Rise Of Michael Jordan

Chapter 6

The guy lunged at me without warning, fist c****d back.

But before his knuckles could come anywhere near my face, my hand shot up, catching his wrist mid-swing. I twisted ithard.

A sickening crack echoed, followed by his howl.

“AHHH!—damn it! Let go!”

My voice came out cold, steady. “I can take a lot of things… insults, threats, even your sorry attempt at a punch. But nobody—” I tightened my grip until he dropped to one knee— “nobody talks about my family.”

The sound of heavy boots thudding down the hall broke the moment.

“Kael! What the hell is going on here?”

The supervisor’s voice cut through like a whip.

I released the man’s arm, watching him stumble back, clutching his wrist like it was about to fall off.

“You—” he spat, eyes burning, “follow me. Now.”

I didn’t move for a heartbeat. Then, without a word, I trailed him down the corridor, the silence between us heavy as wet cement.

Inside his cramped office, he grabbed a thick file and tossed it onto the desk so hard it slid toward me.

“Pick it up,” he ordered.

I flipped it open—and froze.

A termination letter. Neatly typed. Cold, clinical. The kind that tells you your service is “no longer required,” thanks you for your “contribution,” and warns you to return all company property immediately.

I looked up slowly. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Can’t you read the room, Kael? Nobody here wants you.”

My jaw tightened.

“What sane company,” he continued, “would hire a bastard who killed his own comrades on the battlefield? If you could gut your brothers-in-arms, what chance do civilians have around you?”

My voice dropped to a low, husky growl. “Since when do personal matters get mixed with work? What happened in the military was between me and those men—and it was handled under military law. I don’t owe anyone here an explanation.”

“Save your speech,” he cut in.

“No,” I snapped back, stepping closer. “Then tell me why you’re really sacking me. I read your damn company policy— the maximum sentence for a fight is one-week suspension for both parties. I didn’t. They came at me first with their mouths—and then with their hands.”

He scoffed. “And who the hell would believe you?”

I stared him down. “The truth doesn’t need believers.”

“Well, in this building,” he said with a cold grin, “I’m the truth. I make the rules. And the rule is—nobody wants you here.” He leaned forward, his voice dripping with venom. “Not even your precious brother Darren. That useless sellout traded his spine for a handful of cash—and it still won’t save you from this letter.”

My fingers curled into fists.

I was seconds away from snapping back when the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

They were slow… confident.

A voice followed, casual but edged with curiosity.

“What’s going on here?”

The door creaked open.

And the moment his eyes met mine, I knew him.

That smug face. That perfect hair, styled like he had a personal valet following him around. The sharp suit, the expensive shoes…

It was him.

Mr Pellington.

The same arrogant brat I had slapped across the face at Black Spire.

His eyes lit up with recognition, and his mouth curled into a smirk that made my knuckles itch.

“Oh… well, well, well. If it isn’t you. Kael.”

The supervisor, who moments ago was talking down to me, suddenly straightened, then bent slightly like he was greeting royalty.

“Sir! Welcome, sir!” His tone was nauseating.

The man didn’t even glance at him. His gaze stayed locked on me.

“Do you know who this is?” the supervisor asked.

“Of course.” Pellignton’s nodding could have broken his own neck.

"Who doesn’t know Kael? The killer who slaughtered his own comrades… and rotted in prison for six years.”

That’s when it hit me.

He wasn’t just some rich boy. He was Delacroix blood. The last spoiled child in that family.

And if I was right… he was probably my brother Darren’s wife’s younger brother.

Which meant… I had slapped my own in-law.

I felt the realization settle like a weight in my gut.

“So,” he said smoothly, “what’s happening here?”

The supervisor leapt to answer.

“Sir, Kael breached company rules. He assaulted his fellow workers.”

“That’s not the truth,” I said, my voice low enough to make the air between us feel heavy. “Tell him exactly what happened. I didn’t start that fight.”

The brat’s smirk deepened as he stepped closer, his cologne thick in the air.

“Oh? Then tell me, Kael. Who started it? Go on. I dare you.”

His tone was dripping with taunt, his eyes daring me to move.

“You’re going to regret ever laying a hand on me,” he whispered. “And right now… I’m going to make sure you regret everything.”

Before I could open my mouth, the door slammed open again.

A man rushed in, breathing hard.

“Sir—Madam Seraphina Voss is here.”

The brat froze. His cocky smile slipped.

“She’s… here? To see me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Even I couldn’t ignore that name. Seraphina Voss. CEO of one of the most respected corporations in the city. A woman whose signature could make or break fortunes overnight.

Rumor had it he’d been chasing her for weeks. She’d never even given him a minute of her time.

The door opened wider, and she stepped in.

Seraphina was a storm in heels— a sharp suit, eyes like ice, and a presence that shifted the air the moment she entered.

The supervisor and my so-called in-law practically tripped over themselves, plastering on exaggerated smiles.

“Madam Voss, welcome! What an honor—”

She didn’t even glance at them.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said.

“Yes, of course, who?” the brat asked, his voice a little too eager.

Her gaze swept the room like a blade, cold and unhurried.

Then it stopped.

On me.

“I heard he’s working here,” she said.

“Kael.”

Both Pellington and the supervisor froze, their gazes snapping between me and the elegant woman standing in the doorway.

“You… you know him?” Pellington asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.

