatly.
And placed it on the counter.
Then I handed over the company headset and identification card.
Martin inspected them.
"Fine."
He clicked something on his computer.
"Your final payment will be processed through payroll."
"Thank you."
I started toward the exit.
Then stopped.
"Martin."
He looked up.
"What?"
"Despite everything, I appreciate the opportunity."
He stared.
For a moment, he seemed unsure how to respond.
Then he shrugged.
"Yeah. Whatever."
I nodded.
"Take care."
And walked outside.
Three years.
Finished.
I stood beside my scooter.
Looked down at the worn handlebars.
Then ran my hand across the cracked mirror.
"You've served me well."
The engine rattled when I started it.
I smiled.
Then I rode away.
At 12:46 p.m., Sebastian called.
"Good afternoon, Chairman."
"Hello, Sebastian."
"Have you completed your final delivery?"
"Yes."
"And your resignation?"
"Also complete."
"Excellent."
I smiled faintly.
"You sound relieved."
He paused.
"Chairman, with all due respect, I have spent three years watching you work twelve-hour delivery shifts while personally controlling one of the largest financial empires in human history."
I chuckled.
"When you put it like that..."
He continued.
"And for three years, I've had to explain to the board why their founder is unavailable for meetings because he's delivering chicken."
I laughed.
"Was it difficult?"
"Extremely."
I grinned.
"Sorry."
He sighed.
"Nevertheless, welcome back."
My expression softened.
"Thank you."
He paused.
"Your private car is waiting near Apex Tower."
I nodded.
"Good."
"And the penthouse staff have prepared lunch."
"I just finished delivering food."
"That doesn't mean you've eaten."
I considered that.
He had a point.
"Fine."
Sebastian continued.
"One more matter."
"Yes?"
"The Horizon Group financing review."
I looked toward the road.
"What about it?"
"Horizon Real Estate's seventy-million-dollar proposal is still under review."
I smiled faintly.
"Ah. The Harpers."
"Yes."
He continued.
"The investment committee has identified several concerns."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Such as?"
"Unusually high debt exposure, delayed development projects, and optimistic revenue projections."
I nodded.
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
He paused.
"Robert Harper's division has submitted several financial forecasts that appear inconsistent with the underlying operating reports."
My expression changed.
"Inconsistent?"
"Potentially materially so. We haven't determined whether the discrepancies are errors, aggressive assumptions, or deliberate misrepresentations."
I considered that.
"Have the analysts complete their work."
"Of course."
"No shortcuts."
"Understood."
"And don't reject the proposal merely because of my personal situation."
Sebastian paused.
"Chairman?"
I looked toward the skyline.
"I want the facts."
He nodded.
"Certainly."
I continued.
"If the deal is financially unsound, reject it for that reason."
"Understood."
"If there are misrepresentations, document them."
"Of course."
"And if the Harpers are simply desperate for money..."
I paused.
"...I want to understand why."
Sebastian remained silent for a moment.
Then answered:
"Very well, Chairman."
I smiled faintly.
"And Sebastian?"
"Yes?"
"Has the Caldwell financing review progressed?"
"Yes."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Anything interesting?"
"A great deal."
I chuckled.
"That sounds ominous."
He continued.
"Caldwell Investment Partners is seeking three hundred million dollars from an Apex subsidiary. Their representatives have been telling several outside investors that approval is practically guaranteed."
My smile disappeared.
"Have they?"
"Yes."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely not. They would need your approval."
I nodded.
"Good."
Sebastian continued.
"Ryan Caldwell himself has reportedly been using the proposed financing to support claims about his firm's future expansion."
I thought about Ryan.
His arrogant smile.
His expensive watch.
The hundred-dollar bill he'd waved in front of my face.
Then his arm around Emily's waist.
I felt my expression harden.
"Interesting."
Sebastian waited.
I continued.
"Let the investment committee finish its evaluation."
"Certainly."
"And preserve any written claims that suggest financing is guaranteed."
"Understood."
I looked toward Apex Tower.
"One thing at a time, Sebastian."
He chuckled.
"As you wish."
I ended the call.
Then rode toward the tower.
Meanwhile, the Harper family had arrived at the Metropolitan Grand Hotel.
The banquet hall was being decorated with elaborate floral arrangements.
Gold-trimmed tables filled the room.
Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead.
An enormous birthday cake stood near the stage.
The Harper family had spared no expense.
At least, not on appearances.
Michael stood beside Eleanor, discussing the guest list.
