The silence in the Thornton Family conference room felt like a physical weight pressing down on everyone present. Blood dripped from Uncle Armando's hand, each drop hitting the polished mahogany table with a soft pat that echoed in the stillness.
Before Victor could respond to his brother's warning, the massive double doors at the end of the room swung open. Every head turned as Uncle Shane Thornton strode in, his presence imdiately commanding attention.
"Enough of this childish bickering," Shane announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room.
I'd heard whispers about Shane Thornton during my ti in Veridia City. Unlike most of his family mbers who flaunted their status, he rarely appeared in public. The few tis he did, trouble followed.
Victor rose from his seat, face flushing. "This is a private family eting—"
Shane raised a single finger, and Victor's voice died in his throat. The family head's face contorted as if struggling against an invisible force.
"I said enough," Shane repeated calmly. He walked to the head of the table, and without a word, Victor moved aside, yielding the seat.
Callum, young and foolish, stepped forward. "Uncle Shane, with respect, we were discussing our response to the Knight situation. Our family's reputation—"
"Your family's reputation?" Shane's eyes narrowed. "You children play at politics and power while understanding nothing."
With a casual gesture, Shane released a burst of energy that made the room's atmosphere suddenly dense and oppressive. Several of the younger Thorntons dropped to their knees, gasping for breath. Even the elders gripped the table for support.
"Grandmaster level," soone whispered in awe.
Shane smiled thinly. "For too long, I've allowed this branch to represent our family while I focused on my cultivation. Perhaps that was a mistake."
He stood, walking slowly around the table. "The Thornton Family has existed for eight centuries. We were martial artists when Veridia was nothing but mud huts. We don't rush into vendettas like common street thugs."
"But Liam Knight—" Callum began again, struggling to rise.
"Is being handled," Shane cut him off sharply. "The family head will erge from seclusion specifically to deal with him."
A collective gasp filled the room. The true head of the Thornton Family was a figure of myth even to most family mbers—a cultivator so powerful that he'd withdrawn from worldly affairs decades ago.
"Father is coming?" Victor asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shane nodded. "He'll eliminate Knight personally. Publicly. The entire city will witness the consequence of challenging the Thornton Family. This will reestablish our position at the top of Eldoria's hierarchy."
He released his energy pressure, allowing everyone to breathe normally again. "Until then, no one moves against Knight. Is that understood?"
No one dared object.
--- My Virtual Library Empire (*) thanks you for reading at the source.
Cultivation had beco my obsession. In my private chamber within the Jade Moon Villa, I sat cross-legged, focusing intensely on the two objects floating before .
To my left hovered the Yin-energy stone sculpture I'd acquired from the auction—dark, cool, pulsing with feminine energy that called to the shadows Ward's technique had awakened within . To my right floated the Yang-energy bronze sword that complented it perfectly—bright, warm, radiating masculine power.
For hours, I'd been attempting to rge their energies, instinctively knowing this was the key to a breakthrough in my cultivation. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I guided the opposing forces toward each other, feeling them resist like magnets with the sa polarity.
"Just a little closer," I muttered through gritted teeth. The tips nearly touched, tiny arcs of energy crackling between them.
A loud knock at the door shattered my concentration. The artifacts dropped, and I barely caught them before they hit the floor.
"What?" I snapped, frustration evident in my voice.
The door opened cautiously, and one of my staff mbers peered in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Master Knight, but there's a lady insisting on seeing you. She says it's urgent."
I sighed, carefully placing the artifacts back in their protective cases. "Who is she?"
"Kathleen Hansen. She says you'll know what it's about."
The na ant nothing to . "I don't know any Kathleen Hansen. Tell her to make an appointnt."
"Sir, she's been waiting for three hours already. She says it's about her father's illness."
That caught my attention. dical cases paid well, and I needed resources for my growing organization. "Fine. Send her in."
Minutes later, a stunning woman in her late twenties entered my study. She wore designer clothes that accentuated her model-like figure, her golden-brown hair cascading in perfect waves down her shoulders.
Her eyes widened slightly when she saw , as if confirming sothing she'd heard.
"Mr. Knight," she said, extending a manicured hand. "Thank you for seeing . I'm Kathleen Hansen."
I shook her hand briefly. "You ntioned sothing about your father's illness?"
She looked montarily taken aback. "Yes, but... forgive . Don't you recognize ?"
I studied her face more carefully. "Should I?"
A surprised laugh escaped her lips. "I'm on the cover of three magazines this month alone. I've been the face of Chanel for the past two years."
"I don't read fashion magazines," I replied bluntly. "You ntioned your father?"
Sothing in my manner seed to both impress and disarm her. Most n would be fawning over a supermodel in their office. I was simply irritated at the interruption to my cultivation.
"Yes, my father," she said, composing herself. "He has ALS—Lou Gehrig's disease. The doctors give him less than six months."
"And you ca to because?"
"Because you cured Senator Williams' daughter when every specialist in the country failed. Because you restored sight to the blind son of the Zhang family. Because people say you can perform miracles." Her voice cracked slightly. "My father is all I have, Mr. Knight."
I leaned back in my chair, considering her. "ALS is a degenerative neurological condition. The nerve cells controlling voluntary muscle movent are dying."
"Yes, that's what the doctors say."
"They're right. It's extrely difficult to treat." I paused. "But not impossible."
Hope flashed across her face. "Then you'll help him?"
"I can," I said carefully, "but my services are expensive."
"Money is no object," she replied quickly. "Whatever you need—"
"Three billion," I interrupted. "Upfront."
She paled slightly. "Three billion dollars?"
"Your father's condition is severe. The treatnt will require rare ingredients and considerable effort on my part." I t her eyes directly. "That's my price."
She recovered quickly. "Two billion now, one billion after he's cured."
I shook my head. "Three billion upfront, or find soone else." I knew there was no one else. "I don't haggle over life and death, Ms. Hansen."
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Fine. I'll have the money transferred today."
I was mildly impressed. Few people could access that kind of money so quickly. "Once the funds clear, I'll examine your father."
"Today," she insisted. "Please. He's getting worse by the hour."
After considering for a mont, I nodded. "Text the address. I'll co once the money is in my account."
Relief flooded her face. "Thank you. You won't regret this."
Three hours later, my phone pinged with a notification. The funds had cleared. Almost imdiately, a text followed with an address in the wealthiest section of Veridia Heights.
I sent a quick reply: "I'll be there in an hour."
Her response was imdiate: "Thank you! We'll be waiting."
I gathered my dical supplies, tucking them into an ordinary-looking bag that concealed extraordinary contents. As I prepared to leave, my phone rang—Leopold.
"Ward's beginning to stir," he reported. "Should I increase the sedation?"
"No," I replied. "I'll deal with him tomorrow. Just make sure he stays secured."
"Understood. Where are you heading?"
"dical house call. Wealthy client. Don't wait up."
After ending the call, I headed for the door. Just as I reached for the handle, I paused, feeling sothing—a whisper of danger at the edge of my awareness.
My security team waited outside to escort . "Ready to go, sir?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes, but there's been a change of plans."
"Sir?"
I smiled, but there was no warmth in it, only cold calculation. "Ms. Hansen will have to wait a bit longer. But first, I need to deal with so small fry."
My expression turned ice cold as I felt them—multiple auras trying to conceal themselves around my property. Amateurs sent to spy, or perhaps sothing more. Either way, they'd chosen the wrong day to test .
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