The supervisor’s brow furrowed. “Madam, how exactly do you know Kael?”

I stepped forward, my tone flat but steady.

“I’m Kael. What do you want from me?”

Her lips curved slowly, “So it’s really you,” she murmured. “The one I’ve been looking for all this time.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze unreadable.

“Let’s talk outside.”

As I moved past Pellington, he leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear.

“Kael… please, mention me to her. A good word—anything.”

I brushed his hand off without a word and followed the woman out.

Outside, a sleek obsidian car waited—its polished surface catching the sunlight like black glass. The driver stepped forward, opening the rear door with practiced precision.

She slid in first. I followed.

The moment the door closed, the air shifted—cool, quiet, insulated from the world outside. The seats were soft leather, the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air.

I turned to her.

“So… why exactly were you looking for me?”

Her answer was calm, deliberate.

“Someone wants to speak to you.”

She picked up her phone, dialed, then handed it to me.

I took it without hesitation.

“Hello?”

A deep, commanding voice came through the line.

“Hello, Kael.”

My muscles tightened instantly. I knew that voice.

President Adrian Kestrel.

“Mr. President.”

“I’m sorry for contacting you like this,” he said.

“That’s not a problem,” I replied. “I’m just… surprised to hear from you.”

“I know I’ve wronged you, Kael,” he continued, his voice heavy. “In ways I can never undo. I don’t expect forgiveness. But right now… I need you.”

A cold silence stretched between us.

“Do you remember the Clean Seed operation?” he asked.

Of course, I did. The law that was passed years ago to identify children born with the psychopathy gene—before they could grow into something far worse.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I remember.”

“I believe there’s another one,” Kestrel said. “Aside from Malik Radwan. This one is already tearing through the country. Bodies are turning up every week.”

“I’m not a military officer anymore,” I told him, my voice low but firm. “I’m no longer a soldier.”

“I’m not asking your commander,” he said. “I’m asking as a man watching his country bleed. Meet me. Tonight. At The Aurelius Lounge.”

I exhaled slowly. “I’ll be there. Nine p.m.”

“Good.”

The line went dead.

I handed the phone back. She gave me a small, respectful nod.

“We’ll be waiting for you, Mr. Kael.”

I stepped out of the car, watching as it glided away in silence.

When I turned, I realized the yard had still gone—every pair of eyes fixed on me. I kept my face unreadable, though my pulse hadn’t quite settled.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a car, Darren’s car, pulling in.

Darren’s black sedan rolled into the company compound like it owned the place. I knew that car anywhere. It stopped just a few feet away from me, and before the driver could even circle around, Darren stepped out, suit jacket unbuttoned, his expression carrying that mix of curiosity and urgency he always wore when something was brewing.

He came straight to me.

“Kael, what’s going on here? Who was that guy that just left?”

I kept my tone casual. “Just someone I know.”

Darren’s brows drew together. “Mira just called me. She said she wants to promote you… into the deputy director position of the company.”

I stared at him. “What? Why would Mira want to promote me to something like that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t understand either,” I said flatly.

Darren exhaled, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as me. “Well, you’ll have to accept it. Kael, do you know how much the deputy director gets paid here? We’re talking sixty thousand dollars a month. That’s more than enough to—”

“I’ll reject it.”

His head snapped toward me. “Reject? Why?”

“I can’t take that position, Darren,” I said, my voice steady but final. “I was trained to be a soldier, not a corporate man. I know how to navigate warzones, not boardrooms. I understand discipline, field tactics, and surviving hostile environments—none of which apply to sitting behind a desk or attending meetings. I’m not built for this world, and if I tried to pretend I was, I’d be setting myself up for failure. I’d rather stay in my lane.”

He didn’t look convinced, but I turned away before he could push further.

Back inside, I was walking toward my section when I crossed paths with Mia, the girl from the night before. She smiled at me, gave a small wave.

I just nodded and kept moving.

After finishing up the last task, I sat back for a breather. My phone slipped into my hand almost on its own, and I found myself staring at an old photo—Aria holding Liam, taken just after she gave birth. Aria’s tired but radiant smile, Liam’s tiny fingers curled around her hand…

The image twisted something in me. My mind went back to last night—the doubt, the fear. Could Liam… really have inherited the same psychopathic gene? Or was it all just a coincidence my mind refused to believe?

A voice pulled me out of it.

“Is that your son?”

I turned. It was Mia again. She stood there, smiling.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“He’s handsome, just like his dad,” she said with a playful glint. “Or should I say… cute, just like his mom?”

I stood up, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Don’t you know who I am? Everyone in this city does. And most of them wouldn’t come anywhere near me. You’re the only one who actually talks to me like this.”

“That bothers you?” she asked, tilting her head.

I didn’t answer immediately.

She smiled faintly. “Do I have to be bothered by rumors? Even if they’re true, everyone has their own story. What matters to me is… that you helped me that night without a second thought. That’s all I need to know.”

I was about to respond when the sound of engines cut through the air—multiple cars pulling into the compound.

Security guards rushed forward, opening the doors. Men and women in suits stepped out of the first four cars, their movements crisp, deliberate. Then the final car door opened…

And out stepped the real owner of Delacroix, alongside Mira.

Darren’s father-in-law.

Beside me, the girl leaned closer.

“That’s him. The company is about to have a fire.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean by that?”