Brandon said impatiently, "Alright, stop talking nonsense. Get in the car and head to the hotel to greet the guests first. After the birthday banquet ends, you can take your punishment like a man and listen to Grandma explain the divorce."
Jeff's eyes flashed with cold fury. "I said, I'm not going!"
Brandon lost his temper. "You piece of trash, I think you're begging for another beating, aren't you?"
As he spoke, Brandon flung open the car door, stepped out, and aimed a hard kick at Jeff on the motorcycle!
But Jeff leaned the bike back in a smooth "dragon tail swing," dodging the kick effortlessly.
In one fluid motion, he dismounted and drove a powerful kick straight into Brandon's stomach!
Boom!
Brandon was a spoiled playboy with a string of girlfriends and zero real conditioning. The kick sent him flying backward.
"You… you trash, how dare you fight back!"
Brandon was stunned. For three years he'd bullied Jeff without resistance—even in front of the whole family, Jeff had never dared hit back.
But today, this live-in son-in-law had actually struck the future heir of the Harper family!
Brandon scrambled up, yanked a fruit knife from the Maserati's trunk, and snarled, "I'm carrying out family discipline for Grandma—I'll kill you!"
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Brandon slashed wildly three times, but Jeff sidestepped each one with ease.
Jeff had trained in martial arts since age five, never stopping for over a decade. His instructors had been world-class masters from across the globe.
A spoiled rich kid with a pocket knife was no match.
Jeff moved like lightning, snapping a precise strike to Brandon's wrist—crack!—sending the knife clattering to the pavement.
Before Brandon could react, Jeff unleashed a rapid series of Wing Chun punches to the face.
Crack! Pop! Crack!
Brandon crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, no longer daring to move.
Jeff looked down at him coldly. "Go back and tell your Harper family I'm no longer your dog to summon and dismiss. Unless I choose to come, no one orders me around."
With that, Jeff climbed back on his motorcycle and rode off to his next delivery.
Brandon was battered and bleeding, but he didn't head to the hospital. This was a golden opportunity to win his grandmother's sympathy—he wasn't about to waste it.
He drove the Maserati back to Sterling Heights Villa District, still dripping blood. Just then, Old Madam Harper and the family emerged from the villa, ready to head to the hotel and receive guests.
"Brandon's back."
Brandon's mother, Victoria Harper, spotted the familiar yellow Maserati and pointed it out to the old lady.
Old Madam Harper smiled and nodded. "Brandon is efficient, as always."
Everyone assumed he'd brought Jeff with him.
Instead, Brandon stepped out alone—face swollen, bruised, and covered in blood!
Old Madam Harper's heart shattered. Brandon was the only male in the third generation. If anything happened to him, the Harper line would be in jeopardy!
"My precious grandson! Who did this to you?" she cried, rushing forward.
Brandon wailed, "Grandma, it was Emily's worthless husband—he beat me!"
"What?!" Michael roared, jabbing a finger at Robert's family. "Your useless son-in-law dared lay hands on Brandon! I want an explanation—now!"
Robert and Susan panicked. Jeff was their son-in-law; the blame would fall on them.
"That worthless piece of trash is always causing trouble. When I see him, I'll slap his face raw!" Susan hissed viciously.
"Should we call the police, Grandma?" Brandon asked.
Old Madam Harper despised involving law enforcement in family matters.
"This is a family affair. Don't worry—I'll make sure he pays dearly!"
She turned to Michael. "Michael, you know people in the underworld. Tell them to teach that beast a lesson and drag him back here to me!"
"Yes, Mom!"
Fury boiling over at the sight of his son's injuries, Michael immediately dialed one of his shady contacts.
Half an hour later, in the dim stairwell of an old walk-up apartment building—no elevator, just narrow concrete steps.
Jeff had just finished a delivery and was heading down.
Suddenly, two massive men blocked his path—each over six feet tall, close to 250 pounds, arms and necks covered in tattoos.
"Jeff, right? Come with us."
One of them growled.
Jeff glanced at them and knew instantly: Harper family muscle.
"Today's my last day delivering food," Jeff said calmly. "I'm not going anywhere."
He meant it. He'd already been appointed chairman of Horizon Group—this truly was his final shift.
No job was beneath him, but he intended to close this chapter completely.
"If you won't come quietly, we'll make you!"
The two thugs dropped the talk and lunged!