Within Five Minutes

"Get lost!" Vance roared.

The crisp night air turned volatile in a fraction of a second. The mocking smile on Preston’s face acted like a spark to dry kindling. Vance surged forward, his boots scraping hard against the concrete pavement. He closed the gap between them before Preston could even blink. His right hand whipped through the chilly breeze.

The slap connected flush against Preston’s cheek. The sharp crack echoed down the quiet suburban street, bouncing off the brick walls of the nearby apartment buildings. The sheer force snapped Preston’s head to the side. A thin trail of dark blood instantly welled up and trickled down the corner of his mouth.

Instead of cowering, Preston held his ground. He tasted the blood on his lip. A sick, victorious smile spread across his handsome face. He did not look at Vance. He kept his gaze fixed deliberately on Audrey, playing the role of the tragic, assaulted martyr to perfection.

Audrey let out a piercing shriek of horror. She dropped her purse. "Vance, are you crazy?" she screamed, her voice cracking in the quiet night. She shoved herself between the two men, her arms spread wide to shield the wealthy pharmaceutical heir from her own husband. "What can you do apart from hitting others? Can beating people up solve any problem? It is a crime to hit others!"

She turned her back on Vance, her hands hovering anxiously over Preston's designer suit. "Preston, are you all right?"

Preston pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket. He dabbed the blood from his chin with practiced elegance. "I'm fine," he replied politely, his voice smooth and untroubled. He offered Audrey a reassuring nod. "It is getting late. I will head off now."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, embossed business card. He pressed it gently into Audrey's trembling hand. "Here is my name card. Call me if you need anything."

"Preston, have you not learned your lesson?" Vance growled, stepping out from the shadows cast by the streetlamp. His posture was coiled, radiating the dark, predatory energy of a beast ready to strike again.

Audrey whirled around, her eyes blazing with misdirected fury. "Vance, stop it!" she demanded, pointing a trembling finger at his chest. "Preston was just being kind. He offered you a job. Why are you behaving in this way?"

Vance stopped in his tracks. A cold sneer curled his lips. He looked at the woman he called his wife, standing as a human shield for a man who wanted to destroy their marriage. He said nothing. Words were useless now.

Audrey glared at him one last time, her expression laced with profound disappointment. She turned on her heel and marched toward the apartment building entrance, leaving Vance standing alone on the sidewalk.

Preston offered Vance a final, mocking smirk before sliding into the plush leather seat of his luxury sedan. The engine purred to life.

A lethal glint flashed in Vance's eyes as he watched the taillights fade into the darkness. *I will let you go this time,* he vowed silently. *But the second Grandpa's condition stabilizes, I will dismantle you and your entire bloodline.*

The atmosphere inside the apartment was freezing.

Vance stepped into the hallway and heard the heavy click of the master bedroom lock echoing through the quiet space. Audrey had shut him out. He stood outside the wooden door for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of her moving around inside, before turning away.

He walked into the dark living room and dropped onto the guest sofa. The silence of the apartment pressed down on him. Just as he leaned his head back against the cushions, a sharp buzz vibrated against his thigh.

Vance reached into his pocket and pulled out his private, encrypted phone. The screen cast a harsh blue glow across his face. Only a handful of elite individuals across the globe knew the number to this device. Audrey did not even know the phone existed.

He unlocked the screen and opened the new text message.

*Hi, rich guy. I'm Chlo. Nice to meet you. This is a picture of myself. We can have a chat if you want to.*

Attached below the text was a photo. Vance stared at the image, his brow furrowing in deep disgust. It was a girl in revealing, scandalous clothing, her lips pursed in an exaggerated pout as she tried hard to act cute. The background was warped, the edges blurred from heavy layers of photo editing software.

He recognized the face immediately. It was Chloe. Bryce's girlfriend.

Vance remembered her distinct, obnoxious personality from their fleeting encounters. She radiated negativity. She was a loud, greedy snob who thrived on superficial status. Back in her school days, she was a known delinquent who picked fights and challenged people to petty dance battles in the streets. She possessed a condescending attitude paired with severe immaturity. Vance would not waste a second glance on a woman like her, but she was exactly the type to string Bryce along for his money.

Now, she was actively trying to seduce the mysterious billionaire she assumed owned this number, eager to betray her boyfriend for a wealthier master.

Vance's fingers tapped against the illuminated glass. He typed a single sentence.

