Reputation
As the sailboat gently glided into the harbor of Miami, Florida, Fang Lang stood at the bow, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline that seemed to shimmer in the morning sun. The salty breeze tousled his black hair as he breathed in the scent of adventure tinged with apprehension. After days at sea, the sight of land filled him with a sense of both relief and anticipation.
With practiced ease, Fang Lang secured the sailboat to the dock, his muscles flexing as he leaped onto solid ground once more. He glanced around the bustling harbor, taking in the flurry of activity as cargo ships unloaded their precious wares and fishermen haggled over the day's catch. Amidst the chaos, he felt a sense of purpose stirring within him, driving him forward toward his destination.
Turning to face Captain Jung Ho, who had accompanied him on the journey, Fang Lang awaited the captain's guidance. Jung Ho, his weathered face etched with lines of wisdom and experience, approached with a reassuring smile.
"Now, my friend," Jung Ho began, his voice carrying over the din of the harbor, "be safe out there. It's much a different world than Hong Kong."
Fang Lang nodded. With a firm handshake and a word of thanks, he bid farewell to Captain Jung Ho, feeling a pang of gratitude for the man who had guided him safely across the ocean.
Standing there at the docks, Fang Lang felt a surge of determination coursing through his veins. He walked up to a random stranger and asked for directions to the Hehrbenstrautz' estate, but halfway through his sentence he remembered a crucial detail — he had received a phone number to call when he landed in Miami.
He pulled the slim piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and held it, dialing the scribbled numbers into his phone.
"Hello? I-Is this Hehrbenstrautz?"
"No, this is his assistant," a male voice picked up. "I assume you have arrived in Florida?"
"Yeah, I'm at the docks."
"I will send someone to pick you up. In the meantime, please wait patiently."
"Alright."
It took about 30 minutes before a solid black SUV pulled up, urging Fang Lang to get in. Straightening his jacket, he opened the door and climbed inside.
"Are you armed?" The driver, a young woman with brown hair and an intelligent glint in her eye, asked.
Fang Lang raised an eyebrow. "Yes… why?"
"Give it here." She held out her hand and made a grabby gesture.
Fang Lang reached behind him and revealed a handgun, which the driver promptly snatched and put inside the glove compartment. Then, without further ado, she put her foot to the pedal, and they were off to Hehrbenstrautz's. Surprisingly, the woman was silent the whole ride.
'Guess she's not one for conversation,' Fang Lang thought, looking out the window and watching the palm trees go by. They were headed straight for Miami, and with every palm tree that passed, his anxiety grew bit by bit. He didn't show it— his face remain cold. And once they got to Miami, the feeling was unbearable. He itched to get out of that car. He eventually resolved to watch the city's sights as a calming past-time.
As the car wound its way through the bustling streets, he couldn't help but be captivated by the kaleidoscope of sights that flashed by outside the window. Neon signs blinked in garish colors, advertising everything from exotic nightclubs to kitschy souvenir shops.
Pedestrians darted across the streets like colorful fish in a bustling coral reef, their vibrant clothing standing out against the backdrop of concrete and steel. Street performers entertained passersby with feats of acrobatics and magic, their antics drawing cheers and applause from the gathered crowds. Crowds flooded around street dance battles, their energy contagious.
But it was the unexpected sights that truly caught Fang Lang's attention. A parade of vintage cars rumbled down the street, their gleaming chrome bumpers reflecting the glare of the sun as they cruised past palm-lined boulevards. One of the drivers, a bald man covered in tattoos and holding an unlit cigar between his lips, grinned at Fang Lang as he revved the engine. And at one point, Fang Lang caught sight of a man walking a pet iguana on a leash. Nearby, a street vendor sold ice cream cones topped with edible gold flakes.
When he finally arrived at the gates of Hehrbenstrautz's estate, he held his breath at the sight of it. The entrance was grand, flanked by towering palm trees and adorned with ornate ironwork that spoke of wealth and prestige. Beyond the gates, a long driveway stretched toward the mansion, lined with meticulously manicured gardens bursting with vibrant flowers.
The mansion itself was a masterpiece of architecture, a sprawling edifice of white stone with elegant columns and sweeping verandas. It exuded an air of opulence and refinement. As Fang Lang's gaze swept over the grand facade, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of awe. In this moment he knew that he was dealing with someone with immense influence, and the notion caused him to need to swallow a lingering lump in his throat.
The sleek black car pulled up to the entrance, and the driver emerged to open the door for Fang Lang. Stepping out onto the gravel driveway, Fang Lang was struck by the sudden hush that seemed to settle over the estate, as if the very grounds themselves held their breath in anticipation of his arrival.
The driver, clad in a crisp suit, gestured for Fang Lang to follow as they made their way toward the mansion's imposing entrance. As they ascended the steps, Fang Lang couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as though unseen eyes scrutinized his every move.
Upon entering the mansion, Fang Lang was greeted by the warmth of rich mahogany furnishings and the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic spices and polished wood.
At the entrance of the mansion stood a figure clad in a tailored suit, his features softened by a friendly smile. "Welcome, Mr. Lang," the man said, his voice smooth and melodious. "I am Benji, Mr. Hehrbenstrautz's assistant. Please, follow me."
Benji led Fang Lang through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The walls seemed to whisper, "Turn back," and "Run while you still can," but nevertheless, Fang Lang pushed forward.
Finally, they arrived at a set of double doors adorned with intricate carvings, beyond which awaited Mr. Hehrbenstrautz himself. With a final nod of encouragement, Benji pushed open the doors, ushering Fang Lang into the presence of the multimillionaire and the beginning of a new chapter in his life.
Mr. Hehrbenstrautz, an older man with a grey hair and beard, and a nasty scar across his right eye, sat behind an office desk, a single lamp atop the desk illuminating his face. He looked just beyond the rim of his circular glasses and grinned. "This the son of a bitch that killed Aadan?"