As William stood by the glass doors, his face still stinging from the slap, his anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He pulled out his phone and dialed Reginald. His voice was cold, controlled, but the fury was clear.
"Reginald. I need you to handle something."
Reginald's calm voice came through the phone with a subtle edge. "I'll be there shortly, Master William."
William ended the call, his expression hardening as he looked back at the smug receptionist and Daniel. They continued snickering, clearly enjoying the humiliation they thought they had delivered.
A few minutes passed, and the boss of the agency arrived—a burly man with a gaudy Rolex and a shirt unbuttoned far too low, exposing a thick gold chain. He strode up to William, his smirk widening as he approached.
"What's this all about, Daniel?" the boss asked, crossing his arms with a grin.
Daniel, still riding the wave of arrogance, replied, "Some kid thinking he's a big shot. Claims he's buying a sixty-five million dollar villa with some fancy card."
The boss chuckled, walking up to William until they were inches apart. "Listen, kid. I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you're in way over your head. Guys like you—wannabes—are a dime a dozen. You'll never have a piece of this world. Not at my expense, anyway."
Just as William was about to respond, the sound of luxury car engines grew louder outside. The boss's expression faltered slightly as the noise continued. The receptionist turned toward the door, her smirk vanishing as she noticed twenty sleek, black cars pulling up outside. The bodyguards stepped out of the cars, dressed in black suits, moving with precision as they formed a line in front of the building.
Reginald stepped out of the lead car, his expression unreadable and his posture straight. His black suit was impeccably tailored, and he exuded an air of authority. Flanked by two bodyguards carrying heavy briefcases, he walked into the office, his presence commanding attention.
But instead of fear, the boss scoffed. "This is supposed to scare me? You think a parade of fancy cars and muscle-bound thugs is going to make me back down?"
He turned to Daniel and the receptionist. "Let me show you what real power looks like."
With a smug grin, the boss pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Hey, I need you and the boys to come down. We've got some wannabe and his butler playing dress-up. Time to remind them who runs things around here."
William stood quietly, his gaze unwavering as he watched the scene unfold.
Minutes later, the growl of more engines echoed outside. Two large SUVs pulled up, and a group of men stepped out, their demeanor radiating power and intimidation. Their leader—a tall man with a jagged scar running down his cheek—walked into the office, flanked by his crew.
"Here we go," the boss said, grinning as the men approached. "These guys will show you who you're messing with."
But the scarred man, upon entering the office, stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on Reginald. His smirk faded, replaced by a look of recognition—and then fear. He quickly scanned the room, and his gaze settled on William.
The scarred man swallowed hard, his bravado vanishing. "You didn't tell me this was his son," he muttered, turning to the boss.
"What are you talking about?" the boss snapped, his confusion growing. "I hired you to handle these guys. Now do your job!"
The scarred man's hand shot out, striking the boss across the face with a brutal punch. The boss stumbled backward, clutching his jaw as blood trickled from his mouth.
"You idiot!" the scarred man hissed, stepping closer to the boss, his voice trembling with fury. "You had no idea who you were messing with."
The boss, now clutching his bleeding jaw, looked between the scarred man and Reginald, his face paling as the reality of the situation hit him.
The scarred man turned to Reginald and lowered his head slightly. "Mr. Reginald, we didn't know. I swear, we didn't know."
Reginald regarded him with a cold, calculating gaze. "Ignorance is no excuse," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of menace. "But your loyalty can be of use."
The scarred man's eyes flicked toward William. "This is... Rothschild's boy?"
Reginald gave a subtle nod. "Yes. William Rothschild."
The scarred man's crew, who had been standing stiffly behind him, exchanged nervous glances. They knew the weight of the name. The reputation.
The scarred man straightened up, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "We—We serve the Rothschild family, Mr. Reginald. If this is his son, then we serve him now."
He walked up to William, dropping to one knee. "Mr. Rothschild, forgive us for not recognizing you earlier. My loyalty, and that of my crew, belongs to you now. We are at your service."
The room went silent. The receptionist and Daniel, still standing frozen by the desk, stared in disbelief. The boss, now clutching his face in pain, looked around, realizing he was in a far more dangerous situation than he could have imagined.
William looked down at the scarred man, feeling the shift in the air. These men—who had come here to intimidate him—were now pledging their loyalty. The power of his family's name was undeniable, but this was something more. He was building something of his own.
"You'll answer to me from now on," William said, his voice steady and commanding.
The scarred man nodded, standing up and turning to his men. They too lowered their heads in respect, their previous aggression replaced with deference.
Reginald stepped forward, his cold gaze settling back on the boss, who now trembled under the weight of what he had unleashed. "As for you," Reginald said, his voice soft but deadly, "you've disrespected my master. You'll pay for that."
The boss, now shaking, raised his hands in desperation. "I—I didn't know. Please, just—"
Reginald's hand shot up, silencing him with a glare. "You're done here."
He motioned to the bodyguards, who grabbed the boss by the collar and threw him onto the desk. The boss whimpered as the papers and items on the desk scattered to the floor.
"Sign over the business," Reginald said coldly, placing a prepared contract in front of him. "This agency now belongs to Master William."
The boss, now bleeding and terrified, grabbed the pen with shaking hands and signed his name, each stroke of the pen more painful than the last. When it was done, he collapsed into the chair, utterly defeated.
Reginald handed the contract to William. "Congratulations, Master William. You now own this agency."
William took the document, his expression unreadable. His first business. His first conquest. But there would be more.
Reginald turned to the scarred man and his crew. "Make sure the former owner never steps foot near this place again."
The scarred man nodded and turned to his men, who grabbed the boss and dragged him out of the office, his cries for mercy fading as they hauled him away.