*How did you get my phone number?*

The reply came mere seconds later, reeking of panic. *I got it by chance. Please don't blame me...*

Vance did not bother typing a response. He closed the messaging app, plunging the room back into darkness, and tossed the encrypted device onto the opposite cushion. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to focus on the rising sun and the reckoning awaiting the hospital staff.

At the first light of dawn, Vance was already out the door.

He moved through the brisk morning air with purpose, arriving at Oakhaven General Hospital just as the shift changes began. His eyes were icy. His mind locked onto a singular, unyielding intent to settle scores. The corrupt doctors and arrogant nurses had nearly cost his grandfather his life. If Dr. Valerie Dalton had not bypassed the bureaucracy to perform the emergency surgery, the six hundred thousand dollars he secured would not have mattered. The old man would be dead.

Vance navigated the sterile hallways until he reached the general ward.

Inside the quiet room, a beautiful woman stood beside the hospital bed. Dr. Valerie Dalton was meticulously checking Vernon's vital data. She wore a long-sleeved bat-sleeved blouse paired with fitted jeans. Her posture was professional and exact, utilizing a small penlight to check Vernon's pupils while gently flipping his eyelids.

Vance did not interrupt. He stood silently by the door, his hands resting in his pockets, waiting patiently for her to finish her assessment.

After a long while, Valerie clicked the penlight off and stood straight up. She noticed Vance standing in the doorway. Her expression remained neutral, a mask of clinical indifference. "The patient is now in stable condition."

She turned away, paying no more attention to him. Her attitude was distant, professional, and entirely unbothered by his presence. She began packing her diagnostic equipment into her bag.

"Thank you," Vance said softly. The rare tone of genuine gratitude warmed his usually cold voice.

Valerie ignored the sentiment, zipping her bag shut with crisp efficiency.

"I'll treat you to a meal another day," Vance offered, stepping into the room.

Valerie slung the bag over her shoulder. "Tomorrow night then," she replied briskly.

Vance considered the schedule for a brief moment. "Okay."

"I'll leave now. Keep in contact." Without waiting for a response, Valerie walked past him, her footsteps clicking sharply against the linoleum floor as she vanished down the corridor.

Vance approached the bed. He spent a quiet moment looking down at Vernon. The old man was still unconscious, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the room, but his complexion held far more color than the day before. The crisis had passed.

Now, the consequences would begin.

Vance turned away from the bed. He stepped out of the ward and gently pulled the door shut until the latch clicked. The moment the door closed, the gratitude vanished from his features. His expression darkened. His aura grew heavy, suffocating the hallway with impending doom.

He walked straight toward the main nurses' station.

Clara, the disdainful head nurse, sat behind the wide desk. She slouched in her ergonomic chair, shaking her legs lazily while cracking peanut shells between her teeth. She rolled her eyes as Vance approached, giving him a slow, contemptuous once-over.

*Look at him,* she thought, *walking in all cocky and proud. What for? He's merely a useless wreck who relies on a woman.*

Vance stopped in front of the high counter. He glared directly into Clara's eyes. "Get Cedric and Nolan to see me," he demanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying, authoritative register.

Clara spat a piece of peanut shell into the trash can. She did not bother sitting up. "Who do you think you are to demand two of our specialists to come and see you?" she mocked, her tone dripping with disdain.

"I'll give you exactly five minutes," Vance stated, his gaze boring holes into her skull. "You'll bear the consequences if I don't see them by then."

He pulled a plastic chair away from the wall and sat down opposite the station, crossing his arms over his chest.

"As if." Clara laughed, a harsh, grating sound. She dug her hand into a plastic bag and pulled out another handful of peanuts. She swept a mocking glance over his clothes. "You're acting all smug when you're only someone who didn't even have six hundred thousand just days ago. Now you want to give orders?"

"Four more minutes," Vance said, his posture upright and unmoving.

"Crazy guy," Clara muttered. She pulled her smartphone from her scrubs pocket, unlocked it, and opened the hospital's main WhatsApp group. She pressed the microphone icon. "Dr. Pierce, Dr. Brooks, Vance wants to meet both of you. He also said that you'd have to deal with the consequences yourself if he doesn't see you in five minutes. He's obviously here to blackmail you all and create trouble."

She released the button, sending the voice message to dozens of senior staff members. Then, she cranked her phone's volume to the maximum and set it on the desk.

Seconds later, an audio reply chimed. Clara tapped play. Dr. Nolan's voice blared over the speakerphone, loud enough for the passing patients to hear. "Ask that poor loser to get lost."

