The taxi ride to Donald's warehouse was tense. At first, when Ethan told the driver of the location, the driver turned around. His face was full of shock and disbelief.

"Wait. Wait. Are you really sure you get the location right?" the driver asked. It was clear that his voice was shaking a little. “You mean that warehouse? Donald’s place?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied calmly, his tone steady. “That one.”

The driver hesitated. "Sorry. I can't take you there."

"I'll pay triple," Ethan replied quickly.

The driver let out a deep sigh. “Fine. I can only take you about 100 meters from there. That place is not safe. People avoid it unless they really have to go. It’s scary over there.”

“That’s fine,” Ethan said with a small nod.

Mark, seated beside him, remained silent, his sharp eyes observing the driver’s reactions.

The driver, still visibly uneasy, didn’t say another word after that. His silence spoke volumes, and it was clear he was eager to get the trip over with.

Throughout the ride, his occasional nervous glances in the rearview mirror only reinforced his suspicion that Ethan and Mark weren’t typical customers.

To him, they didn’t look like the desperate types who needed to borrow money from Donald.

Their calm appearance and confident stance hinted at something serious—maybe a risky business deal or a conflict he wanted to avoid.

The driver stayed quiet because he did not want to upset or get on the nerves of his passengers. 'Triple fare... Triple fare... Do not ask other things,' he kept on reminding himself.

After twenty-something minutes, they finally reached the location. The driver stopped the car abruptly and looked around nervously. He would avoid this place at any other time.

"Here's your money," Ethan said while handing out notes more than what they agreed.

The driver avoided eye contact as he accepted the fare from Ethan. His eyes were wide open when he saw the money, but he said nothing.

"Good luck," he said quietly as he drove away, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Ethan and Mark stepped out, the distant outline of Donald’s warehouse looming ahead. The air felt thick here, filled with tension that made the nearby businesses and homes feel heavy.

People hurried past the warehouse, avoiding eye contact. It seemed they wanted nothing to do with what was happening nearby.

Mark looked around, his sharp eyes moving from one dark figure to another.

After a moment, he spoke in a quiet voice. “This place makes me think of a country where I was deployed. Same tension in the air. The same sense of danger.”

Ethan looked at Mark and noticed his face tightening. It was clear that the atmosphere was bringing back old memories, memories that left deeper scars than physical ones.

The two walked toward the warehouse at a steady pace. They noticed people watching them from doorways and windows.

Some looked curious, others wary, and a few openly hostile. The unspoken question in their gazes was clear: Who are these two?

Ethan and Mark gave off a strong presence that kept troublemakers away. Mark's large build and military background, along with Ethan's steady confidence, sent a clear message: Don't mess with us.

As they neared the warehouse, Mark turned to Ethan. “Let me ask you one more time,” he said, his tone serious. “You’re sure about the cheque? We’re taking the losing side here to avoid making this worse.”

Ethan nodded, his expression calm but resolute. “Yes. Let’s settle this without turning it into a bigger problem.”

Mark studied him for a moment before nodding in return. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, stepping to the side as he began typing something quickly. Ethan waited, his eyes scanning the area, always alert.

Mark came back after a moment and put his phone back in his pocket. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As they got closer, the building looked bigger. Its worn exterior showed it had likely been the site of many shady deals.

Ethan and Mark felt the growing tension with each step, but they did not hesitate.

They were ready for whatever was inside.

The warehouse entrance had a group of armed guards nearby. Their presence displayed strength and served as a warning.

Two of them held shotguns, ready to raise them quickly if needed. The others had rifles slung over their shoulders. They looked relaxed, but their eyes were sharp and alert.

As Ethan and Mark approached, one of the guards, a wiry man with a crooked grin, stepped forward.

“Halt,” he barked. His voice was rough, likely from years of smoking, and carried an air of authority. “State your business.”

Ethan’s expression remained neutral as he replied, “Didn’t Donald tell you anything?”

The guards exchanged glances before another, a stocky man with a buzz cut, let out a chuckle. “Oh, so you’re that rich kid,” he said, his grin widening. “We thought you’d have fled the country by now, brat.”

