Chapter 10 The Real Big Shot

"Hello, Mr. Larson. What can I do for you?"

A gentle and respectful male voice came from the other end of the line.

The hotel manager, Newell, was dumbstruck by how familiar the voice sounded.

Wasn't this the voice of Saul Torres, the president of Hlas Bank's local branch as well as his boss?

Newell's lips parted in surprise, but he did not make a sound.

For a moment, he did not know what to think or say.

Rowe, on the other hand, didn't recognize Saul's voice. As a small gangster, he didn't have the privilege of being acquainted with a big shot like Saul.

He just laughed and mocked, "Wow, you're so smart! You even have your friend involved in your little tricks.

Too bad you can't fool us. Today, you'll be leaving this place in pieces!"

Mathews just looked at him with a faint smile before briefly relaying the whole situation to Saul.

Before he could finish, Rowe interrupted with a growl, "Fuck you! Stop pretending..."

Rowe's patience had been tested too much, and he was about to lose his temper.

But before he could teach this bastard a lesson, he received a hard slap on his face!

The room seemed to swim around in front of his eyes, but he could vaguely see that the one who slapped him was Newell.

As soon as Newell heard his boss' voice over the phone and realized what was happening, his eyes widened in horror, and he couldn't help but swivel around and hit Rowe.

"You stupid idiot! Shut up!"

Newell roared, his face contorted in anger.

Then, putting on a respectful smile, he walked over to Mathews and bowed.

By this time, Saul had more or less heard the whole story from Mathews, and was fuming with anger.

"Mr. Larson, it's my fault you suffered through such an incident in my hotel! I'm terribly sorry! Please accept my apology," came Saul's voice from the speakerphone.

"Well, you'd better talk to Mr. Cooper first."

Mathews glanced at Newell and motioned for him to speak to Saul.

Newell nodded with an ingratiating smile on his face. "Please, just call me Newell."

He wanted to apologize too, but before he could, Saul hissed, "Newell! Who told you that Mr. Larson stole someone else's card?"

Hearing Saul's wrath radiate from the phone made Newell break out in a cold sweat.

Saul was not a soft-hearted man! Newell knew that he would receive severe punishment if he didn't fix this problem right away.

Newell slapped himself hard in the face to show that he had realized his mistake. "Mr. Torres, it's my fault. I accidentally offended Mr. Larson. Please forgive me!"

Still unsatisfied, Saul snapped, "Newell! Let me tell you, Mr. Larson is the most distinguished guest of the Torres family.

Anyone who dares to offend him will feel our wrath!

I don't care what happened before, but you better make it up to Mr. Larson.

Otherwise, you'll be losing more than just your job!"

After threatening Newell, Saul apologized to Mathews one more time before hanging up the phone.

"Mr. Larson, I'm really sorry!"

Newell hurriedly said again with an apologetic smile.

Then, he waved his hand and asked the security guards of the hotel to surround Rowe and his men.

Turning back to Mathews, Newell asked, "Mr. Larson, what do you want to do with these people?"

Before Mathews could say anything, however, Rowe was so terrified that he directly knelt on the floor.

He might not have recognized Saul's voice at first, but based on the conversation and the change of Newell's attitude, he had realized that the man on the phone was none other than Saul Torres.

Saul was a big shot in the city.

He was a powerful and influential figure who had connections with both the government and the underworld. A man like that did not have to bow down to anyone.

And yet, he had apologized to Mathews so respectfully and even mentioned that Mathews was a distinguished guest of the Torres family! It seemed that Mathews had a mysterious background that no one knew about.

Moreover, Rowe had heard that whoever dared to offend the Torres family would be killed and thrown into the river!

"Sir, it's all my fault! I was too stupid to know who you were. Please spare my life!"

Rowe bowed all the way down, touching his forehead to the floor as he groveled for mercy. His arrogance had completely disappeared, leaving behind a pathetic man.

"Didn't you want to smash my head with the wine bottle just now?"

Mathews asked coldly.

"I'll give you a chance though. Smash your head with ninety-nine bottles. If you survive, I'll spare your life!"

Ninety-nine bottles?

Rowe was afraid that his head would be smashed beyond recognition by the time they were even halfway through.

"No, no, please forgive me! Mr. Larson, please forgive me!"

Out of fear, Rowe involuntarily peed his pants, and the stink soon spread around the room.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Mathews nodded at Newell.

Newell nodded back and immediately asked his guards to bring ninety-nine wine bottles.

One by one, the bottles were smashed onto Rowe's head, causing him to scream out in horror. The room was filled with the harsh noise of glass breaking, and shattering all over the floor.

As for Rowe's head, it was soon bloodied and damaged beyond belief.

He then lost consciousness on the spot.