Chapter 2
At the gate of São Paulo Mountain Prison, a black Mercedes van had been waiting for some time.
Isabella pulled open the car door and turned to look at Eric, who had changed into plain, simple clothes. Her tone was cold and cutting: "Eric, the only reason I'm here today is out of respect for Grandfather and your brother. It has nothing to do with you personally. I know you ran with a rough crowd in there, throwing your weight around and bullying people — but this is the outside world. This isn't São Paulo Mountain, where you could do whatever you wanted."
Eric said nothing. He just stared out the window as the scenery rushed past.
"When we get to Washington, you keep your head down," Isabella said, her voice low and firm as she drove. "No more trouble like before. That woman Alina has already moved on — she's tangled up with some new money in Washington now. If you even think about going after her for revenge, no one will be able to save you. The Williams family can't afford any more storms. Not anymore."
"Understood." Eric closed his eyes. His voice was calm — almost unsettlingly so.
Isabella assumed he'd built his reputation in prison through brute force and intimidation. She had no idea that a single word from him could make the whole world shake.
There was something wrong about how his brothers died. He was sure of it.
The three of them combined — no ambush should have been able to take all of them down without a single one getting out. Unless someone had sold them out.
"John. James. Robert. Your blood won't be wasted," Eric swore silently. "Everyone who brought harm to the Williams family — I'll make them pay a hundred times over."
After a few hours on the road, the car turned into Angel District, a villa community on the outskirts of Washington.
It was a decent enough place, but nothing compared to Swan Lake No. 1 — where the Williams family had lived when they still held Washington in the palm of their hand.
"After Swan Lake was sold, most of the company fell into the hands of the branch families. This is all I managed to hold onto — Villa No. 7. Grandfather has been staying with me. I play chess with him after work when I can." Isabella parked the car and said this with a tired look on her face.
They had barely reached the front gate when a harsh, arrogant voice rang out from the second-floor balcony.
"Old man, don't push your luck! What's left of the Williams family assets can't even cover the bank loans. I'm offering ten million to buy it out, and that's me being generous — out of respect for those three dead soldiers. Don't you forget that!"
"If you keep playing games and force my hand, you won't see a single cent. You'll be sleeping on the street!"
Isabella's face went pale. "That's a debt collection crew — loan sharks. How did they find this place?"
She started to rush in, but a strong hand pulled her back.
Eric slowly raised his head. His face had gone cold — the kind of cold that made your skin crawl.
Five years of being locked away, and now this. Every bit of that rage finally had somewhere to go.
"Stay back, Isabella."
Eric rolled his wrists and walked steadily toward the front door.
"I'll handle this."
Upstairs in the villa, the heavy rosewood door to the study had been kicked wide open.
William stood leaning on his cane, one hand braced against the desk. His face was a sickly yellow, and the back that had once stood so straight had been broken by the grief of three years ago — but his clouded eyes still stared straight ahead, sharp with the edge of a man who had spent his life in uniform.
"Old man, Washington has changed. Time to face reality."
Sprawled on the sofa was a man in a loud floral shirt, fingers loaded with gold rings.
His name was David Garcia — a well-known gang boss in Washington.
David spat on the floor and jabbed a finger at the stack of documents on the desk. "Whatever's left of the Williams assets isn't even enough to settle the bank debt. I brought ten million today out of respect for those three dead war heroes. I'm doing you a favor."
"Ten million for Williams Group?" William broke into a violent cough. "These shares are not for sale. Not for any price."
"Don't be ungrateful, old man!"
The bodyguards behind David laughed and cracked their knuckles as they closed in — thick-necked men with mean looks on their faces.
"Back when those three were alive, sure, the Williams family was something," the lead bodyguard sneered. "But now? The tree's fallen and the monkeys have scattered. You're one foot in the grave, old man. You really think you can hold onto all this?"
William's grip tightened on his cane.
Williams Group was the life's work of generations of his family — and the foundation his three grandsons had built with their lives.
And Eric was still in prison, suffering.
If they lost this last piece of everything they had left, what would Eric come home to?
"Get out," the old man said, his voice shaking as he pointed toward the door. "All of you, get out!"
David's expression darkened instantly, a flash of cold cruelty crossing his eyes.
"You're asking for it."
He slammed his hand on the desk and shot to his feet, snatching the contract from the bodyguard and throwing it down in front of William. "Old man, my patience has a limit. You're signing this today whether you like it or not."
"Mr. Garcia is giving you a chance. Show some gratitude." The lead bodyguard stepped forward with a smirk, grabbed William by the collar, and shoved a black pen into his trembling hand. "One minute, old man. If I don't see your signature in one minute, this villa changes hands tomorrow. And you'll be checking into a hospital bed."
The bodyguards fanned out, blocking every exit from the study, staring the old man down.
William's teeth were clenched. His whole body was shaking with fury — but his eyes stayed fixed on the contract, and his hand refused to move.
"Thirty seconds." David lit a cigar and leaned back, relaxed. "Don't make the boys get rough with you. You're too old for that."
"Ten million, and you think you can walk away with Williams Group?"
The voice came from the doorway — flat, cold, without a trace of warmth.
Everyone in the room turned at once.
The door had been pushed open, and Eric stepped inside.
Isabella was right behind him, her face drained of color.
"Eric...?" William looked as if he'd been struck by lightning. Tears spilled from his clouded eyes.
Eric looked at the old man in front of him — frail, cornered, backed up against the wall — and felt something in his chest tear open like a knife.
Five years ago, Grandfather had been the commanding force behind the Williams family. Had he ever once been made to bow his head like this?
Thud.
Without a moment's hesitation, the man who had made hardened criminals tremble at São Paulo Mountain Prison dropped to his knees in front of the old man.
"Grandson Eric is late. You've suffered because of me, Grandfather. Please forgive me."
