What does a billion mean, really?
Ryan pondered for a moment, unable to truly grasp the scale of it, but feeling his heart ease somewhat. Mimicking Miles, he poured himself a glass of beer, seated himself by the window, and watched as a few men, bundled up like bears, began pounding on the door.
"Damn it, he's just sitting there, drinking beer!"
"Let's get him!"
The homeowners who had been hammering away at Miles' villa door quickly turned their attention to Ryan's storage shelter nearby. If they couldn't break into the villa, surely this smaller building would be an easier target.
Hearing the loud banging outside, Ryan's nerves wavered for only a moment before Miles laughed lightly, "Don't worry, Ryan. That storage shelter was a special addition from Brilliant Properties. It may only be thirty square meters, but it's fully fortified, same as the villa. Let them bang all they like."
Miles' tone was so relaxed that Ryan couldn't help but calm down as well.
A few frustrated residents battered the door in the freezing cold, hunger gnawing at them until, eventually, they could take no more. One slumped down on the icy ground in sheer exhaustion.
It was clear now: a forceful entry was a lost cause, at least for this handful of residents.
Yet instead of feeling defeated, they sneered. "Sure, we couldn't break through, but with over thirty thousand people in this complex, Miles has no idea what he's in for. One way or another, we'll tear his fortress to the ground!"
Back in their chat group, they unleashed a storm of complaints directed at Miles.
Inside his villa, Miles read the messages with a hint of amusement.
"This guy Miles clearly anticipated us. The whole villa is reinforced—hammers don't even leave a mark."
"Bastard's holed up in there, eating and drinking like a king!"
"What? He's drinking and feasting?"
This last message incited an uproar.
At least half of the residents had already exhausted their supplies; some were scavenging through garbage just to survive. But Miles was living in luxury? The group exploded in outrage, with calls to march to Villa 104 and drag him out.
But not everyone in the group was impulsive.
Would a house that could withstand hammering really be so easy to break into?
It was then that someone tagged Miles directly, "Mr. Miles, this is Thompson from Oceanview Hotel. I understand you have some extra supplies—could we perhaps arrange a transaction? You name the price."
A businessman's logic: only on the brink of desperation do they bare their fangs. But Miles remained silent.
Another resident tagged him, "Mr. Miles, this is Tyler from Sea Emperor Real Estate. Would you be willing to come out and have a word?"
"Mr. Miles, I'm Sarah from Hongpeng Communications…"
"Mr. Miles, I'm Sini, manager at Future Beauty…"
One after another, over a hundred people—most of them high-profile figures in Chicago—tagged Miles within minutes. In any other circumstance, these influential people could shake the city with a single move.
Yet now, each of them humbled themselves, pleading for mercy from Miles.
Then came a new message: "Miles, this is Andrew from Buckingham Palace. You must have heard my name in Chicago. I assure you, if you come out and talk, I'll see to it no one else bothers you again."
Miles' faint smile vanished as he read Andrew's message.
So, you've finally shown yourself.
In his previous life, it was Andrew who had masterminded his death. Andrew and his accomplice Ella had burst into his home, ambushing him while he was unprepared. Despite his desperate pleas, they forced Ella to kill him.
Staring at Andrew's cold profile photo, a fire blazed in Miles' eyes.
Andrew. In this life, I'll make sure you can neither live nor die in peace.
"Mr. Andrew?" Miles replied, "Well, isn't this a surprise. Didn't know you lived here too. Quite the coincidence."
On the other end, Andrew sneered at Miles' seemingly polite response.
"Heh, I figured—no one in Chicago would dare to cross me, Andrew."
After a satisfied scoff, Andrew typed back, "Miles, I hear you have quite a bit of stockpile. Any chance you'd share a little with your older brother here?"
Miles responded immediately, "Of course, Andrew. With your goodwill, how could I refuse? I have enough to last half a year; I'll give you half of that."
"Good man."
Andrew smiled as he replied, "If you ever find yourself in trouble here in Chicago, just come to me."
"Got it. I'll leave the supplies in my yard. Send someone to collect them when you're ready."
Andrew, seated in his central villa in Zone A, leaned back against the couch, a smug grin on his face as two fire pits crackled nearby.
"So much for his 'shelter'—he came crawling out all the same."
As for the claim of "half a year's supply," Andrew didn't buy it. It was common knowledge that Miles had looted over two million dollars worth of goods. Even if half of it were food, it would last a hundred people ten years.
But since Miles was proving cooperative, Andrew saw no need to push him too hard—at least, not right away. Better to stretch it out, fleece him gradually.
A few of Andrew's men piled on the praise, "Boss, you're the best. With you calling the shots, we'll never go hungry again!"
Andrew, a notorious figure in Chicago's underworld, had countless lives on his hands. His followers were equally ruthless, and he'd seen to it they were stocked on essentials at the onset of the snowstorm.
But no one anticipated the storm's relentless persistence. While Andrew wasn't starving yet, with ten mouths to feed, his supplies would last only a few more days.
"This weather…" Andrew spat. "You two—head downstairs and break up some furniture for the fire. The rest of you, get over to 104 and bring back the goods."
"On it, boss!"
Once his men had set off for Villa 104, Andrew checked his phone and saw the rising discontent in the group chat.
"What a joke. We're offering to buy, but he gives it to them for free."
"Shh, keep it down…"
Most people in Chicago wouldn't dare say anything directly to Andrew, but the resentment grew thicker by the second.
Several residents were starting to whisper plans of their own. If they banded together, surely not even Andrew could stand against the entire complex. After all, even a vicious dog can't fend off a pack of wolves.
A pack of starving wolves.
Meanwhile, Andrew's men reached Villa 104 and found stacks of food in the yard—instant noodles, frozen meals, even cigarettes, liquor, and fresh meat.
Their faces lit up with excitement.
"Haha! Miles actually knows how to show respect. Looks like we're set for a while!"
"Hey, Miles!" one of them shouted toward the villa, his tone dripping with disdain. "Andrew sent us to pick up the supplies. Open up for us, will you?"
Miles simply watched from his second-floor window, a faint smile on his face, before remotely unlocking the gate with a press of a button.