Ethan didn’t rise to the bait, keeping his composure steady. Mark, standing beside him, maintained a calm yet imposing presence, his sharp gaze scanning the guards’ movements.

“Check them,” the wiry guard ordered, motioning to the others.

Two guards stepped forward, their hands rough and practiced as they patted down Ethan and Mark. They searched thoroughly for weapons or hidden devices, but their efforts yielded nothing of interest.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

They didn’t confiscate their phones or other belongings, a detail that struck Ethan as odd.

It didn’t take long for Ethan to realize why. They don’t care. In Brookville, Donald’s influence was absolute. Even if Ethan went to the police, they’d likely sell him out or make things worse for him.

These guards operated with the confidence of men who believed they were untouchable.

Still, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder how someone like Donald—a man with no visible charisma or commanding aura—had managed to wield such influence.

It was a question he, Mark, and Jordan had discussed extensively. Their conclusion had been unsettling but logical: Donald was likely a front for someone far more powerful.

A shadowy figure who pulled the strings while Donald served as the face of their operations.

“Move,” one of the guards barked, gesturing with his shotgun. The guards formed a formation: two in front, one on each side, and two more bringing up the rear.

Ethan and Mark were ushered inside the warehouse. The air smelled of oil and metal, and you could hear machines humming in the distance.

The area was a maze of stacked crates, old equipment, and poorly lit hallways. It was both chaotic and meticulously organized, a testament to the dual nature of the operations likely taking place here.

As they walked, Ethan’s sharp eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The placement of cameras, the positions of additional guards, the locations of potential exits—all of it was committed to memory with uncanny precision.

His recently unlocked eidetic memory allowed him to catalog the environment effortlessly, storing each piece of information for later use.

Mark, too, was scanning the surroundings, though his focus was more immediate. He noted the guards’ movements, the type of firearms they carried, and the way they communicated.

Every detail was a potential advantage—or threat.

The group eventually arrived at a pair of heavy steel doors. One of the guards knocked twice in a specific rhythm before the doors creaked open, revealing a grand room beyond.

It was a stark contrast to the grimy warehouse outside. The room was richly decorated. The room had shiny wooden floors and leather chairs. At the far end, there was a large desk.

A chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its crystal parts reflected a warm light throughout the room. Behind the desk sat Donald himself, his face twisting into a smug grin as Ethan and Mark were led inside.

The guards stopped at the doorway, their formation holding as the two visitors were left standing before Donald.

Donald leaned back in his chair and placed his fingers together. “Well, well,” he said, his voice filled with mockery. “Look who actually showed up.”

Seeing that Ethan didn’t respond immediately, Donald leaned forward, his smirk widening. “Where’s the money?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery.

Ethan stayed calm as he took the cheque out of his pocket. He raised it slowly, letting it catch the light before handing it over.

One of the guards stepped forward, snatching the cheque from Ethan’s hand before bringing it to Donald.

Donald opened the cheque and looked at it, his smirk changing to a grin. “A cheque?” he asked, sounding disrespectful. “Where’s the cash? You said you’d have it ready in two hours.”

Ethan’s voice was even as he replied, “It’s impossible to gather that much cash from a bank in this town on such short notice.”

Donald laughed heartily, filling the grand room with joy. He shook his head with a grin and playfully waved the check in the air. “So you’re not that great after all. Just some rich kid showing off with mommy and daddy’s money.”

Mark glanced at Ethan, his body tense. He was worried Ethan might snap and do something reckless after such a blatant provocation. But to his surprise, Ethan remained composed.

Ethan knew better. He was just starting in this kind of world, and patience was a skill he was learning to master. He reminded himself that there would come a time—maybe a year or two from now—when he’d return here and utterly crush Donald. But now wasn’t that time.

Ethan allowed a small smile to play on his lips. “You’re right,” he said lightly. “Luckily, my parents have no problem with this amount.”

He tilted his head slightly, keeping his tone measured. “We’re settled, then, right? Can I take your word that you’ll leave the Moores alone from now on?”

Donald and his underlings exchanged glances before breaking into smiles—not the friendly kind, but the kind that made it clear they had something else in mind.