Another chime. It was Dr. Cedric. "He has some guts to cause trouble here. Did he even check our hospital's background?"

Other staff members began flooding the chat with text messages, their phones pinging in rapid succession.

*Who is Vance?*

*He's going to cause a scene in the hospital?*

*Are you kidding me? Oakhaven General Hospital has a strong backing.*

Clara smirked, cracking another peanut shell loudly between her teeth to emphasize her lack of fear. She chewed with her mouth open, relishing the public humiliation.

"One more minute," Vance announced, his voice slicing through the noise.

"Haha." Clara rolled her eyes again. Two younger nurses walked past the station, shooting Vance looks of pure contempt before giggling behind their hands. *He needs to bring at least a hundred people with him to create a ruckus,* Clara thought. *There's no way he can do that alone.*

Suddenly, a stern, booming voice echoed from a new audio message on Clara's phone. It was the hospital director. "If he causes a stir later, get the security guards to throw the trash out."

The ticking clock reached zero.

Exactly at the five-minute mark, the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor swung violently outward. Ten massive security guards marched into the hallway. They wore tight black uniforms that strained against their muscular frames. Heavy combat boots stomped in unison against the floor.

They fanned out, forming a dense wall of intimidation around Vance. Each man unclipped a heavy tactical weapon from his belt.

"Young lad, I'll advise you to get lost immediately," Clara sneered from behind the safety of the desk. "Otherwise, you won't be able to leave even if you beg later."

The head security guard stepped forward, cracking his thick neck. He glared down at Vance. "If you don't leave now, we'll hit you," the massive man threatened, his voice a deep rumble.

Vance remained seated. His face was devoid of expression. Not a single muscle twitched in fear.

He uncrossed his arms and stood up slowly. He rolled his wrists, his dark eyes sweeping over the circle of armed men. "I've given you guys a chance, but none of you appreciated it."

"Hahaha! This is so funny," Clara shrieked, clapping her hands together in exaggerated amusement.

"Young lad, you asked for it," the head guard sneered viciously. "You can start begging now."

The guard took a heavy step forward. He thumbed the switch on his high-voltage stun baton. A loud, terrifying crackle of blue electricity erupted from the metal tip, ionizing the air and filling the hallway with the sharp smell of ozone. Gripping the handle with both hands, the massive man swung the live weapon directly at Vance's waist with all his might.

Vance did not dodge.

He casually reached his bare hand out and grabbed the live end of the baton.

The massive electrical current exploded against his palm. Bright blue sparks showered across his knuckles, crackling loudly in the quiet ward. The raw voltage surged over his skin.

Vance did not even blink. He absorbed the massive current without a single flinch.

The head guard’s vicious sneer vanished, replaced by wide-eyed, paralyzing shock. Before the man’s brain could even process the impossible feat, Vance flexed his grip.

He exerted a sudden, frightening burst of raw physical strength.

The heavy metal casing of the stun baton shrieked under the pressure. Plastic snapped. Wires sparked and died. With one smooth squeeze, Vance crushed the heavy weapon into a jagged, useless pile of scrap metal. Pieces of the ruined baton clattered harmlessly onto the linoleum floor.

The hallway plunged into dead silence.

Vance pulled his hand back and swung it forward in a blinding arc. His open palm connected with the side of the head guard's face.

The impact sounded like a bomb going off.

The sheer, terrifying force of the slap lifted the massive two-hundred-pound guard entirely off his feet. The man went flying through the air, sailing backward until his spine crashed heavily into the drywall. The plaster cracked in a spiderweb pattern. He slumped onto the floor, knocked out cold before he even hit the ground.

The remaining nine guards froze. Their batons hung loosely in their hands. Dumbfounded, absolute terror gripped their faces. They stared at the unconscious body of their leader, then at the young man who had just crushed reinforced metal with his bare hands. No one dared to take a single step forward.

Clara leaped out of her chair, her face drained of color. The peanut shells scattered across the floor. "What are you doing, Vance?" she shrieked hysterically, her voice echoing down the silent corridor. "Hitting someone is a major crime! You're going to jail!"

Vance did not even turn his head. He merely offered her a cold, sideways glance that made her jaw snap shut in terror.

He reached into his pocket and calmly pulled out his phone. He dialed a sequence of numbers and brought the device to his ear. The line connected instantly.

His voice echoed softly in the dead silent hallway.

"Within five minutes, I'll reorganize everything at Oakhaven General Hospital."