Chapter 301 The Scam Incident
James had been glued to Jennifer's side for like, five years straight. Even when she had to jet off for work, it was only for a few days tops. But this time? She'd been MIA for a whole week, no calls, no texts, nada. It was driving him nuts.
James threw himself into recovery and training like a madman this week, ignoring everything else. And guess what? He made killer progress, way better than when he was stuck in the hospital.
He was all set to live solo, but Arianwen wouldn't have it. She insisted on crashing with him, saying she was worried. James had to roll with it.
With Arianwen around, he had way more chill time. At least he didn't have to stress about cooking; she handled that. But man, her cooking was a disaster. She just slapped stuff together, and it tasted like cardboard!
James griped about it a bunch, but she didn't care. To her, food was just fuel, and taste didn't matter.
At first, James sucked it up, but after a week, he was losing it. He dropped some pounds and couldn't stomach her food anymore, so he decided to hit up a restaurant for a decent meal.
He finally got why Arianwen, despite eating like a horse, stayed so fit. She mostly munched on veggies and fruits, so no chance of packing on pounds.
He had to give it to her, though. Her dedication was next level. She could chow down on bland food day in and day out, no problem.
But the real MVP move from Arianwen was helping him bounce back. She treated him daily and even sparred with him sometimes, speeding up his recovery big time.
Now, James was back to his old self, strength-wise. There was still room to grow, but that would come once his energy sea expanded.
His scars were fading too, especially on his face. Still kinda gnarly, but at least he looked somewhat like his old self.
After a sparring session with Arianwen one day, he hit the shower and decided to go out for some real food. He asked Arianwen, "Hey, I'm heading out for dinner. Wanna come?"
Arianwen, as icy as ever, shook her head. "You go. I'll eat here."
"Cool, suit yourself." James didn't push it. He threw on some shades, a mask, and a hat, and bounced.
The place he rented was out in the sticks, about a half-hour drive from his old pad. So he could roam around without worrying about getting spotted.
Lucky for him, it was fall, and the temps had dropped. Everyone was bundled up, so he could wrap himself up with a mask and sunglasses, covering his face without getting weird looks.
As James was strolling past a utility pole, he spotted a missing person notice plastered on it. The flyer had his pre- and post-fire pics, with a handwritten note from Jennifer saying how much he meant to her and how desperate she was to find him.
And get this—there was a three million dollar reward at the bottom!
James let out a small sigh and kept moving. But soon enough, he realized these notices were everywhere. Every few steps, another one popped up, screaming Jennifer's desperation.
He kept walking, on the hunt for a decent restaurant to grab some grub.
Then, he noticed a ruckus up ahead on the right. A middle-aged couple was getting hassled by a bunch of thugs. The guy got shoved a few times and almost ate dirt.
James did a double-take. The couple looked familiar, and then it hit him—they were his old neighbors. They were cool folks, never gave him crap like others did, and even invited him over for meals.
But their kid got into some mess later, and they sold their house and bailed.
James had always liked this couple, so seeing them here was a shocker. He picked up the pace to see what was going down.
When he got closer, he didn't jump in right away. He hung back and eavesdropped for a bit. Turns out, the couple had just driven out of the market when some punk darted out and smacked into their car, then played dead on the ground.
James could tell right away the kid was faking it, just trying to scam them.
"You've got it all wrong. We didn't hit him. He ran into our car. We've got a dashcam. If you don't believe me, I can show you," the guy, Leopold, said, shaking like a leaf.
Before he could finish, a thug named Maximilian Frost shoved him and barked, "What crap are you spewing? You hit him, and now you're blaming us? Are you saying my brother Bartholomew is faking it? You wanna die?"
The other thugs closed in, looking ready to throw down.
This was the burbs, an industrial area with crappier security than the city. Regular folks would be scared stiff in a situation like this.
Leopold, being a bit of a wuss, was terrified, his legs turning to jelly. "I didn't mean that. How about I take Bartholomew to the hospital? I have insurance. If he's really hurt, we'll cover the medical bills."
Maximilian snapped, "Cut the crap. You hit him. If you don't pay up, we'll trash your car!"
Hearing this, the couple got even more freaked out. Leopold gulped and asked, "How much do you want?"
Maximilian's eyes lit up with greed as he held out his hand and said, "Fifty grand."
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