Pampering Discarded Heroines Triggers My 10,000x Rebate System

The next morning, inside the City Holding Facility in Sector Two, the air was cold and smelled of wet concrete and disinfectant.

In a narrow cell at the end of the second-floor cellblock, Ian Prescott sat on a thin metal bench.

His expensive designer clothes had been replaced by a faded orange jumpsuit. His hair was greasy and uncombed, dark circles hung under his bloodshot eyes, and his hands trembled every time a loud noise echoed through the corridor.

From the neighboring cells, the rough shouts and taunts of hardened guild criminals and illegal mercenaries made Ian flinch.

For the past two days, the other inmates had been staring at him through the bars like a piece of fresh meat.

CLANG!

A guard struck his baton against the iron bars of the cell door.

"Prescott," the guard said in a bored voice, unlocking the gate. "Legal consultation. Move it."

Ian scrambled off the bench as fast as his legs could carry him. "Is it my father’s senior lawyers? Did the High Court approve my bail?"

The guard didn’t answer. He cuffed Ian’s wrists and led him down the narrow hallway into the high-security visitor suite.

The room was divided by a thick panel of bulletproof glass with a metal mesh speaker in the center.

Sitting on the visitor’s side of the glass was a man wearing a dark trench coat, a flat cap pulled low over his forehead, and a pair of dark, tinted reading glasses. A reinforced steel briefcase rested on the floor beside his feet.

Ian sat down on the metal stool, looking through the glass with a confused expression.

"Who are you?" Ian asked, picking up the black telephone receiver on his side. "Where are the senior lawyers from the family defense firm?"

The man on the other side reached up, slowly taking off his tinted glasses and lifting the brim of his cap.

Ian’s eyes widened in astonishment. "Dad?!"

Lord Alistair Prescott picked up the visitor phone. He looked pale and exhausted, but his eyes looked cold and intense.

"Keep your voice down, you fool," Alistair hissed through the receiver.

Ian leaned closer against the glass, his voice cracking with desperate hope. "Dad! You’re here! Did the judges approve my bail? Did you crush that bastard Evren yet?!"

Alistair’s expression darkened into pure disgust.

"Bail is impossible," he whispered furiously. "I had a plan with Garrett Sterling to hit Evren yesterday at his charity gala. The strike failed. The mercenaries were dismantled, Sterling was arrested, and he confessed to everything on live television. The Mayor has already issued an Emergency Red Warrant for my arrest."

Ian froze. The color drained completely from his face. "What...? But... what about me?!"

"Shut up and listen," Alistair snapped. "I need the recovery key for our Swiss offshore vaults. The twelve-word encrypted phrase you memorized when you turned twenty-one. Give it to me right now."

Ian stared at his father in panic. "The offshore vaults? Why do you need that now? Aren’t you getting me out of here?!"

"I have to leave the province tonight," Alistair stated in a cold, matter-of-fact tone. "The police raided our estate last night. I have to go underground and operate from the Capital. Once the heat dies down and I secure our assets from outside, I will arrange for your legal release. Now give me the phrase."

Ian swallowed hard. His voice trembled as he whispered the twelve encrypted words into the receiver.

Alistair wrote nothing down, committing each word to memory. Once Ian finished, Alistair gave a curt nod and placed his tinted glasses back over his eyes.

He set the phone receiver back on the hook and stood up from the stool, picking up his steel briefcase.

Seeing his father prepare to walk away, terror struck Ian’s chest.

"Wait!" Ian yelled into the receiver, slamming his cuffed hands against the glass. "You can’t leave me here! The inmates in this block are crazy! They keep pacing outside my cell and looking at me like I’m prey... I heard them talking about what they’re going to do to me! I won’t survive another week in this place! Take me with you! Please!"

Alistair didn’t pick the phone back up. He glared at Ian, mouthing: Shut up! The guards!

He turned his back on his son, pulling on his black leather gloves and pushing open the visitor exit door to leave.

In panic, Ian lost all control. He dropped the receiver and slammed his body against the bulletproof glass, screaming at the top of his lungs:

"Dad! Don’t leave me! DAD!"

The guard in the corner of the booth looked up sharply at the sound of the word ’Dad.’

Alistair didn’t look back, afraid his cover would be blown. His heart hammered as he rushed down the service corridor, jogging to escape before the alarm went off.

—

In the quiet, dimly lit rear corridor of the facility, Lord Alistair walked quickly along the concrete floor.

His trench coat swished around his ankles as he followed the signs toward the private staff exit and the underground loading bay where his getaway vehicle was idling. With the offshore phrase in his mind and millions in bearer bonds in his briefcase, he could catch a chartered smuggling boat at the western docks and disappear into the Capital.

Alistair reached the steel emergency exit door at the end of the hallway. He pushed the metal push-bar forward.

The door swung open with a dull screech.

Alistair stepped through into the loading corridor, and froze dead in his tracks.

Standing ten feet in front of him, leaning casually against the concrete wall with his hands in his pockets, was Evren.

Beside Evren stood Commander Briggs and six armed Special Tactical Unit officers with their guns raised and pointed directly at Alistair’s chest.

Alistair’s grip tightened around the handle of his briefcase until his knuckles turned white. His breath hitched in his throat.

"You..." Alistair choked out, backing away a half-step. "How did you know I was here?!"

Evren pushed himself off the wall and took a slow, relaxed step forward.

"The audio feed in that visitor booth has been streaming live to Commander Briggs’s tablet since your son was booked," Evren said calmly. "Did you really think City Hall wouldn’t monitor the only place in town you’d run to grab your emergency codes?"

Alistair looked at the raised rifle barrels, then at Evren’s completely relaxed posture. The realization that he had walked directly into an inescapable trap hit him like a blow.

His shattered into malice.

"Evren..." Alistair snarled. "You think you’ve won? You’re an upstart peasant who got lucky! For thirty years, my family ruled this province! None of the people who ever crossed me lived to see the winter!"

Evren stopped three feet in front of the old patriarch. He looked down into Alistair’s bloodshot, desperate eyes with a cold expression of his own.

"Well...," Evren said softly. "Winter is here."

Before Alistair could react, Commander Briggs stepped forward, grabbed Alistair’s shoulder, twisted him around, and slammed the former lord face-first against the rough concrete wall.

A pair of enchanted mana-suppression handcuffs snapped tightly around Alistair’s wrists. The steel briefcase slipped from his numb fingers and hit the floor with a loud clang.

"Lord Alistair Prescott," Commander Briggs declared in a deep, booming voice. "You are under arrest for attempted assassination of city leadership, domestic terrorism, and armed conspiracy. You have no right to bail."

Alistair groaned in pain as the mana-cuffs sealed off his core, stripping every ounce of strength from his body.

"Get him moving," Briggs ordered his men. "Put him in the maximum-security holding block. Right across from his son."

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