Keaton Hewitt, the eldest young master of HW Corporation, had probably tried to rein in Mick before this whole disaster unfolded. The Hewitts were shrewd businessmen; they knew how fragile alliances could be.

Keaton had likely hoped to handle things quietly, but Mick had never been one for quiet handling.

To him, Keaton’s "restraint" had always been condescension. It was a way to make him look weak before the board and the chairman. In his head, Keaton was sabotaging him, stealing every chance he had at proving himself worthy of succession.

Now, as Mick trembled in rage as he tried to get up, Grayson broke the silence.

"I’ve already told him what to do," Grayson coldly said as he frowned. "But he still let things get to this point."

Mick’s head jerked up. "What do you mean by that?"

Grayson didn’t even blink. He turned his head slightly, glancing at Bryan and then the security personnel. "Escort them out. Both of them."

"What—"

Killian stepped forward, but Julius’ arm was still holding him captive.

Bryan nodded, already moving with the rest of the security guard, two security drones gliding down as a silent warning.

But then—

They heard a low hum from nearby. It was the landing sequence of a high-end hover-car, drawing everyone’s attention towards the nearest parking space.

Grayson’s brow furrowed.

The gust of cool air swept through the place, but it didn’t stop Keaton Hewitt from walking towards them. His usually composed features were gone. His jaw was tight, his steps fast with a deeply restrained, furious expression.

"You—" Mick uttered, but he didn’t get to finish.

Keaton’s fist connected with Mick’s jaw before the rest of the crowd could even process what was happening.

The crack of knuckles against bone was sickeningly loud.

Mick’s head snapped to the side, and his body followed, crashing to the ground. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his lip, bright against his pale skin.

For a moment, no one moved.

Grayson raised an eyebrow. Bryan, beside him, let out a soft whistle. They could’ve just handled whatever legal fallout would result from this assault situation, but this was something else.

Keaton stood over his brother, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?" he hissed. His voice was only loud enough for both of them to hear. The fury in his tone was unmistakable.

Mick groaned, wiping his mouth.

"You hit me?" He spat a little blood on the floor and glared at him. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No," Keaton said as he stood over him with a kind of cold rage.

He crouched, grabbed Mick by the collar, and pulled him half upright. "Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? Those people who flatter you? The things you’re hiding?"

Mick shoved him back, furious. "So what? You’ve been reigning over everything since we were kids. It’s only right that I—"

Keaton’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "And this is how you plan to take everything for yourself? By causing a scene in Maxwell’s own building?"

Grayson just put his hands in his pockets and watched. This was family business now. He had no intention of getting his shoes dirty over this nonsense.

Keaton straightened, adjusting his sleeve as if nothing had just happened.

He turned to Grayson, forcing a tight, polite smile. "Mr. Maxwell. I apologize that you had to witness this... embarrassment. Allow me to take responsibility for him."

Grayson tilted his head slightly, assessing. "Did I not give you a chance?"

Keaton’s mouth twitched. "I know, and I apologize."

Grayson raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, everything was silent. He deliberated for a second, then nodded. Then he stepped back and gestured for Julius to release Killian. Julius promptly loosened his grip, but his hand stayed close to Killian’s shoulder.

Keaton watched this and continued with a calm voice. "I’ll deal with the follow-up personally. I’ll also take responsibility for the damages."

Grayson’s tone was cool but dismissive. "See that you do."

Keaton felt goosebumps when he saw Grayson’s expression, but he wouldn’t let it show on his face. "I understand."

At his gesture, Keaton’s men entered, efficient and silent. They moved to lift Mick from the floor, ignoring his muttered protests.

"Get your hands off me!" Mick snapped, trying to struggle free. But Keaton only sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Mick," he said quietly. "Can you stop? You’ve already lost enough today."

"Lost?" Mick spat. "No. This isn’t over. How dare you think you can just—"

Keaton leaned down, his tone so low only Mick could hear, though everyone could see the tension in his shoulders.

"If you want to die," he said carefully, "then do it alone. Don’t drag the whole family with you."

Mick’s jaw tightened, blood still glistening on his lip.

"May you rot in prison before I let you ruin us all," Keaton finished, his voice cold as ice.

Then Mick chuckled, low and bitter as he sneered at Keaton. "Even if it’s not me, there are others. Don’t act like you’re clean, you’re just as rotten as I am."

Keaton straightened, eyes glinting dangerously. "Perhaps. But which is faster, you getting out of the prison, or dying inside?"

He swayed, but his glare didn’t waver.

"This isn’t over," Mick said, voice hoarse.

Keaton gave a small, tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "It never is."

Seeing as they hauled Killian, Mick’s rage resurfaced. "Hey! What are you doing! Take your hands off of him! He has nothing to do with this!"

Keaton gave a helpless shrug at Grayson. Bryan, who was beside him, seemed to have remembered something. Ever the opportunist couldn’t resist twisting the knife.

He moved closer to Mick with a smile and whispered, "Don’t think that we only have evidence about Mr. Hope. I’m sure you don’t want the public to know about your little den in the downtown, right?"

Mick’s face was drained of color. His mouth opened and closed. Then he went limp in his captors’ hold, allowing himself to be dragged toward Keaton’s hover-car without further protest.