I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 056

A slight, enigmatic smile played on Kane Adler’s lips as he gazed at the city lights below. Turning to his inner circle, he commanded, "Get ready. We’re heading to the sixteenth floor of Seabreeze Tower. It’s time we 'entertain' these leeches."

Nearby, Tia Valentine and Sienna Summers perked up with predatory hunger. "A banquet? We're coming!" Tia announced.

Sienna patted her stomach, pouting. "Lunch was a bust. I’m starving."

Marcus Grady stumbled at the door, staring at the two "little ancestors" in disbelief. "Starving? You two demolished a whole table of food at noon. I’ve seen SWAT teams eat less."

Kane Adler let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward to gently pat their heads. The gesture was affectionate, though his mind was already miles away, calculating the political chess moves of the coming hours. "Not tonight, girls," he said, his tone firm yet gentle. "I have serious business to attend to, and I can't have you two turning a diplomatic summit into a food riot. Be good, and head on home for the night. Wait... do you two actually have a place to stay in Larkspur?"

The two girls exchanged a lightning-fast glance, their pupils dancing with a shared secret before they both nodded vigorously. "Of course we do!" they chimed in unison.

Kane considered this for a moment. It made sense; given the legendary status of their grandfather—a man whose influence reached into the very marrow of the United States—it was likely he had properties scattered across every major city in the Hawthorne State.

"Then go home," Kane said, offering them a reassuring smile. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. We can spend the whole day doing whatever you want. Deal?"

"Deal!" they agreed, suddenly becoming the picture of obedience. Tia leaned forward, her eyes crinkling with a sweetness that felt almost manufactured. "You're the best, Hubby. Go do your work, don't worry about your little wives. We'll be waiting!"

They waved cheerfully as Kane and his men began to file out of the room. "Bye-bye, Hubby! See you tomorrow!" Sienna called out, her voice trailing off into a giggle.

However, as the heavy mahogany door began to swing shut, Marcus Grady caught a final glimpse of the two girls through the narrowing c***k. The innocent, adorable smiles they had been wearing just seconds ago had vanished, replaced by expressions that were unnervingly "sinister." It was the look of two predators who had just successfully diverted their guardian’s attention, and as the latch clicked shut, Marcus felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down his spine.

As the clock struck 8:00 PM, the atmosphere at the Seabreeze Tower underwent a dramatic transformation. The sixteenth floor, usually a sanctuary for the city’s ultra-wealthy, had been entirely requisitioned for a single event. The grand doors to the banquet hall swung open exactly on time, revealing a corridor lined with young, stunning hostesses dressed in elegant, modern crimson gowns that blended traditional aesthetics with high-fashion chic.

Leading the procession into the hall was the upper crust of Larkspur's political and administrative hierarchy. A total of seventeen men entered, representing the collective power of the city. At the front was Mayor Tyson Low, followed by the Governor of the district, Kieran Zale, the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division, Brooks Hamilton, and Deputy Mayor Ewan Lennox. These were the men who held the keys to the city’s treasury, its laws, and its secrets.

Kane Adler, who had been waiting in the center of the hall, stepped forward with a booming, practiced laugh. "Mayor Low, what a pleasure! Welcome, welcome. I have to admit, I’m truly humbled. I didn't think such distinguished gentlemen would give a newcomer like me the time of day, let alone show up in full force. It’s an honor, truly."

Tyson Low was a man of contrasts. He was tall and lean, his posture stiff and formal, accentuated by a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles that gave him the air of a stern university professor or a meticulous accountant. He looked down his nose at Kane, his eyes sharp behind the lenses. He was clearly surprised; the reports he’d received described a ruthless new warlord who had painted the streets of the south red, but the youth standing before him looked more like a refined college student than a butcher.

However, Tyson Low had survived the cutthroat world of Hawthorne State politics for decades. He didn't stay in power by underestimating people. He quickly masked his surprise with a natural, practiced smile—the kind that looked warm but never quite reached his eyes. "Mr. Adler, please. The honor is ours. To receive an invitation from a man of your... burgeoning reputation... well, we would have been remiss to decline."

