Ethan returned from the shower, fully dressed in a fresh, casual outfit. His gaze imdiately fell on the old cell phone lying on the kitchen counter. He walked over, picked it up, and his hand trembled slightly. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been deliberately stalling—taking too long in the shower, obsessing over the contracts and the junk—because he was genuinely afraid of what he might find.
He finally powered the phone on. Jason, having finished cleaning the table, approached cautiously. "Did you find anything, Boss?"
"Not yet," Ethan replied, his eyes focused on the screen.
"How did you know the PIN?" Jason asked, curious.
"He used that PIN for everything," Ethan said simply, a hint of old affection in his voice. "It was his favorite PIN." He kept the actual code a secret, a small piece of his father’s life he didn’t want to share.
He began sifting through the content. There didn’t seem to be much. He checked the photo gallery—only old photos of him, his mother, and family snapshots. He reviewed the videos—nothing. Finally, he checked the audio recordings.
He tapped the folder. There was only one file. He pressed play.
The recording was muffled but clear enough, starting imdiately in dia res with two male voices, one familiar and calm, the other icy and enraged.
[Mr. Blake (Calm):] "You really think a tantrum will change my mind, Vincent? After all these years? The company stays with the family, and you are no longer family."
[Vincent Halbert (Furious):] —You pretentious bastard. I built this company as much as you did! You will hand over the key, or I will kill you! I am willing to sacrifice everything to take what I deserve!
[Mr. Blake (Laughter, cold):] "Go to hell, Vincent. I’ll take everything. I will not leave a single penny to an arrogant, spoiled prick like you."
[Vincent Halbert (Voice dropping to a lethal whisper):] "You think I’m bluffing? Fine. You forced my hand, Blake. I will end you. And I will end your family. You will lose everything you love. Watch your back. And your son’s."
The recording ended abruptly. A chilling, heavy silence replaced the voices in the luxurious kitchen.
Ethan slowly lowered the phone. The fear he had felt before opening the phone was now replaced by a cold, searing rage. He looked up at Jason.
"Did you hear that?" Ethan asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Jason’s eyes were fixed on the floor, his posture rigid. "I rember that day, Boss," he confird, his voice thick with guilt. "I was right outside that office. It was the last ti I saw your father alive. I heard it too, but... it wasn’t the first ti. This fight had been going on for months."
Jason looked up, his expression one of agonizing apology. "Mr. Blake never took the threat seriously. Neither did I. We never believed he would stoop to cold-blooded murder. Our lack of caution is what cost your father his life, and the lives of all my friends that day. I apologize, Boss. It was my fault."
Ethan shook his head, the anger overriding the pain. "We’ll have our revenge soon. Even if it’s the last thing I do in this life."
"We will, Boss," Jason affird, his voice rock-solid. "We will, without a doubt."
They left the house, the air charged with their shared resolve. Ethan announced, "It’s ti for my MIT appointnt."
They walked toward the car. Just as Ethan reached for the driver’s side door handle, Jason stepped forward, his hand resting gently on the fra.
"Boss, I must be the one to drive," Jason stated firmly.
Ethan paused, his hand still resting on the handle, ready to open the door. "Why? It’s just a eting."
"These types of etings are entirely a display of power," Jason explained, his tone pedagogical. "If you don’t impose your presence, they won’t take you seriously, believe . And a Boss cannot drive his own car if he has a chauffeur—it’s like being the chauffeur’s chauffeur to them. It would be an insult to the people you are eting."
Ethan slowly withdrew his hand from the handle, processing the old-world logic. "You’re right," he conceded. "I need to make a good impression. I absolutely cannot fail this ti."
He walked around the car and got into the passenger seat, his eyes already focused on the road ahead.
Jason quickly slid into the driver’s seat. "Buckle up, Boss," he advised. "We’re making an entrance."
They pulled out of the driveway. Ethan, sitting in the back seat to fully commit to the "Boss" image, imdiately noticed the sa armored SUVs Jason had ntioned. They were still parked further up the street, clearly waiting.
As their BMW approached, the door of the mansion where the Congressman lived opened. The Congressman himself hurried out and climbed into one of the armored vehicles. The mont he was inside, the entire convoy—three massive, dark SUVs—roared to life, peeling out of their spots and accelerating rapidly.
The lead SUV swerved aggressively to get ahead, cutting sharply across the lane and nearly broadsiding Ethan’s BMW. Jason executed a flawless, quick maneuver on the steering wheel, avoiding a catastrophic impact by re inches.
Before the car even stopped, three of the Congressman’s guards, ard with assault rifles, jumped out of the convoy and charged toward the BMW, their faces contorted with manufactured rage, as if the near-collision was Jason’s fault.
Jason’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching. "Boss, I think this is about to get ugly," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What would you like to do?"
Ethan looked through the windshield at the approaching, enraged guards. The System, which had been silent, chid in, its voice playful: [Hehe, this is getting interesting. Want so help? Or are you going to test the skill you haven’t even practiced yet?]
No, it’s not ti yet, Ethan thought, but he had no intention of letting so ard assholes feel superior at his expense.
"Let’s get out," Ethan commanded, the word slicing through the tense atmosphere.
Ethan’s command made Jason’s blood instantly boil. A terrible, bloodthirsty grin stretched across the old man’s face. "What a sha we didn’t bring the toys, Boss," Jason muttered. "Shooting our way through these pricks wouldn’t be too hard."
Jason’s eyes were the eyes of a rciless killer—a gaze that belonged to the Dark Reaper. Ethan, though inexperienced and lacking the Qi Resonance Scan, could distinctly feel the raw, savage, blood-starved beast standing ready beside him.
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