Debt Collection Ends

Beta hid in the shadow of an oak tree by the roadside, like a solidified statue.

Five minutes later, Eliot, driven by his chauffeur in a Maybach S600, would be returning to the villa along this winding country road from a private club deep in the forest.

His chosen ambush point was the highest ground along this stretch of road, where he could clearly spot the silhouette of every vehicle emerging from the mountain bend through his scope.

That Maybach was not an armored model. As the son of a high-ranking police official, riding in an armored car would be too ostentatious and completely unnecessary.

Beta remained still, like a lifeless rock. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around his ears, and a few even landed on his eyelashes, but he didn't even blink.

At the end of the forest road in the distance, two beams of headlights pierced the night, appearing and disappearing between the layers of tree shadows.

In the silent forest, the sound of the speeding luxury car's tires crushing the asphalt grew clearer. The rustling tire noise mixed with the deep roar of the engine, steadily approaching.

Beta slowly raised his Mauser rifle, the barrel scattering the surrounding swarm of mosquitoes.

The diamond reticle in the scope contracted like a shrinking pupil with his steady breathing.

The engine's roar grew closer, and the diamond reticle in the scope continued to shrink. When the black Maybach rounded the last bend, its headlights piercing straight into the night, the reticle had shrunk to the size of a soybean.

Beta pulled the trigger between two breaths.

The muzzle with the open-ended silencer let out only a muffled "poof," like a fist hitting cotton. The faint gunshot was absorbed by the dense tree shadows before it could even spread through the forest.

The front windshield of the speeding Maybach suddenly exploded with a perfect circular hole.

The bodyguard in the driver's seat jolted violently, a bloom of blood appearing on his forehead. As he leaned back, his right foot remained firmly on the accelerator, causing the out-of-control luxury car to swerve sharply to the left, its tires screeching on the asphalt.

Before the car body had completely left the road, it slammed into a century-old oak tree on the roadside at a forty-five-degree angle.

With a muffled "boom," the entire front of the car instantly twisted and deformed. The hood crumpled like paper, and white smoke, a mixture of antifreeze and gasoline, hissed out from the gaps.

The deformed chassis was stuck between the tree trunks, like a pinned metal beetle.

Eliot in the back seat owed his life to his own caution.

Even in the back, the life-preserving young man habitually wore his seatbelt. Although he was dazed by the deployed airbag, he at least remained intact inside the car. If he had not worn a seatbelt in the back like most people, Beta would probably be searching the bushes with a flashlight for the young master's dismembered limbs.

Beta drew his dagger and cleanly cut the seatbelt tangled around Eliot. He grabbed the back of the young man's collar with his left hand and dragged him out of the deformed car like a sack of potatoes.

Eliot's unfocused pupils gradually sharpened. When he saw the masked man holding a gun before him, he gasped sharply.

He mechanically turned his head to look at the twisted Maybach behind him, then snapped back as if electrocuted, his back pressed firmly against the rough tree trunk. His leather shoes kicked uselessly in the pile of fallen leaves, as if trying to embed himself into the tree trunk. Though he had nowhere else to retreat, his survival instinct drove him to crawl backward.

Eliot, this second-generation official who had clearly received professional crisis negotiation training, immediately activated his emergency rhetoric.

Despite his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he forced himself to remain calm and offered a bargaining chip: "C-cash! There's a million pounds in cash in the car! I didn't see your face, I swear, you're wearing a mask, I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know!"

He swallowed hastily: "A million pounds can be given to you immediately. As for more..."

His eyes darted around: "I'll have to borrow from my family, and it'll take about half a month..."

A light chuckle came from under the mask.

A million pounds in readily available cash versus a huge ransom that would alert Scotland Yard's top brass and possibly trigger a nationwide manhunt – the calculation was simple.

An ordinary robber would probably be overjoyed and flee with the money box. Unfortunately, Eliot had encountered Beta, and this masked man was not a robber.

Beta said in a disguised voice: "You know who I am."

Eliot's trembling face showed confusion: "I don't know."

Beta prompted: "The final payment."

Eliot's facial muscles instantly contorted like crumpled parchment. His previous pretense of composure vanished, leaving only hysterical trembling: "Money! I'll pay immediately!"

His fingers spasmed as he gripped the tree trunk: "I swear! My father's final payment is still in the account, I'll transfer it now! I can transfer it immediately!"

"Please, I'll transfer it now," Eliot's voice was choked with tears, his lips trembling uncontrollably: "Switzerland, Cayman. Whichever offshore account you specify..."

Beta maintained a suffocating silence.

"Double it! I'll pay double on the spot!" Eliot's voice suddenly rose, his fingernails digging deep into the bark.

Beta silently observed the young man's descent from hysteria to collapse, like a scientist watching a lab rat.

For a full three minutes, when Eliot finally slumped down and began to sob intermittently, his entire face was twisted to one side, not even daring to glance at the pistol.

Beta let out a long sigh, feeling incredibly good.

He leaned down slightly and softly called out in a gentle tone: "Hey, Eliot. Look at me, Eliot."

Eliot bit his lower lip tightly, locking his whimpers in his throat, and turned his head tremblingly.

"F," Beta enunciated each letter as if savoring a delicacy: "UCK."

He finally raised his voice: "FUCK! YOU!"

"Puff! Puff! Puff!" Three short muffled sounds exploded in the forest, quickly absorbed by the dense foliage.

A few wisps of almost imperceptible smoke rose from the muzzle of the silenced pistol, quickly dissipating in the humid air.

Beta's shooting was clean and efficient. Two shots to the chest, one to the forehead. The entire sequence was fluid, without the slightest hesitation.

He walked towards the twisted Maybach, his leather shoes crunching on shattered glass with a grating sound. The trunk lid was lifted, its hinges groaning metallically. A black leather suitcase lay quietly in the spare tire well. If the second-generation official hadn't lied before his death, this contained the cash.

Beta lifted the heavy case with one hand, its crocodile-embossed surface gleaming coldly in the moonlight. He walked to the edge of the cliff and let go without hesitation. The suitcase tumbled down the near-vertical rock face, its metal corners sparking as they collided with the rocks. Five seconds later, a pale splash erupted on the dark river surface in the distance, the muffled sound of the impact echoing through the canyon.

Beta turned and left.

Beta: Unscrupulous client, this matter has nothing to do with money now.