Robert was speaking with a hotel manager.
Susan was arranging place cards.
Jessica was taking photographs for her social media accounts.
Emily stood near the entrance, checking her phone.
No messages.
No calls.
Nothing from Jeff.
She frowned.
He really hasn't contacted me.
She opened their conversation.
Scrolled upward.
There were hundreds of messages from Jeff.
Good morning, sweetheart.
Have you eaten?
I'll be home soon.
I made your favorite dinner.
Don't forget your umbrella.
I hope your meeting goes well.
She stared at them.
Then quickly locked her phone.
"Ridiculous."
Jessica approached.
"Cousin?"
Emily looked up.
"What?"
Jessica smiled.
"Still waiting for your husband to apologize?"
Emily's expression hardened.
"No."
Jessica glanced at her phone.
"Really?"
Emily folded her arms.
"Jeff will come crawling back."
Jessica laughed.
"Of course."
Emily narrowed her eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
Jessica smiled sweetly.
"Just that he seems unusually stubborn today."
Emily looked away.
"He's pretending."
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
"Pretending?"
"Yes."
Emily lifted her chin.
"He wants me to worry."
Jessica considered that.
Then smiled.
"Well, is it working?"
Emily glared.
"Absolutely not."
Jessica laughed softly.
"Good."
She walked away.
Emily looked down at her phone again.
Still nothing.
She clenched her jaw.
Fine, Jeff.
Keep pretending.
By tonight, you'll understand exactly how badly you've messed up.
At the far end of the banquet hall, Eleanor Harper sat with several relatives.
Brandon had finally allowed the family doctor to examine him.
His nose was swollen.
His cheek bruised.
But he was well enough to attend the celebration.
He made certain everyone noticed his injuries.
Whenever a relative approached, he sighed dramatically.
Whenever someone asked what happened, he told them Jeff had attacked him without provocation.
And whenever Eleanor looked his way, he winced.
The old woman grew angrier with every passing minute.
Michael returned from a phone call.
"Mother."
Eleanor looked up.
"Well?"
He hesitated.
"The men couldn't bring Jeff."
Her face darkened.
"What?"
Michael swallowed.
"He fought them off."
Silence.
Brandon stared.
"He what?"
Michael looked uncomfortable.
"Both men."
Eleanor slowly straightened.
"Two grown men?"
Michael nodded.
"Yes."
"And Jeff defeated them?"
He hesitated.
"Apparently."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Brandon slammed his fist onto the table.
"THAT BASTARD!"
Eleanor's hands trembled.
Michael quickly continued.
"Mother, don't worry. We can send more men."
But Eleanor shook her head.
"No."
Michael blinked.
"Mother?"
She looked toward the decorated banquet hall.
Guests were beginning to arrive.
Business owners.
Bank executives.
Property developers.
Influential families.
People whose opinions mattered to the Harpers.
Eleanor smiled coldly.
"No more chasing him."
Michael frowned.
"What?"
She lifted her chin.
"Let him believe he's escaped."
Brandon looked confused.
"Grandma?"
Eleanor continued.
"Tonight, every important family in Riverforge will hear what Jeff Sterling has done."
Susan smiled.
"Exactly."
Eleanor looked toward Michael.
"Tell our business associates that Jeff betrayed my granddaughter."
Michael nodded.
"Of course."
"Tell them he attacked Brandon."
"Yes."
"Tell them he has no respect for the Harper family."
Robert smiled.
"And then?"
Eleanor's eyes narrowed.
"We'll make sure nobody in this city wants to employ him."
Brandon grinned.
"Perfect."
Susan clasped her hands.
"And once he loses his delivery job, he'll have nowhere to go."
Eleanor nodded.
"Precisely."
Emily approached.
She'd heard the last part.
Her expression brightened.
"Grandmother, you're right."
The old woman smiled at her.
"Of course, child."
Emily looked toward the entrance.
"Once Jeff realizes what he's lost, he'll come begging."
Eleanor nodded.
"And when he does, we'll decide whether he deserves forgiveness."
Brandon laughed.
"Maybe we should make him kneel in front of everyone."
Susan smiled.
"An excellent idea."
Michael chuckled.
Robert nodded approvingly.
Nobody questioned whether Emily's accusation was true.
Nobody asked why Jeff had fought Brandon.
Nobody considered that sending hired muscle after him might be a crime.
They simply congratulated themselves on their cleverness.
Then Eleanor looked toward the doors.