There was a subtle, almost imperceptible note of sycophancy in the Mayor’s voice. This caused a ripple of unease among the officials following him. Many of them had come reluctantly, fearing a trap or a shakedown, and seeing their "Emperor"—the man who ruled Larkspur with an iron fist—acting so deferential to a g**g leader was deeply unsettling.

In truth, Tyson Low was terrified. Just forty-eight hours ago, a report had landed on his desk that had nearly caused his heart to stop. Two hundred bodies. A total liquidation of two major gangs in a single night. When he had been on the verge of ordering a full-scale SWAT crackdown, Brooks Hamilton had stepped into his office and uttered a single sentence that had changed everything.

"This kid’s background goes deeper than the Deep State itself, and the underworld waters are too murky to navigate right now. If you want to keep your seat, your fortune, and your head, Kane Adler is a man you do not touch."

Tyson Low was a seasoned political animal. He knew how to read the wind. He had spent the last twenty-four hours digesting Dante’s warning and had come to a simple conclusion: coexistence. Furthermore, the invitation he had received hadn't just been a piece of paper; it had arrived with a "gesture" in the form of a $500,000 check. In the world of Larkspur politics, money didn't just talk—it sang.

"Mayor Low, you're far too kind," Kane replied, his smile widening. "The fact that you would take time out of your busy schedule to meet with me... well, it’s the greatest face anyone could give me."

Brooks Hamilton, standing just a step behind the Mayor, chimed in with a boisterous laugh. "Now, Kane, I realize you haven't had the chance to meet everyone in the inner circle yet. Why don't I do the honors and introduce the men who keep this city running?"

"Excellent," Kane agreed. "But first, please, let’s take our seats. You are the fathers of this city, and I wouldn't dream of keeping you standing. We have much to discuss."

As the group settled into the plush, gold-accented chairs, Brooks Hamilton took on the role of master of ceremonies. He introduced each official with a flourish, highlighting their roles and their "contributions" to the city. Under the influence of Tyson Low’s and Brooks Hamilton’s unusual warmth toward the host, the other officials—all of them veterans of corruption—quickly shed their defensive postures. They realized that this wasn't a trial; it was a transaction.

In Larkspur, Tyson Low was effectively a local king. He had hand-picked almost every man in the room, elevating them from obscurity to positions of immense power. He was protected by a powerful uncle in the federal senate, a man whose influence ensured that as long as the uncle stood, Tyson would never fall. If the King was playing nice with Kane Adler, then they were all playing nice.

Once the introductions were complete, Kane stood up again, raising a crystal glass filled with a clear liquid. "I am, at heart, a simple man," he began, his voice taking on a tone of humble sincerity. "I am a man of the streets, someone who knows how to fight and how to win. But I am also a man who understands the value of gratitude. If someone gives me an inch, I give them a yard in return. I’m new to Larkspur, and I’m sure my 'enthusiastic' arrival over the last two days has caused you all a great deal of stress. For the headaches and the paperwork I’ve undoubtedly caused, I’d like to offer my sincerest apologies."

With that, Kane tipped his head back and drained the entire glass in one go.

Brooks Hamilton was the first to clap. "Bravo! A man’s man! Kane, you certainly have the constitution for this business."

Good constitution? Kane’s internal monologue was a stream of silent curses. What the hell is this? The liquid hit the back of his throat like a stream of liquid fire, burning its way down his esophagus. He had specifically told Marcus Grady to fill his glass with cold water, yet this tasted like industrial-strength kerosene.

He turned a "radiant" smile toward Marcus, his eyes silently promising a slow and painful demise, while his fingers subtly gestured toward the glass.

Marcus looked back, his expression one of total confusion. What’s wrong? Did I get the temperature wrong? It was supposed to be room-temp spring water...

Beside him, Elias Thorne leaned in and whispered just loud enough for Marcus to hear. "I swapped it back. 96-proof bourbon. A man of his stature needs to drink like a man."

