Chapter 484

Chapter 484

Alex felt like he had been burned, hesitating to take action.

"Mr. Smith," Stanley's voice made Alex's body tremble, not from anger, but from fear. He had always thought Stanley was just a spoiled rich kid living off his family's wealth. Back then, he had even managed to drive Stanley away.

But now he realized that Stanley hadn't been struggling abroad; he had been sharpening his claws. Stanley had returned with overwhelming force, ready to uproot all his enemies.

And Alex was the first on his list.

The air inside the car seemed to freeze.

After a long pause, Alex finally forced a few words out of his throat, telling the driver, "Turn around, take her back to the hospital."

His voice was hoarse and dry, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

He slumped back in his seat, staring blankly at the rapidly retreating night scenery outside the window. He knew Stanley was telling the truth. He had lost, utterly and completely.

Diana took back her phone and calmly said to the person on the other end, "Did you hear that?"

"Loud and clear," Stanley's voice carried a hint of amusement. "Get some rest."

The call ended.

Diana turned off the speakerphone and put her phone away. She glanced at the despondent Alex beside her and the neglected, priceless necklace on the carpet.

She said nothing, just leaned her head against the cold car window and closed her eyes.

The night's performance was over.

But the real drama was just beginning.

The seizure of the land in the east of the city was only the start.

Soon after, all of Alex's company's ongoing projects were ordered to halt for various reasons. Fire safety violations, substandard building materials, unpaid wages for construction workers—each issue was uncovered with irrefutable evidence.

Partners terminated contracts, banks withdrew loans, and the stock price plummeted. In just three days, the company's market value evaporated by ninety percent. Alex, once a rising star in the business world, had become a laughingstock.

The most devastating blow came from his most trusted financial channels.

He tried to contact his overseas accounts to bring back the funds he had stashed away for emergencies, only to find those accounts frozen. The shell companies he used to transfer assets were all dissolved overnight, and the responsible parties vanished without a trace.

It dawned on him that he had fallen into a meticulously crafted trap from the very beginning. His opponent wanted not just his downfall but his complete ruin, leaving him no chance to recover.

In despair, Alex began to lose his mind.

He smashed everything in his house that could be broken, drank heavily, and lashed out at the servants. The once-dapper CEO of the Smith Group now resembled a gambler who had lost everything, with bloodshot eyes and a haggard appearance.

One afternoon, the front door of his mansion was violently kicked open.

A dozen uniformed men with stern expressions entered. The leader flashed his badge. "We're from the city's economic crime division. Alex Smith, you're under investigation for large-scale contract fraud, illegal fundraising, and malicious stock manipulation. Please come with us."

In the living room, Alex clutched a bottle of whiskey, his eyes bleary as he watched TV. On the screen, Stanley was announcing a $100 million donation to the Imperial City Heritage Foundation, looking every bit the successful philanthropist. The image of Stanley, radiant and triumphant, was a stark contrast to Alex's wretched state.

Seeing the officers, Alex didn't seem surprised. Instead, he laughed maniacally.

"Investigate me? Fine, go ahead!" He staggered to his feet, pointing at Stanley on the TV, shouting, "Why don't you investigate him? It's him! He's the one who set me up! Why does he get to be celebrated while I end up in jail?"

"Mr. Smith, please calm down and cooperate," the lead officer said impassively, signaling his men to move in.

Two young officers grabbed Alex by the arms.

Alex struggled violently but was ultimately subdued and taken away.

The prison walls cut off the sunlight and everything Alex once had.

When the life sentence was handed down, he didn't react with the expected hysteria. He just stared at the cold, black words for a long time.

So long that a guard impatiently tapped the bars with his baton, making a jarring noise. Alex, like a disturbed statue, slowly lifted his head, his eyes hollow and terrifying.

"Move it!" the guard barked.

Alex was shoved into his cell.

Everything inside reeked of mold and sweat, a stark contrast to the scents he had been accustomed to for over twenty years.

He had once been the golden boy, the heir to the Smith Group, looking down on everyone from the pinnacle of success. Now, he was just a number, a nameless prisoner.

At first, his inherent pride resisted. He refused to mingle with the "scum of society" he was now surrounded by, refused to follow anyone's orders. He thought his identity would still command some respect.

He was wrong.

Here, no one cared who you were outside.

The cell block's leader was a burly man with a face full of scars, nicknamed "Mad Dog," reportedly in for grievous bodily harm.

On the first day, Mad Dog and his cronies cornered him.

"New guy, heard you were a big shot?" Mad Dog's tone dripped with malice, his yellow teeth almost touching Alex's face.

Instinctively, Alex stepped back, frowning, his former arrogance making him intolerant of such disrespect. "Get lost."

The response was a solid punch to the gut. The pain doubled him over, his stomach churning. He had never experienced such physical agony, unable to even cry out.

"Big shot?" Mad Dog sneered, kicking Alex's knees, forcing him to kneel on the cold concrete. "In here, I'm the boss! You're nothing but a piece of trash!"

The surrounding inmates burst into laughter, the sound like poisoned needles piercing Alex's eardrums, shattering his last shred of dignity.

From that day on, he became the cell block's errand boy.

Cleaning toilets, washing everyone's filthy socks and uniforms, any dirty job was his.

At mealtime, he was always last, his tray filled with leftovers.

Occasionally, a piece of meat would be snatched by Mad Dog's lackeys, who would eat it in front of him, making exaggerated chewing noises.

Alex fought back, only to be beaten more severely.

He reported to the guards, but they ignored him, telling him to "deal with it himself." Gradually, he learned the rules of survival here. The light in his eyes dimmed, and his once-straight back began to bend.

He stopped resisting, stopped speaking, becoming a silent shadow, mechanically performing his tasks.