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Godly Investor: A Hundred Trillion Dollars For Investment And Donations-Chapter 217 -
At that moment Ethan’s phone buzzed in his hand as he stepped over the shattered remains of the mansion’s entrance. He answered with a calm yet firm tone.
"Get a secure vehicle here now. The boss is alive, but he needs to be moved immediately."
The line went silent for a moment before his second-in-command responded, "On it, boss. ETA ten minutes."
Ethan ended the call and looked back at the three men dressed in black. They were still kneeling, their foreheads practically pressed to the ground. One of them, the youngest, raised his head slightly, his voice trembling.
"Please… spare him. Spare our master."
The older one spoke next, his tone more controlled but laced with desperation.
"We’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t take his life."
However Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression unreadable. "Anything?"
he said, his voice calm yet heavy with intent.
"Yes," the oldest man replied quickly.
"We’ll follow your orders. No betrayal. No hesitation."
Hearing what they just said.
Ethan folded his arms, studying them for a moment. Loyalty bought out of fear isn’t real loyalty, he thought, but he saw something else in their eyes—an edge of respect.
"You want to stay alive?" Ethan said finally.
"Then prove you’re worth keeping. Follow my rules, or you’re out. Permanently."
The men exchanged glances, then bowed even lower.
"We’re in," they said in unison, their voices resolute.
Ethan nodded, signaling to his arriving gang as the rumble of heavy vehicles echoed in the driveway.
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"Take them too," he instructed. "Let’s see if they have anything useful to offer."
The gang moved swiftly, loading the unconscious boss and the three men into the vehicles. Ethan stepped outside, the cool air hitting his face as he adjusted his bloodstained shirt.
He glanced down, frowning slightly. "These stains will draw the wrong kind of attention. I need a change before the next move."
He said to himself.
As the vehicles pulled away, leaving only silence behind, Ethan’s thoughts lingered on the events of the night. The G-Circle. The boss’s fear of them had been palpable, a silent warning etched into every word.
For the first time, a sliver of unease crept into Ethan’s mind. If this is what their pawns are capable of, what happens when I meet the ones really pulling the strings?
He shook the thought from his mind, his resolve hardening.
"Let them come," he muttered under his breath, his voice steady. "They’ll learn soon enough."
Straightening his coat, Ethan walked toward his car, his steps calm but purposeful. This was only the beginning, and he knew it.
Ethan leaned against his car.
Who the hell are these people? he thought, replaying the events of the day. The boss’s fear, the mention of the G-Circle, and the way those three men in black bowed without hesitation—it all pointed to something much bigger.
He muttered under his breath, "I’ll get my answers when the boss wakes up." His voice was low, resolute. But I can’t afford to sit idle until then.
Pulling out his phone, Ethan scrolled through an online store.
He clicked through items with a detached efficiency.
"Nothing too flashy," he murmured to himself, selecting a few pieces and finalizing the purchase. Delivered by tomorrow. That’ll work.
As he arrived back at the estate, the heavy silence of the place hit him. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, but Ethan was used to carrying it. He entered his study, flipping on the light and pulling out the thick folder containing the Silver family’s contracts with the York family.
Sitting down, he opened the first file, the crisp sound of paper breaking the quiet. His eyes scanned the text, his brows furrowing as he read.
"This isn’t a contract—it’s a leash," he muttered, tracing a clause with his finger. "Revenue sharing, production percentages… even control over decisions. They’ve tied the York family’s hands at every turn."
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk. This isn’t just business leverage. It’s dominance. They’ve been keeping the York family under their thumb, and no one’s had the guts—or the power—to push back.
The more he read, the clearer it became. The Silver family isn’t just about money—they’re about control. And if they’re tied to the G-Circle, this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Ethan glanced at the clock, the quiet ticking a reminder of how much time he had.
He closed the file, his jaw tightening.
"If they think these contracts will scare me off, they don’t know who they’re dealing with," he said to the empty room.
Standing, he ran a hand through his hair, his resolve hardening.
"I’ll dismantle this piece by piece if I have to. But first, I need more answers."
The quiet estate seemed to echo his thoughts as he turned off the light and left the study, his mind already strategizing his next move.
The morning sunlight filtered faintly through the gaps in the blinds at the gang’s hideout.
*
Ethan sat calmly in a chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on the unconscious figure of the boss lying on the cot. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of a monitor and the occasional muffled voices from outside.
The boss stirred, his fingers twitching before his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze darted around the unfamiliar room before landing on Ethan, who sat silently, watching him. A flicker of shock crossed the boss’s face as he realized he was still alive.
"I’m… not dead?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. His surprise quickly turned to bitterness as he struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain in his body.
"Why didn’t you just finish the job?"
Ethan remained seated, his expression calm but unreadable. "You’d rather I kill you?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
At that moment the boss let out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing.
"I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s pointless. They’ll come for me anyway. Might as well get it over with."
However Ethan leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "How much?"
The boss blinked, confused. "What?"
Ethan’s gaze didn’t waver. "How much was placed on my head?"