Chapter 16: Some People Are Too Rich to Fight

  Just as Grim and Lazaro reached the maintenance corridor, they heard a voice behind them—

  A voice so drenched in arrogance it could probably buy the air around it.

  "Hold it right there, you filthy sewer rats."

  Grim and Lazaro froze.

  Slowly, very reluctantly, they turned around.

  Standing before them was the richest man they had ever seen—and that was saying something considering Don existed.

  This guy wasn’t just rich. He was offensively rich. The kind of rich that looked physically painful.

  His suit? Pure silk, embroidered with golden threads.

  His watch? A diamond-encrusted monstrosity that probably told time in other dimensions.

  His rings? Enough to make an entire mafia look broke.

  Even his mustache gleamed like it had been polished by millionaire workers.

  And his expression? Pure disgust.

  Like just looking at Grim and Lazaro was lowering his bank balance.

  Ash’s voice crackled in their earpieces.

  Ash (deadpan): "Oh great, another rich idiot."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Lazaro smiled, stepping forward. "Ah, sir, I think there’s a misunderstanding—"

  "Silence, peasant!" The man snapped, dramatically pulling out a gold-plated handkerchief and dabbing his nose like their existence made him physically ill.

  Grim stared.

  Lazaro stared.

  Grim (whispering): "Why does he have a golden handkerchief?"

  Lazaro: "Bro, everything on this man is probably made of gold. He probably eats gold for breakfast."

  The rich man scoffed, tucking the golden handkerchief away.

  "You think I don’t recognize you two? You’re criminals, aren’t you?"

  Lazaro raised a hand. "Now, now, let’s not throw around words like criminals so carelessly. We prefer the term professionally misunderstood."

  The man sneered. "Don brought you in, didn’t he? Tch. His standards have truly dropped. Tell me—what lowly business are you into?"

  Grim (flatly): "Murder."

  Lazaro choked on air. Ash wheezed in the comms.

  The rich guy’s eyebrow twitched.

  "...Murder?"

  Grim shrugged. "Yep. Murder, assassinations, the occasional arson—"

  Lazaro slapped a hand on his mouth. "Kidding! He’s kidding! Haha! You know how jokes are, sir, funny things, yes?"

  The rich man squinted.

  Then smirked.

  "Hmph. I see. You’re nothing but ants. Vermin. Not even worth stepping on."

  Then—he snapped his fingers.

  Immediately, two massive bodyguards materialized behind him, appearing out of nowhere like shadows summoned by their master’s wallet.

  Ash (impressed): "Damn. Dude's so rich, his bodyguards operate on loot box mechanics."

  Lazaro held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, let’s not get hasty here!"

  The rich man scoffed, pulling out a solid gold cigar and lighting it with an actual hundred-dollar bill.

  "Filthy, pathetic criminals like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me," he said, exhaling dramatically.

  Grim (whispering): "This is the most punchable man I’ve ever met."

  Lazaro: "Agreed."

  Ash snickered. "Yo, tell him that his suit looks like expensive vomit."

  Grim almost did.

  But before he could, the rich man snapped his fingers again.