With trembling hands, the blonde-haired woman in a white button-up shirt, its top few buttons undone to reveal a hint of cleavage hurriedly dialed the manager's office line. As the line rang, she kept stealing anxious glances at the fierce-looking men just a few feet away.
"Hello… Sir," she stammered, her eyes darting between the furious Maxwell and the equally intimidating men flanking him. "I think there's a bit of an issue here," she added, trying to steady her voice and make her point clear.
"There's a man who wants to see you~"
"And you'd better not waste my fucking time," Maxwell cut in sharply, his voice cold and dangerous, "unless you want to see your precious hotel in ruins within minutes."
Barely two minutes after the call ended, a group of fifteen security guards rushed into the reception area, quickly surrounding Maxwell and his men.
"Are you the one in charge?" the head of security demanded as he approached the counter, squaring his broad shoulders.
Maxwell didn't respond. He tapped his fingers steadily on the counter's polished brown surface, as if the presence of the guards meant nothing to him.
"I want you and your men out of here. Now," the security head ordered coldly.
"Or what will you do?" Maxwell asked coolly, finally looking up and locking his bloodshot eyes on the man standing about five feet away.
"If you don't comply, I'll have you all thrown out by force," the tall, muscular security head replied, unflinching as he met Maxwell's gaze.
"I can't wait to see you try," Maxwell muttered, leaning back casually against the counter. He crossed one leg over the other, completely unfazed.
"Get them out," the security head commanded his team as he stepped forward, prepared to handle Maxwell himself.
"Take one more step," Maxwell warned, voice low but firm, "and I'll make sure you're the first person I vent my anger on today."
In one smooth motion, he reached for his waist, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it directly at the security head.
The three receptionists screamed and ducked behind the desk the moment they saw the weapon.
"I lost something priceless in your damn hotel last night," Maxwell growled, his hand steady on the gun. "And neither you, the police, nor anyone else will make me leave without getting what I came for. Got it?"
He was still speaking when a middle-aged man in a crisp grey suit entered the lobby. His steps faltered when he saw the pistol aimed at his security head, but he quickly masked his fear and approached with practiced calm.
Stopping a short distance from Maxwell, he surveyed the situation, weighing his options.
"If you know what's good for you, young man," he said, his voice deep and composed, "you'll take your minions and leave before something nasty happens to all of you."
He didn't ask questions. He didn't try to defuse the tension. He was focused only on exerting authority.
Maxwell's expression remained unreadable. "I want access to your CCTV footage," he said. "My men told me it's only possible with your permission, which is why you were summoned in the first place."
"Not even the police can access our CCTV footages without a warrant," the manager replied stiffly.
"Do we look like the police?" Maxwell snapped, his voice sharp. "I don't have time to play cat and mouse like they do. Do what's needed quickly so I can leave your pathetic hotel."
He glanced toward the entrance, where his men stood like statues, guarding the doors.
"I gave you a chance to get out of this unscathed," the manager growled, "but you threw it away. So don't blame me for what happens next."
With a short whistle, he gave the signal.
Ten more men entered through the hallway, the same direction the manager had come from. Their black batons flexed in their hands, their expressions blank and cold.
Most people would have backed down, but not Maxwell or his men. They'd been playing with guns since before most men learned how to throw a punch.
"I tried to be civil, since you're all dolled up in suits and ties," Maxwell said darkly. "But you just abused that privilege. Whatever happens next is on you."
At his signal, all of his men drew their pistols from beneath their coats. They swiftly aimed it at the security guards who had surrounded them.
"Now… lead me to your control room," Maxwell commanded. He shifted the aim of his pistol to the manager's head.
"I won't… I can't," the manager stammered, shaking his head, backing away in panic.
Thinking Maxwell was distracted, the head of security lunged toward him, but Maxwell turned swiftly and fired.
BANG!
The shot rang through lobby. The guard collapsed to the floor, clutching his leg as a scream of agony tore from his throat.
The three receptionists wailed in horror, their cries echoing across the lobby as if they'd been shot themselves.
The manager stood frozen, his entire body trembling. He tried to steady his shaking legs, but they wouldn't obey.
"Anyone who dares resist," Maxwell said coldly, "shoot him in the head."
His voice echoed like a death sentence.