The Beggar in the Lobby Was the Supreme King

Chapter 004

In the quiet luxury of a private estate's drawing room, the air was heavy with the scent of aged sandalwood and the silent hum of high-stakes power. Catherine Jones stood at a respectful distance, her posture military-straight, as she addressed the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Supreme King," she began, her voice low but clear. "The Governor of Veridian has caught wind of your presence in Ambershire. He is requesting an audience to pay his formal respects."

Ethan Smith didn't turn around. He was watching the city lights flicker like distant embers. "If destiny wills it, we shall cross paths. For now, tell him his courtesy is noted, but I am not receiving guests. Now, give me the status report on the task I assigned you."

This was Ethan’s primary concern. He found it almost laughable that a bumbling fool like Victor Jordan had actually called the police, unable to recognize the weight of the Badge of Dragon he had glimpsed earlier that night. While Ethan himself didn't fear the law—he was, in many ways, the law above the law—he was deeply protective of his eldest sister's reputation. He didn't want the shadow of a homicide investigation darkening the doorstep of the Mosaic Corporation.

"The Governor has personally intervened, Supreme King," Catherine reported. "The restaurant incident has been scrubbed from the active files and officially closed as a 'private security dispute.' As for the fallout with the Wilson family, the Governor has made strategic arrangements. Your fourth sister, Bree Smith, is personally heading the task force."

Ethan remained silent for a long moment. He hadn't expected the gears of fate to grind so quickly, pulling another of his sisters into the fray.

"I haven't had the pleasure of reuniting with Bree yet," he mused, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "Let’s treat this case as a welcoming gift for her. A way to bolster her record with a major win. Now, tell me about Matthew Wilson. Has he started talking?"

Catherine’s expression darkened with a rare flicker of professional frustration. "I must apologize, Supreme King. The man is like a stone from a latrine—foul-smelling and incredibly stubborn. My interrogators broke ten of his fingers, one by one, yet he refuses to utter a single name."

Ethan turned from the window, his eyes cold and clinical. "Is that so? Let’s take a walk to the basement."

They left the refined elegance of the upper floors and entered a nondescript industrial warehouse nearby. Ethan stepped onto a concealed metal plate on the floor, which hissed open to reveal a hydraulic lift descending into a subterranean chamber.

Inside the humid, dimly lit room, the air tasted of iron and sweat. Matthew Wilson was splayed across a heavy wooden cross, his chest crisscrossed with the jagged welts of a whip. His head hung low, but when he heard footsteps, he spat a glob of b****y phlegm onto the floor.

"You... you can kill me," Matthew wheezed, his voice a jagged rasp. "But I won't say a word. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Ethan looked at him with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. "Turn him upside down," he commanded the two Guards of Supreme standing watch. "And fetch me a pair of wooden chopsticks."

The guards moved with terrifying efficiency. They inverted the cross, leaving Matthew’s blood rushing to his head, his face turning a dark, bruised purple. Then, with surgical precision, they inserted the chopsticks deep into his nostrils, creating a sensation of agonizing pressure and impending suffocation.

"Wait! No! Stop!" Matthew’s bravado vanished in an instant. The psychological terror of the primitive method broke what little remained of his resolve. "I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! Just take them out!"

Catherine watched in silent awe. The Supreme King’s methods were always as simple as they were devastating.

"Speak," Ethan ordered.

"My... my handler," Matthew gasped, his teeth chattering against each other. "It’s Jeffrey Herman, the third son of the Herman family. He’s the one who moves the 'merchandise.' Please... I’ve told you! Pull them out!"

"And the evidence?" Ethan’s voice was as cold as a mountain stream.

"I have no direct contact with the main family anymore," Matthew babbled, desperate to please. "But once, I overheard Jeffrey Herman mentioning a place called Apex Village. I sent my own scouts to investigate on the sly. It’s not just a village—it’s a training ground. A factory for killers." He swallowed hard, a look of genuine fear in his eyes. "Jeffrey plays a sick game. He stages 'rescues.' He’ll have his own men attack a group of children, then he’ll swoop in like a savior, killing his own pawns to win the kids' eternal gratitude. Those children grow up worshipping him. They’d die for him."

