A few days later, the Southern District of York city. Charles pulled up his black Audi R8 in front of York city's bank. As he stepped out of the car, he met a loafer polisher standing in front of the bank's gates. Charles was surprised when he saw who the loafer polisher was.“Well, well, well, is that who I think it is?” He laughed as he approached the polisher. “So the rumours are true. Steve, you're a loafer polisher now?”Steve wore a shabby trench coat and a dirty cap on his head. He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, so what?”Charles sneered at him. “I never imagined a day would come when you'll stoop to this level. I thought you ran away from York city these past few days.”“I have nowhere else to go to,” Steve replied him. “Since you took away my home, my wife, and my company, I had to do menial jobs to survive.”Charles' smile spread into a grin. “Well, what do you know? You're homeless and a loser. I'm going to enjoy this.”Charles sat down on the chair and stretched out his loa

Steve nearly choked on his burger when Barry and Sebastian slid into the booth across from him. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, eyeing the two sharply dressed men with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?" Steve asked, his voice rough. Barry reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card, sliding it across the table. Steve picked it up, his brows furrowing as he read it.His eyes flicked back up to Barry, his eyes widening. "You're the Chairman of Sullivan Group?" Barry nodded. "I am." "I've heard all about your company," Steve let out a dry groan as he returned the card back. "What does the head of the biggest damn conglomerate in the world want with me?" Barry leaned back, his gaze steady. "I'm establishing a new branch of Sullivan Group here in York City. And given that you were once a billionaire who built your own empire from nothing, I want you to run it." Steve sighed, shaking his head. "You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m a jailbird, not a CEO. Look at me—I’m eati

The fire crackled in the grand study of the Weston estate, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the assembled family. Sir Henry stood before the hearth, his polished shoes sinking into the plush Persian rug as he swirled a glass of 30-year-old Macallan. The amber liquid caught the firelight, mirroring the greedy gleam in his eyes. "Well, my dears," Sir Henry began, his voice rich with self-satisfaction, "it seems fortune has smiled upon us at last." All eyes turned to him - Martha perched primly on the Chesterfield sofa, her diamond bracelet catching the light; Frank slouched in the wingback chair, already halfway through his third whiskey; Lucy and the twins James and John clustered together near the bay window. Laura sat stiffly beside Charles, her manicured fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest. "I've secured a deal," Sir Henry continued, pausing dramatically to sip his scotch, "that will solve all our recent... financial inconveniences." Frank snorted. "A

A week after the Weston family's downfall, the Sullivan Group's newly established York City branch was opened. The large lobby was cramped with investors, business owners, and job seekers all eager to align themselves with the most powerful conglomerate in the world. Steve stood near the reception desk, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd as he supervised the final preparations. He had already secured two of the three partnerships Barry had tasked him with—only one remained. Then his gaze landed on a familiar face—Anthony. The man who had once been his closest friend—until the night Steve, freshly released from prison, had knocked on his door in the pouring rain, desperate for shelter. Anthony had taken one look at him, sneered, and slammed the door in his face. Now here Anthony was, dressed in an expensive suit, looking for an opportunity with Sullivan Group.Anthony's eyes widened in shock as he saw Steve and recognized him. "Steve? What the he

Steve pulled up outside Greene Incorporated in a sleek black Maybach, the polished exterior gleaming under the morning sun. The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the building he had once called his own. He stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, and walked through the glass doors of the company he had built from nothing. The office buzzed with excitement—whispers of the Sullivan Group takeover, hopes of better salaries, the promise of stability under a powerful new owner. No one noticed Steve at first. Then, one by one, heads turned. Gasps escaped and Murmurs broke out everywhere. Senior staff and executives froze mid-step, their faces drawn in shock. Everyone was startled to see their former boss standing in their midst.Philip, now a department head, was the first to step forward, his lip curling in disgust. "Steve? What the hell are you doing here?" Steve smiled, slow and deliberate. "What am I doing here? Well, I’m your new boss." A beat of silen