Mike Carter was panicked. Amelia Song was always strong—never one to cry, let alone break down like this. Something terrible must have happened to her.
Frantically, Mike tried calling again, but her phone was already turned off. His heart raced as anxiety consumed him.
At that moment, a sleek Maybach pulled up to the cafeteria entrance. Ethan Howard stepped out and immediately noticed Mike's distressed expression. "Young Master, what's wrong?" he asked with concern.
"Forget the Bear family for now," Mike ordered firmly. He couldn't focus on anything else until he found Amelia.
Ethan didn't press further. "Understood. What do we do now?"
"Can you track a location using a phone number?" Mike asked quickly.
"For a high-ranking foreign leader, maybe a day. But for a local number?" Ethan glanced at Mike's phone. "Give me half an hour."
True to his word, within thirty minutes, Ethan handed Mike a location—Maplewood Avenue, a bustling food district just behind River Valley College.
When Mike and Ethan arrived, they found chaos outside a barbecue shop. Tables and chairs lay overturned, shards of glass scattered across the floor. In the middle of the mess was Amelia Song, lying on the ground. Her clothes were torn, blood stains visible on her body, and next to her lay her shattered phone. The sight made Mike's heart twist in pain.
A middle-aged shop owner was pleading with a group of rough-looking men. "Please, sir, let it go. It was just an accident. We'll find a way to compensate you. Little Amelia didn't mean to break your bottle."
The leader of the group, a burly man known as Iron Claw, scoffed and smacked the shop owner to the ground. Grabbing Amelia by the arm, he lifted her like a ragdoll and sneered, "Call for help. Go on. Let's see who dares to show up on my turf!"
Amelia stayed silent, her lips trembling. She regretted calling Mike earlier, knowing he wasn't in a position to help her. But at that moment, she had no one else to turn to.
"I'll give you one last chance. Nod, or shake your head," Iron Claw demanded, his patience wearing thin.
Amelia's response was defiant. She shook her head slowly, refusing to bow to his threats.
Iron Claw's face twisted in rage, and just as he was about to strike, a voice interrupted him.
"Who broke the bottle?" The voice was calm but cold.
Iron Claw turned to see a young man stepping into the shop, his eyes blazing with fury. It was Mike Carter. He walked past the broken glass, crouched down to pick up Amelia's shattered phone, and dusted it off as if trying to restore what was lost.
"Didn't you see the sign? We're closed!" Iron Claw barked.
Mike ignored him, his gaze still on the phone. "What kind of bottle was it?"
"You trying to act tough, kid?" Iron Claw snapped. "That bottle belonged to my boss, Big Jack. Do you even know who that is?"
Ethan Howard, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. Mike, however, didn't flinch. "How much for the bottle? I'll pay."
Iron Claw laughed mockingly. "Pay? That bottle wasn't just any bottle. It's a custom brew from Big Jack himself. It's worth at least three million."
Mike smirked. "Three million? Fine. I'll pay thirty million instead. But… do you dare to take it?"
Iron Claw was stunned. For a moment, the entire shop fell silent. The idea of someone offering thirty million instead of three million was absurd. But Mike's cold, unwavering demeanor sent shivers down everyone's spine.
Iron Claw forced a laugh, trying to mask his unease. "You think you're funny, huh? Who even are you?"
Mike didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Ethan Howard. "Do you know this Big Jack guy?"
Ethan shook his head. "Not personally. But if you'd like, I can arrange a meeting."
Mike's lips curled into a slight smile. "No need. I'll call him myself." He took out his phone, and Ethan quickly provided Big Jack's number.
The room tensed as Mike dialed. On the other end, Big Jack, the infamous figure controlling the city's underworld, answered gruffly. "Who is this?"
Mike's voice was casual, almost mocking. "Big Jack, is it?"
There was a long pause, followed by a loud bang as Big Jack slammed his fist onto his desk. "What did you just call me?!"
Mike didn't falter. "My friend accidentally broke your bottle. How much do you want for it?"
"You've got guts, kid. That bottle? Three million," Big Jack growled.
"Three million? Too little," Mike said nonchalantly. "How about thirty million? But the question is… do you dare to take it?"