Chapter 11: A Deal Struck

Words : 1793 Updated : Nov 13th, 2025

When Stefan pressed for terms again, a surge of nameless anger flashed through Carlos. A mere death row inmate, daring to bargain with the warden. But Carlos was a seasoned operator. He betrayed none of it. He put on a fawning smile. "I'm not about to make you work for me for nothing. If you want compensation, that's only fair. Name your terms." "I want to be able to come and go from the prison freely." Stefan felt almost certain Carlos would agree. He had considered all the angles and knew how crucial this was to him. At that, Carlos's expression tightened. He hadn't expected the kid to push things this far. He snorted, his voice turning cold, "Stefan, do you know what you're saying? You're a death row inmate, scheduled for execution." If he gave this man free passage and Stefan escaped, the blame would fall squarely on him. "I know what I am," Stefan said calmly. "And I know what you're worried about. I can guarantee I won't run. If I run, I'll be a wanted man; my life will be over. If I leave, it'll be in broad daylight, after my name is cleared. You can tell I've been framed. I want out so I can investigate the truth." Carlos frowned, weighed it for a moment, then slapped his thigh and said, "All right. I agree." A satisfied smile flickered across Stefan's face. He stood up. "In that case, no time like the present. Let's go." Carlos didn't waste words. He made arrangements, then took Stefan to a black Toyota Prado. He had Stefan's cuffs and leg irons taken off, but he wasn't about to get careless. He put two correctional officers next to Stefan, one on each side. They weren't ordinary officers; they were sharpshooters, armed and ready. One wrong move and they'd shoot. Only after all that did Carlos feel secure enough to drive out of Jenos Prison with Stefan. Stefan understood perfectly why the guards were there. He didn't give it a second thought. With his current abilities, he could have handled them in an instant, but he had no intention of breaking out and turning himself into a fugitive. They left the prison and drove for over an hour, stopping at a villa. It wasn't lavishly decorated, but it was sprawling; the grounds held a rock garden, a lawn, even a patch of vegetables. In a city where every square foot costs a fortune, the sheer size of the place spoke volumes about the owner's clout. On the way over, Carlos had told him the owner's name: Clayton Heyland, in his seventies, suffering from late-stage cirrhosis. At the door stood a middle-aged man with a square face, waiting and watching. His eyes were sharp, and his bearing exuded quiet, effortless authority. "Chief, I brought him. Sorry to keep you waiting." Carlos jogged up with a slight bow, an ingratiating smile in place. This was Clayton Heyland's son, James Heyland. He had once served as warden of Jenos Prison and was now the head of the City Bureau, a man of rank and influence. James grunted and let his hard gaze rake over Stefan as if assessing a prisoner, taking in every detail. Disappointment crept over him almost at once. His eyes were too practiced to miss it: despite the mask and baseball cap, this so-called expert looked like a kid under twenty-five. Not to be snobbish, but how could someone that young cure late-stage cirrhosis, even if he'd studied medicine since childhood? He didn't explode. He only shook his head. "Carlos, I appreciate the effort. My father's condition is dire. Let's not mess around with this." Earlier, when Carlos called saying he knew a miracle worker who could cure the cirrhosis, James had been over the moon. Seeing the "miracle worker" turn out to be this young man crushed that hope. Carlos caught the undertone. He heard the disbelief and grew anxious. "Chief, this young man may look inexperienced, but he's got the skills. Please, just give him a chance." He had expected this reaction, which was why he had told Stefan to wear a cap and mask. If James had learned Stefan was on death row, he would have thrown them out on the spot. Who could have guessed James would refuse to even let Stefan try? Carlos's confidence wavered. James's face hardened. "No. My father's condition is already grave. I can't risk any mistakes. Carlos, I won't keep you today." He was clearly showing them the door. Panic gripped Carlos. This could make or break his career, and it determined whether Stefan won the right to enter and leave the prison. Stefan couldn't go back empty-handed. He said evenly, "Is this really the head of the City Bureau? How shallow." The room fell silent. Cold sweat broke out on Carlos's back. James was a heavyweight, and Stefan had just called him out to his face. This wasn't just rude; it was a direct affront. If James lost his temper, Carlos could forget about his ambitions. He could lose his job over this. Carlos's heart pounded. He shot Stefan a murderous glare, then hurried to placate James. "Chief, my apologies." James lifted a hand to cut him off. He fixed Stefan with an interested stare. "Oh? You call me shallow? Then tell me how." He couldn't help seeing the young man in a new light. Carlos bowed and scraped, but this one dared to talk back. Either he was a fool, or he was the real deal. Stefan met his gaze, neither meek nor arrogant. "You judge by appearances. You don't trust your friend. You're about to turn down your father's last hope. Tell me, does that not count as shallow?" "Well, well." James's lips curled into something like a smile. "In all these years, you're the first person to talk to me like that. For your nerve alone, I'll give you a chance. If you can truly cure my father, I will reward you handsomely. But..." His voice turned icy, his gaze suddenly sharp. "But if you fail, I'll make sure you regret it."

Chapter 11: A Deal Struck

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