"Enough about that worthless man."
She smiled.
"We have more important matters."
Michael immediately straightened.
"The Horizon chairman?"
"Exactly."
Robert nodded eagerly.
"Mother, I've already asked several associates."
Eleanor leaned forward.
"And?"
Robert shook his head.
"Nobody knows his name."
Michael smiled smugly.
"That's because you're asking the wrong people."
Robert glared.
"Oh?"
Michael lifted his chin.
"I've contacted an acquaintance at Horizon Group."
Eleanor's eyes brightened.
"Excellent!"
Michael smiled.
"He confirmed that the new chairman will be personally reviewing major financing proposals."
Robert frowned.
"That includes our seventy-million-dollar request."
"Exactly."
Eleanor looked delighted.
"Then we must secure an introduction!"
Michael nodded.
"Of course."
Brandon grinned.
"Imagine if we could invite him to tonight's banquet."
Susan clasped her hands.
"That would be wonderful!"
Emily looked interested.
Horizon Group's new chairman.
A mysterious, enormously powerful businessman.
Someone capable of approving financing worth tens or hundreds of millions of dollars.
Someone who moved in circles far above Ryan Caldwell.
She smiled faintly.
Now that's the kind of man worth knowing.
Eleanor looked toward her family.
"Listen carefully."
Everyone quieted.
"If any of you discover the identity of Horizon Group's new chairman, you will report it to me immediately."
Michael nodded.
Robert agreed.
Brandon grinned.
Jessica looked thoughtful.
Emily smiled.
And Eleanor continued:
"Whoever helps secure that seventy-million-dollar financing will have earned my highest favor."
The room filled with excited murmurs.
Nobody noticed the irony.
They were desperately searching for a man they believed could save their business.
A man they intended to flatter.
Honor.
Impress.
Perhaps even invite into the family.
Meanwhile, that same man had spent the morning wearing a yellow delivery uniform.
Defending himself against their attacks.
And quietly preparing to return to his office.
At 2:15 p.m., I finally arrived at Apex Tower.
I parked the scooter in a private service area.
Removed my helmet.
And looked up.
Sixty-eight floors.
Glass and steel.
An enormous silver Apex emblem near the roof.
I smiled.
"Home sweet home."
A discreet entrance opened.
Sebastian stood waiting.
He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
His expression was composed.
But when he saw me, a small smile appeared.
"Welcome back, Chairman."
I nodded.
"Good afternoon, Sebastian."
His eyes moved toward the scooter.
Then my worn shoes.
Then the yellow delivery shirt.
He sighed.
"Three years."
I chuckled.
"Yes."
He shook his head.
"I never thought I'd see this day."
"Which part?"
"The day you finally stopped delivering food."
I smiled.
"You make it sound like I was committing a crime."
Sebastian looked at me.
"Chairman, you own a global financial empire worth trillions."
I raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
He gestured toward the scooter.
"You have been commuting on a vehicle that makes disturbing mechanical noises."
I laughed.
"It has character."
"It has several serious maintenance issues."
I grinned.
"Also true."
Sebastian sighed.
Then stepped aside.
"Please, Chairman."
I entered.
The private elevator carried us toward the executive floors.
For several moments, we stood quietly.
Then Sebastian spoke.
"Young master."
I looked at him.
"Yes?"
"May I ask something?"
"Of course."
He hesitated.
"Do you regret those three years?"
I stared at the elevator doors.
A difficult question.
I thought about Emily.
Her smile when we first met.
The wedding.
The dinners I'd cooked.
The nights I'd waited for her to come home.
The countless times I'd told myself she was simply tired.
Then the hotel.
Ryan.
The bathrobes.
The laughter.
I swallowed.
"Some of it."
Sebastian nodded.
I continued.
"But not all."
He looked surprised.
I smiled faintly.
"I met good people."
I thought about the elderly woman who'd given me five dollars.
The customers who'd thanked me.
The coworkers who'd occasionally helped when I was overwhelmed.
"I learned things."
Sebastian listened.
"And I discovered that having very little money doesn't make someone less worthy of respect."
He nodded.
"An important lesson."
I looked toward the elevator doors.
Then added quietly:
"I also discovered that loving someone doesn't mean they'll love you back."
Sebastian remained silent.
The elevator chimed.
The doors opened.
And I stepped onto Apex Holdings' private executive floor.
My office was exactly as I remembered.
Enormous windows.
A long conference table.