Ethan felt a surge of genuine disgust. To weaponize a child's gratitude through such a horrific deception was a level of evil that even he found striking.

"Record the confession," Ethan said to Catherine. "Pack him up and deliver him to the Wilsons' doorstep for my sister to find."

They left the basement, the two guards dragging a broken, sobbing Matthew behind them. They loaded him into a heavy iron cage, throwing a thick black tarp over it, and slid it into the back of an unmarked delivery truck.

The truck pulled up about half a mile from the Wilson Villa, which was now a chaotic swarm of flashing blue and red lights. Hundreds of officers were cordoning off the area.

"The police have the place locked down, Supreme King," Catherine noted, checking her tablet. "Your sister, Bree Smith, is currently leading the sweep of the main house."

"We’ll stop here," Ethan decided. "Send the 'package' in."

"Don't you want to see her?" Catherine asked. "The Deputy Governor is right there."

Ethan shook his head, a trace of melancholy in his eyes. "Bree isn't as easy to distract as Iris. She’s spent her life training to spot anomalies. If I walk into her perimeter now, she won’t just see a brother; she’ll see a suspect. I’m not ready to explain my world to her just yet."

Catherine nodded and sent a quick encrypted text. The unmarked truck rolled forward, stopping just outside the police line. Two men in suits stepped out, offloaded the tarp-covered cage with practiced silence, and drove away before the perimeter guards could even register their presence.

Ten minutes later, a muffled, rhythmic thumping started coming from beneath the tarp. A megaphone strapped to the cage crackled to life, playing a looped recording: "Matthew Wilson is inside. The evidence against the Hermans is on the recorder."

Inside the villa grounds, Bree Smith was emerging from the front doors, her face set in a grim mask of determination. Behind her, dozens of Wilson associates were being led out in zip-ties. She was a striking figure in her uniform—sharp-eyed, authoritative, and radiating the kind of "Modern-Day Mulan" energy that made her a legend in the department.

"Deputy Governor!" an officer shouted, pointing at the cage. "Someone just dropped this at the gate."

Bree approached the cage, her hand resting on her sidearm. She yanked the tarp away, revealing the terrified patriarch of the Wilson clan and a digital voice recorder taped to the bars. She pressed play.

As Jeffrey Herman’s name echoed through the quiet night, along with the details of the Apex Village "savior" program, Bree’s hand tightened into a fist. She remembered the day Ethan was taken fifteen years ago. She had joined the force specifically to hunt down people like this.

"This is bigger than we thought," she muttered, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and excitement. "Leave ten men to process the Wilsons. Everyone else—we’re moving on Apex Village right now! I want every person involved in this human trafficking ring in handcuffs before dawn!"

From a distance, Ethan watched the convoy of police cars scream away, their sirens a fading wail in the night.

"She’s certainly efficient," Ethan remarked. "Let’s get back to the Mosaic Corporation. If Iris wakes up and finds me missing, she’ll have the whole city looking for her 'driver.'"

By the time they reached the Mosaic Tower, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. Inside the main lobby, the morning calm was being shattered by a heated argument.

"Victor Jordan, I don't care about your family's connections!" Iris Smith’s voice rang out, sharp and melodic. "We have a signed contract for those raw materials. Where is the shipment?"

Ethan stepped into the lobby and saw Victor standing there, his face still bruised from the previous night, though he was trying to hide it with a smug, lecherous grin.

"Now, now, Iris," Victor purred, leaning against the reception desk. "Contracts are just pieces of paper. My father is feeling... uncooperative. But I think I could change his mind. Why don't we discuss the 'logistics' over a private dinner tonight? Just you and me, in a quiet room. I promise the materials will be at your warehouse by morning."

Ethan felt a familiar coldness settling in his chest. It seemed some people were simply incapable of learning a lesson. He adjusted his jacket and began to walk toward the center of the room.