THE DIMENSIONAL MERCHANT-Chapter 95 - 94: The Devil’s Due

Damian nodded, visibly relaxed. "Good. Because once those forged documents turn up in Saito’s office, it’s over. I made sure they look legitimate. Dates. Signatures. Everything. Enough to send him to prison twice over."

The gangster laughed. "You sure you weren’t born in the underworld? That’s a dirty move."

Damian raised his glass, eyes gleaming. "I’m not letting what’s mine slip away. Not to a man like him. I can do everything for it!"

Then—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots.

The laughter died. Everyone froze.

Glass clinked quietly on the table as a trembling hand set it down.

The gangster stood up sharply, drawing a pistol from under his coat. "What the fuck?!"

Another shot.

Bang!

Two of his men burst into the room, one clutching his bleeding arm.

"We’re hit! They found us!"

Behind them, a third man collapsed with a sickening thud. Blood spread fast beneath him.

"Who the hell—?!" the gangster barked, face twisting in disbelief.

In the smoke-filled hallway, two figures emerged. Black suits. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark as bullets tore through the air.

Automatic fire hissed through the air.

Ratatatat!

One of the gangster’s men dropped instantly, blood blooming across his chest. Another turned to run—Crack!—a round punched through the back of his neck.

Damian dove behind a leather couch, heart pounding in his ears.

"You said this place was safe!" he shouted, breath ragged. "You said no one would find me here! So what the fuck is happening?!"

The gangster wiped sweat from his brow, wide-eyed. "I don’t know! This wasn’t supposed to happen!"

Director Wen, pale and shaken, pulled out his phone. "I’ll fix this. I’ll call someone right now—special unit, governor, anyone—"

He frowned. Glanced at his screen.

Still no signal.

"What the hell?" he muttered, moving toward the window. "There’s always coverage here—"

Nothing.

Damian’s voice cut through the rising panic. "What’s wrong?"

"No signal. They’re jamming us," Wen whispered, suddenly pale as death.

"Forget this!" one said, eyes darting toward the exit. "We need to get out of here. Now. I’m not dying in this hellhole."

"The back door," another muttered urgently. "That’s our only chance."

The gangster ran to the back door, grabbing the handle in a rush to escape.

But as he pulled it open, he froze—there were people coming from that direction too.

Realizing they were surrounded, the gangster slowly lowered his gun, fingers trembling around the grip.

"Alright... fuck it. I surrender."

Bang.

A single shot. The man in black—tall, motionless, an eyepatch over one eye—didn’t flinch as the bullet tore through the gangster’s skull. A wet crack, a spray of red across the doorframe. The body crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. One twitch. Then nothing.

The remaining men froze.

One dropped to his knees. Tears mixed with sweat. His voice broke.

"Please—! I’ve got a family, man, I got—"

Ratatat!

Pshht! Pshht!

Crack! Crack!

Gunfire erupted from both entrances. By now, many people had entered the room through both doors.

The kneeling man took two rounds to the chest and pitched forward, face-first into his own blood. Another one reached for his pistol but didn’t even get the chance to draw.

Director Wen raised both hands. "Wait—listen to me. I’m not like them! I’m a government official. High level. If you kill me, there will be conseq—"

Bang.

Bang.

Direct to the heart.

Wen’s eyes widened. He looked down at the red spreading across his white shirt.

Then—he dropped. Like a broken puppet, right beside the others.

Damian froze.

It was over in seconds.

Just moments ago, he had been smirking, optimistic about his victory. Now, their bodies lay twisted on the ground. Blood pooled under chairs. Smoke drifted lazily through the air. His pulse roared in his ears like a war drum.

He staggered back, bumping into the wall behind him.

Standing in front of him were those terrifying figures—professional, composed, not a trace of emotion on their faces.

Damian’s voice cracked as he forced words through his dry throat.

"W-Who are you? Why are you doing this? Don’t kill me, please. I’ll give you anything—money, power—just name it."

But then—the man with the eyepatch stepped through the ranks of killers, slow and deliberate, stopping just inches from Damian. The air around him seemed to drop in temperature.

Damian flinched, bracing for a strike, a bullet—anything.

Instead, the man extended his gloved hand and offered... a mobile phone.

Damian stared, confused. Then, trembling, he took it.

He brought it to his ear. Then a voice—low, calm, like a blade sheathed in silk.

"Hello, Damian."

His knees almost gave out. That voice...

"Recognize me?"

"Saito—!?"

"Hahaha... You’re more foolish than I thought, Damian. You seem to have forgotten—I’m one of the top legal minds in this country. And more importantly... I worked with your father for a long time. Your father told me once that you could do such childish things. Now it turns out he was right—You are a fucking big head."

Damian’s hand shook as he gripped the phone.

"You don’t know anything. You think I just—just did this for nothing? He left me nothing!"

"Nothing?" Saito said, his tone amused.

"He raised you, gave you a name, and still left you 3% of his estate. That’s not nothing. But of course... it wasn’t enough for you—you’re a greedy asshole."

"You wanted it all. So you forged documents, planted them in my office, and ran like a coward—hoping the system would finish the job for you."

"Was that your brilliant plan? Did you think you would win that easily?"

Damian’s voice cracked.

"It could’ve worked... it should have..."

Saito scoffed.

"No, Damian. The world doesn’t work like that. Not for men like you. It doesn’t bend to clever tricks. It follows power—and you don’t have any."

Damian was silent, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his neck. freeweɓnøvel~com

Then Saito said, almost gently:

"You told yourself the Will was fake, because it comforted you. But deep down, you knew the truth."

A pause. A slow breath. Then:

"Let me give you a final gift before this ends. Yes—your suspicions were right. There was another Will. Your father gave it to me. Hand to hand. He asked me to keep it safe—until the time was right."

Damian’s eyes widened.

"What?"

"Yes, you heard right. But alas, you can’t tell anyone."

"Wait—wait, no! Saito—!" Damian shouted into the phone, but then the man with the eyepatch stepped forward, took the phone from his hand, and lifted it to his ear.

"Ah, what can I say... He’s the boss’s son."

A deep breath. "But he’s also a disgrace. If we let him live, he’ll only drag the family name through the mud. He’s done enough damage already."

A pause. Then:

"Let’s give him the peace he never gave anyone else."

He ended the call.

Damian’s knees weakened. His mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then:

"Wait—please... I didn’t mean for it to go this far."

He dropped to his knees. "I was angry. I made mistakes. I’ll disappear. No one needs to know. Just... please, don’t kill me."

He looked up at the man, eyes wide with fear, his voice breaking.

"I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry."

But the man didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He simply raised the gun.

Damian’s eyes filled with tears.

"Please—!"

Bang!

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com