Donald said, "Of course," but his tone showed that he was not sincere. “I’m a man of my word. You don’t need to worry. The Moores are safe now.”

Ethan nodded, his expression unreadable. He turned to leave, gesturing subtly for Mark to follow. But before they could take a step, the guards stepped in front of them, blocking their path.

Ethan stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly. Mark stayed calm, his face impassive as he observed the situation. He had been in far worse scenarios than this and knew better than to react impulsively.

Ethan’s voice dropped to a grave tone, his patience clearly on the edge. “What are you planning, Donald?”

Donald let out an evil laugh, leaning casually against his desk. “Well,” he drawled, “it’s not every day that a rich kid comes into my place, throwing money around like it’s nothing. You’re an interesting one.”

Ethan’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp. “Is that so? And what do you want, Donald? More money?”

Mark’s eyes flicked toward Ethan, surprised at how calm he seemed. He had expected Ethan to be more rattled, but instead, Ethan’s composure remained intact.

Donald shivered slightly under Ethan’s gaze, though he quickly masked it with bravado. “This is my territory,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t think for a second that your calm little act scares me.”

Ethan tilted his head and spoke calmly but firmly. “If that’s what you believe, let’s get to the point. What do you want?”

Donald leaned back on his chair. He tried to play with Ethan's emotions by tapping his fingers together.

“Who are you really, Ethan Cole?” he asked, his voice slow and deliberate. “You have no background. Suddenly, you’re rich. Starting up a tech company, buying a building worth tens of millions."

He paused for a moment before adding, "You sure are something, Ethan.”

Ethan remained silent, his expression carefully neutral. But his mind raced. How did Donald know about him?

The only explanation was unnerving; Donald wasn’t acting alone.

Ethan wondered who might be giving him information.

Donald’s grin widened as if he could read Ethan’s thoughts. “You must be wondering how I know all of this, right?”

His tone was taunting, and his smugness grating. “In this world, it’s easy to get any information. The right connections, the right price… and voilà.”

Ethan exhaled slowly and replied in a calm tone, “I don’t really care how you got your information. Just state what you want so we can settle this quickly.”

Donald’s smirk faltered for a split second as if he hadn’t expected such a dismissive response. But he quickly recovered, snapping his fingers sharply.

At his signal, more guards appeared, stepping out from hidden corners and forming a circle around Ethan and Mark.

Donald chuckled as he stood up, walking slowly toward them. “Now, Ethan, tell me. How on earth did you manage to get rich? No background, no connections—just a name that popped up out of nowhere.”

Ethan glanced at Mark, who remained calm and steady, his sharp eyes assessing the new threats around them. Ethan, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain his composure. His face betrayed no emotion, but beneath the surface, his nerves were on edge.

Donald’s eyes shifted to Mark, his grin turning predatory. He circled him like a predator, inspecting its prey before stopping in front of him.

“Mark Spencer,” Donald said, his tone laced with mock astonishment. “I never imagined I’d meet one of the Five Ghosts of Nemesis.”

Ethan’s gaze flicked to Mark, the name catching his attention. Five Ghosts of Nemesis? He had never heard that title before.

Mark met Donald’s gaze, his voice cold and measured. “You’ve done your homework.”

Donald laughed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, I have, Mr. Spencer. You and your little band of ghosts—legends in the field. Covert ops, classified missions, the kind of stuff most people can’t even dream about."

He looked around before his gaze landed on Mark again. "And now, here you are, babysitting this rich kid. Quite the career change, isn’t it?”

Mark didn’t reply, his expression remaining unreadable.

Donald leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Tell me, Mark. What’s a man like you doing protecting someone like him? Or is there more to this boy than meets the eye?”

Ethan stepped forward, cutting off whatever Mark might have to say. His voice was firm but calm. “Enough. You wanted me here to settle the debt, and I’m here. If you have something else in mind, say it now.”

Donald straightened up, still amused. “Oh, I have a lot in mind, Ethan. But let’s start—”

BAM! The door burst open with a loud bang. A guard rushed in quickly.

"Boss! We’re being attacked!"