My wife invited me to her company gala just to humiliate me, even letting her boss grab her in front of me—but ten minutes later, his tooth was knocked out in front of every guest...

Richard Hale turned slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto me like an enraged bull sighting a red cape.

"You?" Richard whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, unhinged rage. "You did this? You pathetic little clerk... you ruined my life?"

He charged across the parquet floor, leaving a trail of knocked-over champagne flutes in his wake.

"Richard, wait!" Vanessa screamed, trying to grab his tuxedo jacket, but he shoved her violently out of the way. She stumbled onto the floor, her emerald dress tearing against the edge of a chair, her gold bracelet snapping and scattering pearls across the rug.

Richard didn't care about Vanessa. He didn't care about the marshals. He was a billionaire who had lost his empire in five minutes, and his primitive instinct demanded blood.

He reached me in three strides, pulling his heavy right fist back to strike my face.

"I'll kill you, you bastard!" Richard roared.

I didn't step back. I didn't flinch.

Before Richard’s fist could travel four inches, a massive shadow detached itself from the pillar behind me.

It was Marcus Vance—my personal head of security, a six-foot-four former Marine Special Ops operator whom I had hired two months ago to monitor the evidence trail.

Marcus moved with terrifying, instantaneous speed. He caught Richard’s wrist mid-air with his left hand, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. With his right hand, Marcus delivered a short, brutally efficient palm-heel strike directly to the center of Richard’s jaw.

CRACK.

The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged ballroom like a dry branch snapping in winter.

Richard’s head snapped back violently. A spray of dark red blood and a small, bright white object flew through the air, landing with a soft tink inside a glass of sparkling water sitting on a nearby table.

It was Richard’s front upper incisor—a ten-thousand-dollar porcelain-veneered tooth.

Richard hit the floor hard, landing flat on his back, groaning in sheer agony, clutching his bloody mouth with both hands. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his pristine white silk shirt and his designer bow tie.

The entire ballroom gasped in horror.

"Assault!" Richard choked out through a mouthful of blood and broken bone, spitting red foam onto his custom trousers. "Security! Arrest him! He assaulted me!"

The two federal marshals walked over slowly, standing over Richard’s writhing form on the floor. One of them pulled out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.

"Mr. Richard Hale," the lead marshal announced calmly, pulling out a small card from his pocket. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, grand larceny, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent..."

"He hit me!" Richard screamed, his voice high-pitched, childish, and slurred due to his missing tooth. "Look at my mouth! He knocked my tooth out!"

"Your security guard swung first, Mr. Hale," the marshal replied coldly, clicking the cuffs tightly around Richard’s bloody wrists and pulling him roughly up to his feet. "We have two hundred witnesses, including four federal officers, who saw you initiate physical violence against Mr. Hayes."

Richard stood swaying on his feet, his jaw rapidly swelling, blood dripping down his chin onto his shoes. He looked at me—the man he had called a 'decorative houseplant' ten minutes ago—with eyes filled with pure, unadulterated terror.

"David..." Richard gurgled, trying to wipe the blood with his shoulder. "David, please... we can talk about this... I can give you shares... twenty percent of the offshore holdings..."

"Apex Global Consulting doesn't have holdings anymore, Richard," I said, stepping closer to him, my voice cool and precise. "The Swiss authorities froze the Zurich accounts three hours ago. You are completely, utterly broke."

Richard’s eyes went wide. He let out a strange, whimpering sound as the marshals dragged him toward the back exit, his expensive shoes dragging uselessly against the floorboards.

Vanessa was still sitting on the floor where Richard had shoved her, her emerald dress ruined, her hair disheveled, staring up at me with tears streaming down her face.

"David..." she sobbed, reaching out a trembling, blood-stained hand toward my trouser leg. "David, baby... please... he lied to me! He forced me to sign those papers! He told me it was just tax optimization!"