One month later, Ross Oakley’s ambitious plans finally ca to fruition.
Oakleys Supermarket had beco a global powerhouse, with branches in every major city and even in so of the most remote and dangerous regions of the world.
It wasn’t just a chain of supermarkets anymore—it was a symbol of Ross’s growing influence and power.
But with success ca enemies. In the shadows, those who felt threatened by Ross’s teoric rise began plotting their retaliation.
"Heh, trying to do business on our turf?" sneered a local bandit leader in one of the world’s most dangerous cities.
"Let’s fuck this guy up. Take everything!" one of his n chid in, pounding his fists together.
"And burn this place to the ground!" the leader growled, rallying his gang. Experience tales at .Côm
That night, the bandits made good on their threats, raiding the Oakleys Supermarket in their territory.
What they encountered next was a whole nother story.
When dawn broke, the streets told a different story.
The lifeless bodies of the entire gang were discovered floating in the river, their grisly demise serving as a silent warning to anyone else who dared cross Oakleys Supermarket.
This wasn’t an isolated incident. Similar events began unfolding across the globe.
Criminals and outlaws who thought they could bully or extort Ross’s establishnts found themselves eting untily—and often brutal—ends.
Governnt intelligence agencies soon took notice of the alarming pattern and launched investigations into the mysterious deaths.
However, no concrete evidence could be traced back to Ross or his organization.
The operations were clean, precise, and left no tangible leads for investigators to follow.
Still, even the dullest minds in law enforcent circles could see the connection: the string of murders was undeniably tied to Oakleys Supermarket.
The retaliation didn’t stop with criminals.
Prominent businessn, furious at the massive dent Oakleys Supermarket had made in their profits, tried more underhanded thods.
So attempted to sabotage Ross’s operations, while others went as far as plotting his kidnapping or assassination.
Yet, one by one, they t the sa fate.
Their bodies were found dumped in rivers, alleys, or abandoned warehouses, as if to send a clear ssage to the world: Ross Oakley was untouchable.
The mounting deaths sent ripples of fear across the business world.
Whispers of Ross’s shadowy reach began to spread like wildfire.
Was it his doing? Did he have a secret network of enforcers ensuring his supremacy?
No one could say for sure, but one thing beca clear: challenging Ross Oakley ca with a steep price.
As the fear around his na grew, so did his reputation.
Across the globe, nations and their intelligence agencies started taking Ross seriously.
Every major power began monitoring his actions, placing him under a taphorical microscope.
What they saw only deepened the intrigue—Ross Oakley wasn’t just a businessman.
He was a force reshaping the world in ways no one could fully understand.
Ross, however, remained unfazed by the attention.
He allowed the chaos to unfold, knowing full well that the fear and mystery surrounding his na would only serve to strengthen his position.
Every calculated move was part of a much larger plan, one that he intended to see through to the end.
"Can we send a mole inside, sir? To get a clearer picture of Ross Oakley’s life?" an undercover agent asked his superior.
"Difficult," the superior replied, leaning back in his chair.
"If Ross is truly behind these mass murders, he’s doing the world a favor. The only ones dying are scum who should have been wiped out ten years ago."
"What about justice, sir? Doesn’t he need to answer for his cris? What he’s doing is nothing more than vigilante justice," the agent argued.
"Justice takes ti, agent. With all the bureaucracy and red tape we have to wade through just to get a case on the priority list, we’d be dead long before seeing real justice done in today’s world," the superior said, his tone resigned.
"So, we do nothing then?"
"Not exactly. With the world’s attention on Ross Oakley, every major superpower is already putting him under a microscope. Spies are bound to be sent in from every corner of the globe. Rest assured, we’ll have our own agent infiltrate his circle soon enough," the superior said.
The eting ended there, but whispers of similar discussions echoed across intelligence agencies worldwide.
All eyes were turning to Parkland City, which was sure to beco a hotspot in the days to co.
As Ross’s popularity continued to soar, more people sought to take advantage of his well-known generosity.
"Charity and donations, straight ahead through the hall and to the left! No pushing, everyone! You’ll all get your ti and support from Ross Oakley," a guard called out, organizing the long line of people waiting for aid.
Ross never turned anyone away, and every day, a steady crowd gathered at this branch of Oakleys Supermarket—a place dedicated to helping those in desperate need.
Ross wasn’t stingy with his assistance either; everyone was given a fair chance to present their case and seek support from his staff.
Of course, opportunists occasionally tried to exploit the system.
However, with Ross’s immortal puppet managers overseeing operations, even a mosquito couldn’t slip past their scrutiny, let alone the maggots faking their struggles.
The establishnt ran like a fortress, ensuring help reached only those truly deserving.
Among the countless people seeking Ross Oakley’s attention, most were quietly dismissed or directed to his staff.
Yet, amidst the crowd, one individual managed to catch his interest.
"Miss, are you Faith Richards?" a guard asked, stepping forward toward an extraordinarily beautiful woman whose presence seed to command attention without effort.
"Yes," she replied, her voice smooth and composed, though her gaze betrayed a hint of curiosity at being singled out.
The guard straightened, his expression serious.
"Please, follow ."
Faith hesitated for a mont, glancing at the long line of people behind her, so of whom were already whispering and stealing glances in her direction.
She nodded and stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor as the guard led her through the crowd.
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