Chapter 125 Old Classmate

"You... Are you playing me?" Bob looked at Eric Phillips, his face ashen.

"Yes, I played you. So what? Got a problem with that?" Eric Phillips said with a cold laugh.

He had no sympathy for someone as despicable as Bob.

With a wave of his hand, Eric Phillips commanded, "Security Chief, throw this scumbag out of the Power Mansion building!"

"Yes, sir!"

The Security Chief and several guards stepped forward, grabbed Bob, and dragged him out.

Enraged yet helpless, Bob wanted to curse out loud but didn't dare; he feared another beating.

After Bob was dragged out.

"Eric, I've got something to do; I should head out," Hailey Anderson said, her eyes red.

Eric Phillips didn't stop her. The girl was heartbroken. There was no need to make it worse for her; he figured she needed time alone to process.

He didn't think his actions were too harsh. After all, it was better for Hailey Anderson to see Bob's true nature sooner rather than later. The deeper the fall, the more complex the heartbreak.

---

At Donald Hall's residence

"Dammit! Dammit!"

Donald Hall was fuming at home, frightening the household staff into silence.

"Why does that kid keep winning? Why?! Is he my Achilles' heel?" Donald Hall fumed, recalling the day's events. What made him angry wasn't failing to acquire the prized land but being bested by Eric Phillips again.

Seething, Donald Hall turned to his advisor and said through clenched teeth, "Go! Send another hit on the kid!"
“Donald, we've failed to take him out twice already, and that's no coincidence. If we don't figure out why it happened before making another move... well, chances are we'll fail again," the strategist said.

After a short pause, he continued, "And I think I've figured out why our last two attempts didn't succeed."

"Oh? What's the reason?" Donald Hall quickly pressed for an answer.

"According to Baldy's account, he took more than forty guys to the orphanage, only to get beaten down by that bodyguard who's always with Eric Phillips. This tells us that the guy's really good," the strategist explained.

He paused briefly before adding, "So, it's highly likely this kid's bodyguard has been protecting him and foiling our hits."

"That makes sense," Donald nodded in agreement.

Then Donald's tone shifted, and he said coldly, "No matter how tough he is, if he dares to mess with my plans, he's a dead man walking! He's got his strong bodyguard, but don't we have enforcers of our own? Get Puma in here!"

Puma was Donald Hall's top man, instrumental in his rise to power.

Half an hour later, a towering figure with a burly frame sauntered into Donald Hall's mansion. Just his imposing presence and the intense aura he emitted were enough to strike fear into the hearts of ordinary people.

He was the man—Puma, Donald Hall's foremost enforcer.

"Donald Hall, did you want to see me?" Puma greeted him respectfully.

"Puma, things have been quiet these past few years, and you haven't had to flex your muscles. But someone's been challenging my authority lately. It's time for you, my old blade, to cut again," Donald instructed.

"Whoever opposes Donald Hall opposes me. Just say the word, and I'll handle them," Puma replied.

"Take out Eric Phillips, the Chairman of Power Mansion, and his bodyguard! And remember, it needs to be clean," Donald ordered with narrowed eyes.

"Got it! I'm on it right now."

Puma took his orders and left the room.

...

The next day, at 10:30 AM, outside the Power Mansion compound

The project for Conservation Site Number One was approved—a major undertaking for Power Group's New York branch for the next year.

This land was a grand gift from Eric Phillip's grandfather, and carrying this project through would surely bring a fortune.

Now that the project was greenlit, the next step was to launch an extensive promotional campaign across New York. It was time to build momentum!
Billboards and bus stop advertisements had been popping up alongside roads for a while.

Today, some colleagues from the marketing department and a few temps had gathered at the bustling Power Plaza to distribute flyers for a campaign.

Wanting to connect with the grassroots and boost morale, Eric Phillips decided to lead the team in handing out flyers that morning.

"Hi there, beautiful. Check out this new project by the Power Group," he said, offering a flyer with a charming smile.

"Hey, buddy, take a look at the new development at Power Plaza," he said to another passerby.

...

The foot traffic at Power Plaza was intense, and within an hour, Eric had handed out many flyers.

Then, two young men approached.

"Guys, take a moment to look at our new project at Power Plaza," Eric suggested, extending another flyer toward them.

One of the men snatched the flyer and snapped, "Don't you guys get tired of this? I don't want your junk!"

After uttering these words, he crumpled the flyer and threw it at Eric.

Eric's brow furrowed with irritation.

"You... you're Eric Phillips!" exclaimed the young man, his surprise shifting focus from the flyer to Eric's face.

"Whoa, it is Eric Phillips!" his companion, with dyed blond hair, chimed in with astonishment.

"Who might you be?" Eric asked, puzzled as they knew his name.

"Don't tell me you don't remember us? I’m your high school classmate Mateo!" said the young man.

"And me, Lincoln!" added the blond.

"Mateo, Lincoln," Eric repeated softly, the names ringing a familiar bell.

These were names he knew well – his former high school classmates. They had changed a lot in appearance since then, so Eric hadn't recognized them initially.

Moreover, Eric didn't have the fondest memories of them. Back in high school, Mateo and Lincoln were known troublemakers.

On the other hand, Eric was the student always buried in his books, striving for excellence.

But this duo took pleasure in pestering students like Eric, creating trouble and disrupting their peace of mind.

Eric's academic performance had been strong enough to gain admission to top-tier universities.
Under the relentless harassment of that clique, Eric Phillips's spirit suffered deeply. His academic performance declined, and he was only admitted to a local community college.

Eric knew that after high school, those bullies didn't pursue further education but instead plunged into the rough-and-tumble of the real world. He hadn't seen any of them in years.

Tristan and Lincoln were two of those troublemakers.

Eric gave them a once-over. They were decked out in designer gear, exuding arrogance as they sized him up.

That's when Mateo, scoffing, said, "Well, if it isn't Eric Phillips. You used to be at the top of your class. How the mighty have fallen, eh? Handing out flyers on the street? Pretty pathetic, dude."

While he spoke, Mateo deliberately fidgeted with his wrist, flashing a watch worth a fortune.

Lincoln chimed in with his sneer, "Honestly, Eric, seeing you like this is embarrassing for all our old classmates."

After his jab, Lincoln pulled out a set of BMW keys and dangled them in front of Eric—as if the car was something to brag about.

Eric chuckled dismissively, "Big deal. BMW? Those are entry-level cars. Even if it were free, I wouldn't take one—it'd devalue what I drive."

What a joke! Eric drove a Lamborghini Huracán—it was in a whole different league than a BMW. Eric now had a new status; he was Sean Williams' grandson—an heir to a fortune. They were trying to flaunt their wealth in front of him, a true tycoon? It was laughable.

"What? Is a BMW beneath you? Ha!" The two burst into laughter, dripping with scorn.

"So, if BMWs are beneath you, what kind of luxury car do you drive, Eric?" Mateo asked mockingly.

"Do you want to know? It might shock you," Eric said, a sly smile creeping onto his face.

"Oh? Are you going to shock us? Haha!" They laughed even harder.

"Come on, Eric, spill it. What car are you driving?" Mateo goaded.

"Lamborghini Huracán," Eric replied nonchalantly.

"What? Do you drive a Huracán? Ha, that's a good one. Next, you'll tell us you have the Batmobile parked around the corner!" Mateo and Lincoln roared with laughter, treating Eric's claim as the ultimate punchline.

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