Useless son in-law reincarnated as a crimelord

Sudden attack

Marcellus and Roderick Blackwood sat in the back of their sleek black car, the leather seats and polished interior a stark contrast to the grim task ahead. The city lights flickered through the windows as they made their way through the bustling streets, heading towards the racetrack where Mr. Ernest, the owner and promoter of the upcoming match, awaited their visit.

The car’s engine hummed smoothly, but Marcellus’s mood was far from calm. He was still seething over Lucas’s unexpected intervention earlier. He had never expected his younger brother to speak up in such a significant way, let alone propose a solution that seemed to have gained the approval of Herbert. Now, Marcellus was determined to rectify what he perceived as a slight against his own status and authority.

“Why did Father have to send me with Roderick?” Marcellus muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “He could’ve sent Oswald instead.”

Roderick, ever the stoic companion, simply shrugged. “Julia was busy, and Father didn’t want to risk the streets being unsafe. Besides, it’s better to have some muscle with you.”

Marcellus grunted in response, his eyes narrowing as he stared out the window. “Let’s just get this done.”

The car pulled up to the racetrack’s main entrance, where the bustling scene of activity was already in full swing. The area was alive with people—bettors, trainers, and staff—all preparing for the big race. The grandstand was packed with eager spectators, and the racetrack itself was a hive of movement as horses were groomed and last-minute preparations were made.

Marcellus stepped out of the car, his tailored suit impeccably pressed, and adjusted his cufflinks with a practiced hand. Roderick followed suit, his demeanor more reserved but no less alert. The two men approached the main building, a grand structure that housed Mr. Ernest’s office and the central hub of the racing operations.

At the entrance, Marcellus flagged down a young woman in a crisp uniform who was overseeing the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said with an air of authority, “We need to see Mr. Ernest. Tell him that Marcellus Blackwood and Roderick Blackwood are here.”

The woman looked taken aback for a moment, but she quickly composed herself and nodded. “Please wait here. I’ll inform Mr. Ernest of your arrival.”

Moments later, she returned and motioned for them to follow her. “Mr. Ernest will see you now. Please come this way.”

Marcellus and Roderick followed the woman through a series of corridors until they reached a richly decorated office, where Mr. Ernest awaited. The office was adorned with racing memorabilia and trophies, reflecting the opulence of its owner’s success.

Mr. Ernest was seated behind a large mahogany desk, a cigarette perched between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air. He looked up as they entered, his expression shifting from casual interest to guarded curiosity.

“Mr. Blackwood, Mr. Blackwood,” Ernest said, his voice smooth but laced with underlying irritation. “What brings you here?”

Marcellus took a seat across from Ernest, with Roderick settling beside him. “Mr. Ernest,” Marcellus began, his tone carefully measured, “I’m afraid we have some troubling news. Our horse, Dumbbell, is currently ill and won’t be able to participate in the upcoming race.”

Mr. Ernest’s eyebrows shot up in shock. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, his face reddening with anger. “What do you mean, ‘ill’? Dumbbell is supposed to be the main attraction. We’ve had thousands of people placing bets specifically on him. This race is crucial for us, and now you’re telling me he can’t run?”

Marcellus maintained his composure, though he could feel the pressure of the situation mounting. “Yes, Mr. Ernest. We understand the situation is far from ideal. However, we’re requesting that you postpone the race until Dumbbell has fully recovered. Given the circumstances, it’s the most sensible option.”

Ernest’s eyes narrowed. “Postpone? That’s impossible. People have made plans, travel arrangements. The race is a major event, and changing it now would cause chaos. The financial repercussions would be enormous.”

Roderick, sensing the urgency of the situation, leaned forward. “Mr. Ernest, let’s consider the situation from another angle. Dumbbell is the centerpiece of this event. The majority of the bets are placed on him. If he’s not able to run, it’s not just a problem for us; it’s a problem for everyone who’s invested in the race. Postponing might be the only way to maintain the integrity of the event and keep everyone’s confidence intact.”

Ernest’s face remained a mask of frustration. “You think it’s that simple? People have put their money down, and they expect to see Dumbbell race. If we postpone, we risk losing their trust and their bets. It’s a delicate situation, and I can’t just change things on a whim.”

Marcellus tried to keep his voice calm. “I understand the complications, Mr. Ernest, but you must also understand the position we’re in. Dumbbell’s health is our priority, and we believe that postponing the race is the best way to handle this situation responsibly.”

For several minutes, the room was filled with tense silence as Ernest, Marcellus, and Roderick engaged in a heated exchange. Ernest’s frustration was evident, but Roderick’s calm, reasoned arguments began to wear down his resistance.

Finally, Ernest sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “Fine. We’ll postpone the race. How long will it take for Dumbbell to recover?”

Roderick responded promptly. “According to our vet, Dumbbell should be back on his feet in about a week. He’ll need some extra time to fully recover, but we expect him to be ready within that timeframe.”

Ernest nodded slowly, his anger giving way to reluctant acceptance. “Alright, then. We’ll postpone the race for one week. But you must understand, this is a significant decision, and it’s going to have repercussions. I hope your horse is ready as promised.”

Marcellus gave a small, victorious nod. “Thank you, Mr. Ernest. We appreciate your understanding and flexibility.”

With a final handshake, Marcellus and Roderick stood up and exited the office. As they made their way back to the car, the tension between them began to dissipate. The negotiation had been difficult, but they had secured the postponement they needed.

Just as they reached the black car and began to get in, a sudden commotion erupted. Three men in dark suits appeared from seemingly nowhere, their faces hidden by hats pulled low over their eyes. Before either Marcellus or Roderick could react, the men began to fire.

The first shots rang out with deafening precision, the bullets piercing the night air and striking the car with brutal force. Marcellus and Roderick dived for cover, their hearts racing as they scrambled to make sense of the attack.

Marcellus, his face pale and eyes wide with shock, yelled to Roderick. “Get down! We’re under attack!”

The car was now riddled with bullet holes, the sound of gunfire echoing through the air. Roderick, his mind racing, pulled Marcellus behind a nearby pillar, his hands shaking but his resolve unbroken.

“We need to get out of here!” Roderick shouted over the chaos. “We need to find cover and figure out what’s going on!”

As the gunfire continued, Marcellus and Roderick huddled together, their minds racing with fear and confusion. The night had turned from a business negotiation into a nightmare, and they could only hope to survive and uncover the motives behind the attack.