Chapter 19: Beating Up Your Own People
When Joseph rushed out of the hall, the front yard of the manor was already a complete mess.
Flowerbeds were knocked over, the marble base of the fountain was cracked from steel pipe strikes, and the two Bentleys parked in the driveway had all their windows smashed, their hoods covered in dents.
A hundred men in grass-green uniforms were pushing their way up the manor's main road, smashing everything they encountered and beating anyone they saw.
"What the hell is going on!"
Just as Joseph shouted this, Allen rushed out behind him. The two stood on the steps at the hall entrance, staring at the scene before them, unable to make sense of what was happening.
Just then, a black sedan screeched to a halt from outside the manor gates, its tires leaving two black marks on the gravel road.
The car door opened, and Howard jumped out, with Charlotte right behind him.
Howard's face still bore the bruises from Garcia's beating at the mall, with dried blood at the corner of his mouth, but his expression now looked like he'd won the lottery.
"Father!"
Howard shouted at Allen on the steps, his voice so excited it cracked.
"Garcia sent troops to support us!"
Allen froze. "What?"
"I just ran into Garcia at the mall and talked to him about our alliance with Joseph. He was very interested!"
Howard grew more excited as he spoke, pointing at the private soldiers who were smashing things. "He must have sent Hans to gather forces to help us deal with that ex-convict Wayne!"
Charlotte nodded along. "That's right, Garcia hates Wayne to the bone. This army is here to back us up!"
Hearing this, Joseph's previously grim expression softened a bit.
If Texas's largest military-industrial group was really here to form an alliance, then forget one Wayne—even ten Waynes wouldn't be enough to handle.
"But why are they smashing up my manor?"
Joseph frowned, pointing at the destroyed items in the front yard.
Howard waved his hand dismissively. "Joseph, you don't understand how military families operate. This is called showing authority, just flexing their muscles. It's no big deal."
This twisted logic actually convinced Joseph.
Joseph straightened his suit collar, took a deep breath, forced a proper smile onto his face, and walked toward the front yard.
Allen hesitated, then followed.
In their minds, connecting with Garcia was worth it even if they had to smash a few cars or tear down half the manor, because the military-industrial resources controlled by the Garcia family could easily multiply Allen and Joseph's business scale by ten times or more.
Hans stood by the smashed fountain, cigar in his mouth, watching his men remove the door from a Bentley.
Joseph quickly walked up to him and extended his right hand.
"Hans, we've received Garcia's message loud and clear."
Joseph's tone was warm, even a bit ingratiating. "We're willing to work with Garcia to take down that guy Wayne together!"
The sound of the steel pipe hitting Joseph's face was more definitive than any response.
The blow came without warning. Hans didn't even remove the cigar from his mouth—his left hand simply swung the steel pipe horizontally, striking Joseph square in the jaw.
Two bloody teeth flew out and bounced on the gravel.
Joseph spun halfway around from the impact, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.
The whole scene went quiet for a second.
The private soldiers who were smashing things paused, glanced over, then continued their work.
Allen stood frozen, the color draining completely from his face.
Howard's mouth hung open, his "showing authority" theory still stuck in his throat, looking like he'd been struck by lightning.
"...Hans, isn't there some mistake?"
Howard's voice trembled, but he was still trying. "We're Garcia's friends. I just talked to him at the mall—"
"Friends?"
Hans removed the cigar from his mouth, flicked off the ash, and looked down at Joseph on the ground, clutching his mouth, face covered in blood.
"Garcia's exact words were: today, even the dogs in this manor need their legs broken."
He lifted his foot and stepped on Joseph's face, grinding half of it into the gravel.
Joseph let out a muffled scream, desperately trying to pry Hans's shoe off with both hands, but couldn't budge it.
"You bottom-feeding maggots think you're worthy of calling Garcia a friend?"
Hans pulled a pistol from his waist and aimed it at Howard.
Howard's legs gave out instantly. A dark wet stain rapidly spread from his crotch, running down his pant leg and pooling on the ground.
"Don't... don't kill me..."
Howard's teeth were chattering, his words coming out broken. "I'm from the Hawk family. My father is Allen. We have business dealings with Garcia..."
"The Hawk family?"
Hans rolled the name around in his mouth, then turned to look at Allen standing behind them, too scared to move.
"Your family's the one that took the West Port arms contract?"
Allen opened his mouth but couldn't get any words out.
That arms contract was the Hawk family's biggest hope in recent years, and their only leverage for negotiating an alliance with Joseph. Now, from Hans's tone when mentioning the contract, he clearly wasn't here to discuss cooperation.
"Garcia says the contract's cancelled. No refund on the deposit."
Hans lifted his foot off Joseph's face and walked toward Howard. With each step Hans took forward, Howard took one back. After three steps, his back hit a smashed car.
Nowhere left to retreat.
A cancelled contract meant the Hawk family lost their only path upward. No refund on the deposit meant all the money they'd invested was completely wasted. And Garcia personally sending people to trash the place meant that from today on, no one in Texas's military-industrial circle would dare do business with the Hawk family.
"There's one more thing I'm supposed to tell you."
Hans crouched down, pressing the gun barrel under Howard's chin and pushing his head up.
Howard's eyes rolled upward, and he could see blood from someone else still on the barrel.
"Garcia says he's cleaning up West Port for someone."
"Who... whose orders?" Howard's voice no longer sounded human.
Hans didn't answer the question.
He stood up and waved his hand. "Smash everything!"
The hundred private soldiers moved again, but this time they weren't just smashing things—they started grabbing people.
Allen was held by two burly men and pressed to the ground.
Charlotte screamed and tried to run, but someone grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back, throwing her down next to Howard.
Joseph lay on the ground, his mouth full of blood and gravel, without even the strength to beg for mercy.
Hans walked back to Howard and shoved the gun barrel into his mouth.
The taste of metal mixed with gunpowder, the cold sensation pressing against Howard's palate.
"What did you just say? That Garcia came to help you deal with Wayne?"
Hans laughed, his laughter echoing through the devastated manor.
"You don't even know how you're going to die, and you want to go after someone else?"
Howard couldn't speak with the gun barrel in his mouth. Saliva mixed with tears ran down his chin, joining the urine flowing from his crotch.
Hans pushed the barrel in a bit further.
"Don't rush. The show's just getting started."