Chapter 73: Chapter 73: The Price of Disrespect
Jason’s sudden, massive surge of killing intent instantly froze the two burly men who were tossing Ethan’s life onto the floor. Their laughter died in their throats, replaced by a primal, cold fear. They were just hired muscle, not built for genuine menace, and they stopped instantly.
The Landlord, a mountain of sweat and cheap cotton, was still too focused on his own bellowing to notice the shift in the atmosphere.
"What are you idiots doing?! Get that junk moving! This place needs to be ready by tomorrow! I said—"
"I’d suggest you stop talking," Ethan’s voice cut through the noise. It wasn’t loud, but it was dangerously calm and carried the full weight of a person who had stopped playing games.
The Landlord, red-faced and yelling, finally turned. He squinted at Ethan, failing to recognize the refined, expensive suit. "Who the hell are you? Get out of my hall! Can’t you see I’m working? If you’re a friend of that deadbeat Ethan, you can take his trash—"
"I am Ethan," Ethan stated simply, stepping fully into the hallway light.
The Landlord paused, his massive jaw going slack. He looked Ethan up and down. "You? No, no way. You’re too... clean," he stammered, comparing the immaculate suit to the ragged tenant he knew. He recovered quickly, puffing out his chest. "I don’t care who you are! You disappeared for a week! You think you can just vanish after paying up late? This whole building is being prepped for sale! I told everyone to clear out!"
Ethan’s eyes narrowed to cold slits. He walked over to a shattered picture frame—a cheap souvenir from a trip with his parents. The wood was splintered. "I paid you. I gave you five thousand extra dollars—more than enough to cover my rent and the inconvenience. I left this apartment in good standing. You took my money, and then you sent your thugs here to break my property and laugh while they did it."
"I took your money as late fees!" the Landlord blustered, trying to sound important. "And I need this unit clear! It’s my property! Now, get your junk out of here before I call security!"
Jason took another intimidating step forward, his immense body practically eclipsing the hallway. The two Guards whimpered, realizing they were seconds away from being crushed.
Ethan raised a hand, stopping Jason. He looked at the Landlord with utter contempt. "Security? You think two half-wits can stop the man who now controls more wealth than your entire extended family has seen in three generations?" Ethan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the Pinnacle Black Card. He tossed it casually. It spun through the air and landed with a clink on the Landlord’s immense gut.
"You made a mistake," Ethan continued, his voice cold. "You broke the deal, you destroyed the last sentimental possessions I had, and you tried to humiliate me."
"I don’t want my money back," Ethan declared. "I want you to sign the entire building over to me. Now. Call your lawyer. Get the papers ready. I’ll pay you ten times what this shithole is worth, just to watch you beg me to take it."
The Landlord looked down at the matte black card resting on his belly. He didn’t know the exact credit limit, but the weight of the moment, the look in Jason’s eyes, and the sheer, chilling arrogance of the demand suddenly made his terror very real.
"You... you can’t be serious," the Landlord stammered, his bravado crumbling.
"No," Ethan corrected, taking a slow step forward, forcing the Landlord to take a shaky step back. "I am very, very serious. And right now, I am very, very angry."
The two Guards, burly men from the area, finally recovered from the initial shock and recognized the threat. The taller one laughed sarcastically, showing a bulldog tattoo on his neck that identified him as part of the Dukes of Dorchester.
"And what are you going to do, rich boy?" one of them challenged, his voice rough. "We’re the Dukes of Dorchester; we aren’t scared of your expensive suits. Now move, or we’ll throw you out ourselves."
Jason didn’t flinch. His body tensed like a coiled spring. "I didn’t ask who the hell you are. I said: clean up or die."
The loudest Guard reacted in a flash of rage and wounded pride. He quickly pulled a folding knife from his pocket and tried to stab Jason in the side.
What happened next was too fast for the Landlord to comprehend. Jason didn’t use a sophisticated lock or move; he used immediate, brutal force. He neutralized the attack with an open-handed slap to the wrist that sent the knife flying down the hall. Before the man could react, Jason dislocated his arm with a dry, quick twist. The scream of pain was smothered by a vicious slap to the face that knocked out two of his teeth and sent him crashing into the wall, falling into a pool of his own blood and saliva.
The second Guard, his face pale beneath his own tattoos, tried to retaliate, launching a clumsy punch. Jason didn’t even bother to block it with his arms. Instead, he delivered a devastating kick to the chest that echoed in the hallway. The Guard flew like a rag doll, impacting the iron railing and tumbling down the stairs with a final CLANG, gasping for lost air and likely nursing several broken ribs.
The Landlord watched the chaos in absolute horror. His Guards, his thugs, were shattered. He looked at the black card resting on his gut, then looked at Jason, who returned to his position behind Ethan with an impassive look, as if he had just killed a cockroach.
Ethan hadn’t moved a muscle. "Looks like things are fucked for you," he told the Landlord with a glacial smile. "Now, call your lawyer. I’m buying this building, and if a single one of my belongings is missing, or if anything else is broken, it won’t be a tooth your thugs lose. It will be a bone for every item."
The Landlord trembled, frantically pulling a phone from his pocket. "Y-yes... I’m sorry... I’ll call... I’ll call whoever..."