Harold scoffed. "Oh, Chicago? Just a small pond in the Midwest! The Crips? The Red Bloods? In the face of true power, they're nothing but a bunch of monkeys wielding sticks!" He pulled a gold-rimmed document from his desk drawer and threw it in front of Frank. "My Harold Energy Holdings Group has a market capitalization of over 50 billion! Taking on a Reeves, whose assets are only 1 billion, shouldn't be a piece of cake?"
Frank's eyes were still wavering. "Mr. Harold, money... money can't beat him! His methods..."
"That's enough!" Harold slammed the table, his voice low and deadly: "Frank! Do you think I'm inviting you here for afternoon tea and a chat? I'm giving you two choices."
He raised his finger and said, "First, become my man. Do as I say and make it difficult for Reeves to move forward in New York. When you are done, you will have a place in New York and you will be a respected upper-class person."
"Second, death. Do you think you can walk out of this manor alive tonight? Your 'accidental death' report will be more perfect than you imagine."
A cold, murderous aura filled the study. Two burly bodyguards in elegant suits silently took a half step forward.
Frank felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was a fence-sitter and a man who valued his life.
The survival rules of Chicago told him that the old man before him was even more cold-blooded and unscrupulous than Reeves. In the face of absolute pressure and fear of death, his awe of Reeves was finally crushed.
"...What...what do I need to do?" Frank lowered his head, his voice as dry as sandpaper.
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