Comfortable furniture.
A wall displaying live financial data from subsidiaries around the world.
And behind the desk, a simple black nameplate.
JEFFREY STERLING
FOUNDER & CHAIRMAN
I approached it.
Ran my fingers across the polished surface.
Then sat down.
For a moment, I said nothing.
Sebastian waited near the door.
Finally, I smiled faintly.
"All right."
He straightened.
"Chairman?"
I looked at the financial reports waiting on my desk.
The investment proposals.
The acquisition documents.
The corporate strategy updates.
The endless work I'd spent fifteen years building toward.
"Let's see what everyone has been doing while I was delivering chicken."
Sebastian smiled.
"With pleasure."
He placed two files in front of me.
The first read:
HORIZON GROUP — STERLING REAL ESTATE
PROPOSED FINANCING: $70,000,000
The second read:
APEX INVESTMENT DIVISION — CALDWELL INVESTMENT PARTNERS
PROPOSED FINANCING: $300,000,000
I stared at them.
Then laughed softly.
"Well."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
"Chairman?"
I opened the first file.
"Looks like my former in-laws are having a very expensive week."
Sebastian remained quiet.
I began reading.
The Harpers thought they were preparing to humiliate a worthless delivery driver.
Ryan Caldwell thought a three-hundred-million-dollar investment was practically guaranteed.
And neither had any idea that the man they'd spent the past twenty-four hours insulting was now sitting behind the desk where those financing decisions would ultimately be reviewed.
But I wasn't going to make a decision out of anger.
Not yet.
I wanted facts.
I wanted evidence.
And most importantly...
I wanted to see just how far the Harper family would go when they believed I had no power to stop them.
I turned another page.
Then paused.
"Sebastian."
"Yes, Chairman?"
I looked up.
"There's something I want you to arrange."
He straightened.
"Anything."
I glanced toward the city beyond the windows.
"An independent review of the Harper family's business relationships with every Apex subsidiary."
Sebastian nodded.
"Of course."
"Not just Horizon."
"Understood."
"All outstanding loans, guarantees, contracts, development partnerships, and financing proposals."
He made a note.
"And the Caldwells?"
"The same."
"Certainly."
I leaned back.
"And Sebastian?"
"Yes?"
"No special treatment."
He looked at me.
I continued.
"If the deals are sound, I want to know."
"Understood."
"If they're unsound, I want to know that too."
"Of course."
I looked toward the files.
"And if anyone has been lying to our investment committees..."
I paused.
"...I want every document."
Sebastian smiled faintly.
"Very well, Chairman."
I returned to reading.
For the first time in three years, I felt completely in control of my own life.
Not because I had trillions of dollars.
I'd had that yesterday too.
But because I'd finally stopped sacrificing my dignity in the hope that someone would love me.
That evening, the Harper birthday banquet began welcoming its first important guests.
Luxury cars lined the entrance.
Photographers waited near the red carpet.
Business executives arrived with expensive gifts.
Eleanor Harper sat beneath an elaborate floral display, accepting congratulations.
Michael and Robert moved through the crowd, desperately asking about Horizon Group's mysterious new chairman.
Brandon displayed his bruised face to anyone willing to listen.
Susan told several influential women that Jeff Sterling had betrayed her precious daughter.
And Emily stood near the entrance in an elegant dress, smiling whenever wealthy young men approached.
Every few minutes, she checked her phone.
Still nothing from Jeff.
She frowned.
Then quickly hid her irritation.
Fine.
Keep pretending you don't need me.
By tomorrow, you won't have a job.
By the end of the week, you'll be begging at my door.
She smiled to herself.
Across the city, I sat comfortably in my office reviewing a financing proposal.
My personal net worth was approximately $3.8 trillion.
I'd built it from nothing.
And the people who believed they could ruin me were currently trying to borrow seventy million dollars from one of my companies.
I turned another page.
Then reached for my coffee.
"Interesting."
Sebastian looked up.
"Chairman?"
I pointed toward a section of the report.
"Robert Harper's projected revenue doesn't match his actual collections."
Sebastian nodded.
"The analysts flagged that."
I studied the figures.
Then smiled faintly.
"Well, that's going to require an explanation."
Sebastian waited.
I continued reading.
Outside, the sun began setting over Riverforge.
The Harper family's celebration was only beginning.
And so was their trouble.
Not because I'd decided to destroy them.
But because, for the first time in three years, I was no longer going to protect them from the consequences of their own decisions.