Marcus felt his soul leave his body for a second. You're a dead man, Elias. We're both dead men.

Despite the internal inferno, Kane didn't miss a beat. He remained perfectly composed, his voice steady as he continued. "As I plan to establish a permanent presence here in Larkspur, I find myself in dire need of a little... 'guidance' from the men who know this city best. Any help you can provide would be remembered for a lifetime."

Tyson Low swirled his own drink, his eyes lingering on the golden liquid. "Mr. Adler, you're being modest. We are public servants. It is our duty to support local enterprises that contribute to the growth and stability of our society. Helping a man of your vision isn't a 'trouble'; it’s our mandate."

The Governor, Kieran Zale, added a oily smile of his own. "Especially a 'businessman' with as much untapped potential as yourself. We are always looking for ways to foster... innovation."

"Hahaha! Well, in that case, allow me to express my thanks properly," Kane said, snapping his fingers with a sharp, resonant sound.

From behind the velvet curtains at the back of the hall, two rows of elegant hostesses emerged. Each one carried a silver tray topped with a polished dome. They moved with synchronized grace, placing a tray in front of each of the seventeen officials.

"Since this is our first formal meeting," Kane explained, "I wasn't quite sure what your specific tastes were. I didn't want to presume by buying gifts that might not suit you, so I’ve prepared a small 'token of appreciation' that I hope you’ll find to your liking. And don't worry—there are no outsiders here tonight. We are all among friends."

Tyson Low hesitated for a fraction of a second before lifting the silver cover. Seeing the Mayor lead the way, the others followed suit. The soft clink of the domes hitting the table was followed by a collective, sharp intake of breath.

Lying on each tray was a high-grade emerald-green membership card and a neatly folded check for $200,000.

Generous didn't even begin to cover it. This was an astronomical sum for a "first meeting" gift, especially on top of the $500,000 the Mayor had already received.

"I apologize if it’s a bit uninspired," Kane said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "But the green card is something special. It’s our new 'Vanguard' membership for the Seabreeze Tower. We’ve only issued thirty of them in the entire state. It entitles the holder to an 80% discount on all services here—dining, suites, entertainment—with no expiration and no limit on use."

An 80% discount? The officials' eyes lit up with a n***d, unrestrained greed. The Seabreeze Tower was the pinnacle of luxury in the northern United States. Even for men who had embezzled millions, a full night of high-end entertainment here could cost a fortune. An 80% discount essentially meant the house was paying for them to be there.

The Five Kings had provided them with membership cards in the past, but those had only offered a measly 30% off. This was a different level of patronage entirely.

As the officials stared at the checks and the cards, their expressions shifted from cautious curiosity to blatant hunger. Kane Adler and his team watched them from across the table, their internal thoughts a chorus of cold, mocking laughter. Look at them. A bunch of parasites. Give them a few drops of blood and they’ll follow you anywhere.

Tyson Low looked up, exchanging a subtle nod with Brooks Hamilton. He reached out and picked up the check, sliding it into his breast pocket with a practiced, fluid motion. "Well, Mr. Adler," he said, his voice now noticeably warmer and more intimate. "I think it’s safe to say we understand each other. To refuse such a sincere gesture would be rude, wouldn't it?"

Kane’s lips curled into a predatory grin. He raised a fresh glass. "I truly hope we can become the best of friends, gentlemen. What do you say? Do I have your 'support'?"

"Hahaha! My friend, you had it the moment you walked in!" Once the money was in their pockets, the titles changed. "Mr. Adler" was forgotten; he was now a "friend" and a "brother."

The Mayor raised his glass high, and the rest of the table followed suit in a jubilant, clinking wave. "To friendship! And to the future of Larkspur!"

"To the future!" the group roared in unison.

As they drank, Kane Adler looked around the room, his eyes cold and calculating behind the mask of the gracious host. The city was officially his. He had bought the gatekeepers, and now, the path was clear.