Chapter 3

"Victor, we really have no money left!" George dropped to his knees. "We already repaid the 60,000 dollars we borrowed from you. Over the years, it was 6,000 here, 6,000 there. Now it's somehow 600,000? How are we supposed to come up with that?"

He pressed his forehead to the floor. "Please. Leave our family a way out."

His plea did not soften Victor. It hardened him.

Victor stepped forward and kicked George aside.

"Save it. Who the hell are you to beg me?" he snapped. "If I give you a way out, who gives me one?"

He spat on the ground. "Blame yourself. You messed with someone you shouldn't have."

Victor raised his hand. "If you won't choose, I'll choose for you."

He pointed at Rebecca. "Take the girl. 60 bucks a night. Let her work for a few decades. That'll cover the debt."

Two thugs grinned and advanced.

Rebecca seized Oscar's arm. Her whole body trembled.

"No!" George struggled up, but Victor kicked him down again.

He was too old. His thin frame could no longer shield his family from the storm bearing down on them.

George's wife, Helena Rosenfeld, quietly picked up a pair of scissors. Her knuckles turned white around the handle. If they tried to drag Rebecca away, she would fight to the death.

The men closed in. Rebecca's back hit the wall. She stiffened like a cornered stray, teeth bared, yet frozen in place, bracing for the blow.

"Is this how Dargan Wyrmwood of Northspire leads his people?" Oscar's calm, even voice cut through the room.

The thugs halted mid-step. Instinctively, they looked back at Victor. Dargan Wyrmwood was their boss's boss.

Victor narrowed his eyes and studied Oscar again.

Oscar stood drenched and slightly disheveled. Yet the cut of his suit, hand-tailored and understated, spoke for itself. From the moment he walked in, he had offered to cover the debt without hesitation.

"You know Mr. Wyrmwood?" Victor asked carefully.

Oscar did not answer. He surveyed the shattered shack instead. "What exactly happened here?"

He had held back until now because he did not know the full story. George had shown him kindness, but experience had taught Oscar that trust could collapse overnight.

Victor forced a smile. "Sir, we follow the rules. This old man took a loan from us to open a shop. The interest was agreed upon up front."

He spread his hands. "He's been hiding from us. We had no choice."

As he spoke, he flicked his fingers behind his back. One thug slipped out the door to check Oscar's background.

Oscar noticed but did not react.

Meanwhile, Rebecca helped George to his feet.

"That's not true!" she cried, her voice shaking. "We already paid you back. You were jealous of our meat pie shop. The loan wasn't enough. You wanted the store too. My father, Calvin, refused, and you killed him!"

Her voice broke. "He was only 40!"

At Calvin's name, George's eyes reddened.

Victor shrugged. "Your idiot son had bad luck. Accidents happen."

He turned back to Oscar. "If you've got nothing to do with them, leave now. Offending Mr. Wyrmwood in Silverton isn't something most people can afford."

Confidence edged back into his tone.

Oscar had heard enough.

Silverton's rise had lifted the Chamberlain family with it. He understood how these backroom games worked.

A soft, humorless laugh escaped him.

"Dargan wouldn't dare speak to me like that. What makes you think you can?" he said, shaking his head.

Victor's eyes widened. He scanned Oscar from head to toe again.

There were people in Silverton who could say such a thing. None of them, however, looked soaked and alone in a slum.

Was this kid bluffing?

The thug who had run out rushed back inside. Oscar flicked him a glance. The man froze at once, his posture snapping rigid.

"What are you standing there for?" Victor snapped. "Who the hell is this guy?"

The thug ignored him and bent slightly at the waist. "Mr. Chamberlain."

Victor felt the blood drain from his face. "Mr. Chamberlain? Which Chamberlain?"

The answer struck before he finished speaking.

In Silverton, only one Chamberlain family mattered: Arthur Chamberlain's family, with nine daughters, each a leader in her field. The Chamberlain Group sat at the top of the city's food chain as a true powerhouse that decided who rose and who fell.

That family had only one male heir.

Rumor held that it was better to offend the Lord of Hell than the Chamberlain family's young heir. No one underestimated how terrifying nine powerful women could be when enraged.

Victor's legs gave out. He collapsed, then scrambled up again, drenched in sweat.

"Mr. Chamberlain, what brings you to a place like this?" he stammered. "Please, come inside…"

The words died in his throat. The front door hung broken. The back wall lay smashed in. Wind and rain tore through the shack from both sides. No shelter remained.

Oscar's voice turned cold. "What happened here?"

The question carried unmistakable weight.

"Tell the truth," Oscar demanded.

Victor broke. He was only a hired thug, and even his employer worked on projects tied to the Chamberlain family. Under Oscar's steady gaze, he confessed everything.

On Westin Commercial Street, George and his son, Calvin Miller, ran a small but profitable meat pie shop. Eager to expand, Calvin borrowed money from Dargan and planned to repay it within a few months.

Then Westin District entered a period of redevelopment.

The new location hemorrhaged money.

Dargan had planted traps throughout the contract. When Calvin refused to surrender the shop, the pressure intensified. Soon after, Calvin died in what the authorities labeled an "accident."

That still did not satisfy them. They continued to squeeze George, intent on wringing every last bit of value from the family.

Oscar's expression darkened. The redevelopment of Westin Commercial Street had been a Chamberlain project.

He looked toward George's family. The moment they learned he was a Chamberlain, they retreated into a corner. The warmth drained from their eyes and gave way to fear.

"Return every cent you took from the Millers," Oscar said. "Apologize. And don't stop until they forgive you."

"Yes, Mr. Chamberlain…" Victor swallowed. "But could you leave some token from the Chamberlain family? Just so I have something to report back…"

He had already profited handsomely from George. If Oscar gave the order, he would withdraw without protest. He only needed a pretext.

Before Oscar could answer, a cold voice drifted in from outside. "Token? He's no longer the Chamberlain heir."

High heels clicked against the pavement as a woman stepped through the rain. Bella entered beneath a black umbrella, her expression sharp and aloof.

"Oscar, so much for your pride," she said, her lips curving faintly. "You talk tough, then turn around and use the Chamberlain name to bully people?"