Scott slumped in the driver's seat, his face ashen.
Compensation?
Even if they dismantled him and sold him for parts, it would not be enough!
Even if he went back now and agreed to Louis's job, no matter how risky it was, the money he stole probably would not even cover a fresh coat of paint on that car!
"It's over. I'm going back to San Quentin... Cassie, Dad will never see you again..."
Just as Scott felt the end of the world had arrived, the sports car's gullwing door slowly rose.
Homelander stepped out from the driver's seat.
His impeccably tailored custom suit and the Patek Philippe on his wrist radiated the unmistakable aura of wealth.
He walked around to the back, glanced at the utterly wrecked rear end, and clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. Carbon fiber is a real pain to repair... Forget it. I'll give it to Pietro later."
Homelander was not angry. To him, the car was no different from a toy. Besides, the impact had given him a long-forgotten sensation of being jolted around. It was rather novel.
Then he strolled over to the smoking old van, curled a finger, and lightly tapped twice on the driver's-side window.
"Knock knock."
Inside the vehicle, Scott shuddered. Looking like a death-row inmate awaiting his sentence, he slowly rolled down the window.
He had already braced himself for a storm of abuse.
The other man might be some hot-tempered wolf of Wall Street, or perhaps a mobster's son with a girl on his arm.
He would roar at Scott, humiliate him with the nastiest words imaginable, then call the police and send him back behind those cold iron bars.
"Hey, buddy." Homelander looked at the dejected man in the driver's seat, his tone calm. "If you tell me your