Million Dollar

Chapter 09 - The Beginning Of The End

After returning to my room, I lay on the bed without bothering to change. With my hands on my head, I stared straight at the ceiling, contemplating how I could fix everything. Was there any way left for me to regain her trust? No matter how erratic she might be, she wielded the power I needed to save my father and exact revenge on the man who took Jane away from me. Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, and I fell asleep without reaching any conclusion.

The next day, I went to work at the usual time. Christopher was busy packing parcels for me to deliver.

"Hey, Christopher..." I approached him and began, "Isn't there any other way to do this?"

"What do you mean, bro?" Christopher replied, giving me a curious look. "Once you enter this occupation, there's no way out, you know that, right?"

"I didn't mean that... What I meant was that I want to progress," I explained, averting my gaze. "I'm tired of being just a delivery boy. It's leading me nowhere. I want to move up, is there any way for me to advance to a higher level?"

"I see, so you want more money, huh?" he chuckled. "Don't worry, young man, I'll increase your pay per delivery."

I couldn't believe his response. "What on earth is this old man talking about?" I thought to myself. "Uh, yes, thank you, I appreciate it," I replied, masking my disappointment.

It was a futile attempt to talk to him. After completing my deliveries, I decided to skip the meal at the restaurant and headed to a bar for some drinks that night.

"How long has it been since I came to a bar for some drinks?" I wondered as I entered. Inside, people were dancing, some were flirting, and the music was blaring. Amidst the chaos, a fine bottle of champagne caught my eye. I ordered a glass and sipped it, feeling a slight refreshment wash over me. Suddenly, the disappointed image of Lisa flashed in my mind. "Why?" I questioned myself, feeling a pang of guilt.

I ordered another glass of champagne, but just as the bartender was handing it to me, another guy snatched it and drank it down. "What's your problem, man?" I snapped without looking at him. When I finally glanced at him, he appeared to be the son of some wealthy individual, likely in his early twenties. I warned him not to do it again, but he simply ignored me and repeated the action.

Despite it being nine years since I last attended karate classes in high school, I still knew my strength better than anyone. Just by looking at him, I could tell that a fight with him wouldn't last more than two minutes if I went all out. Fueled by anger and feeling somewhat tipsy, I didn't hesitate to throw a punch at him, which caused blood to trickle from his nose.

"How dare you, old man," he exclaimed, retaliating with a punch of his own, which I managed to block. We both rose to our feet and engaged in a brawl. While I was able to land blows in quick succession, he struggled to even land a single hit on me. I felt a surge of satisfaction after fighting and emerging victorious; before this, I had only ever been on the receiving end of beatings from bigger, heavier opponents.

As the boy fell to the ground, he uttered threatening words, "You made the biggest mistake, bastard. I am the son of Petrix’ company owner. I'll murder you." Ignoring his threats, I approached him, grabbed his hair, and delivered two more punches to his face, breaking one of his teeth in the process. His face was now covered in blood.

"Look at your condition, boy. I warned you not to make the same mistake again, didn't I?" I stated firmly before leaving him on the floor and turning away. However, my triumph was short-lived as I found myself facing the police, who were standing right in front of me. One of the officers struck me in the face, accusing me of assaulting a youngster in the bar.

"But I-I was only defending myself. You can ask the bartender; he witnessed everything," I protested, turning to the bartender for support. However, he remained silent, doing nothing to intervene. Knowing the boy's status, the bar's manager decided to take his side, further complicating the situation. Refusing to kneel down, I stood my ground, knowing deep down that I was not at fault.

"You dare lie to us," another officer shouted, delivering a kick that caused me to bleed. They continued to beat me until I was covered in blood before finally dragging me to the police station.

The police shoved me into the jail cell, their smirks taunting me. "It's clowns like you who entertain the big shots," one of them sneered.

"I was just enjoying my champagne. It was him who picked a fight with me. How is any of this my fault?" I shouted in frustration.

"Have you ever seen a deer fight back against a lion?" the officer retorted, his words dripping with disdain.

Soon after, the boy whom I had beaten came to the police station with his friends. "Well done, sir," he praised the officer, handing him a bundle of money.

"I hope I did my part right," the officer replied with a smirk.

The boy approached me, his arrogance palpable. "What were you saying about giving warnings again?" he taunted.

I remained silent, seething with rage as I glared at him. The officer opened the cell door, allowing his friend to enter. With a vicious punch to my face and stomach, and a brutal kick to my leg, I collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from my mouth once more.

"This is just the beginning of your end," the boy declared before leaving the station with his friend.

The officer approached me, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "See, that's what I meant by the lion," he remarked callously.

"Michel Witblossom," I muttered through clenched teeth. "You will pay for what you've done today," I vowed, my anger simmering beneath the surface.