Chapter 47: The Central District Committee

Damon put the letter back on his desk.

The Central District Judicial Oversight Committee wanted his presence. If they had waited four years to question the Thorne family’s inheritances, he intended to find out why.

He called Thomas and told him to prepare the documents that had arrived with the letter.

By the time he finished getting ready, the old butler was waiting near the entrance with a folder in hand.

"Everything we have on the matter is here, Young Master."

Damon took it and glanced through the first few pages.

"Good. I’ll handle the rest myself."

Thomas nodded but hesitated before stepping aside. "Please be careful at the committee. The people there aren’t accustomed to being challenged."

Damon slipped the folder under his arm.

"Then they can get used to it."

He walked outside, climbed into his black Lamborghini Revuelto, and started the engine.

The drive to the Central District took him through some of the wealthiest parts of the city. Glass towers rose above wide avenues, and private security stood outside buildings that looked more like fortresses than offices.

Yet the committee’s headquarters stood apart from all of them.

He slowed as the complex came into view.

The main building was enormous, its pale stone facade stretching across several connected wings. Tall pillars framed the entrance, while the committee’s emblem stood above the main doors.

Security personnel were stationed throughout the grounds, and every vehicle entering the compound was checked.

This wasn’t an ordinary government office.

Damon parked where he was directed, handed his keys to the attendant, and approached the entrance with the folder in hand.

A man in a black suit was already waiting for him.

He looked to be in his thirties, with neatly combed hair and a composed expression. The moment Damon approached, he stepped forward and bowed slightly.

"Master Thorne. We’ve been expecting you."

Damon glanced at him.

"You’re here for me?"

"Yes, Master Thorne. Please follow me."

The man turned toward the entrance.

Damon followed, but his attention had shifted.

Something about the man felt wrong.

Not his appearance. There was nothing unusual about that. It was the way he carried himself, the control in his movements, and the faint pressure Damon sensed whenever he drew near.

Strength.

The realization came instinctively.

Damon studied him as they passed through security.

The man was stronger than Victor. Not just a little stronger, either. The difference was enough to make Damon reconsider what he thought he understood about the people operating in this city.

He kept his expression neutral.

Since when did an assistant need to be this strong?

His physical abilities had improved over the past few weeks, and his demonic essence was growing stronger. He had begun to feel comfortable with his progress.

Perhaps too comfortable.

"Master Thorne?"

Damon looked up. The assistant had stopped beside a set of tall doors.

"We’ve arrived."

Damon gave him a short nod.

The assistant opened the doors and stepped aside.

Damon entered.

The office beyond was grand enough to belong to the head of a major corporation. A long table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by several men and women seated in high-backed chairs. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, and tall windows overlooked the committee grounds.

Every seat was occupied.

At the head of the table sat an elderly man with silver hair and a calm, unreadable face.

Damon took one step farther into the room.

The conversation stopped.

Several pairs of eyes turned toward him.

There was no warmth in their expressions. Some looked openly hostile, their brows drawn together as though his presence alone offended them. Others watched him with cold, undisguised contempt.

Damon recognized the look. They hated the Thorne family.

He didn’t know why, but the feeling was unmistakable.

Then he noticed something else. Their strength.

It was difficult to judge each person precisely, but the pressure he sensed from the table was enough to make his instincts uneasy. These weren’t ordinary officials who relied solely on titles and influence.

Several of them possessed physical strength that he couldn’t confidently match.

His fingers tightened slightly around the folder.

Could he defeat one of them? He wasn’t sure.

That uncertainty bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He had believed his growing strength would give him room to maneuver in this world. Wealth could buy influence, and his system could accelerate his growth, but neither would help if he found himself facing someone he couldn’t overcome.

And he hadn’t even reached the head of the table yet. The elderly man sat quietly, his hands resting on the polished wood.

Damon looked at him. For a brief moment, their eyes met.

The pressure was immediate.

The old man hadn’t moved or made any obvious display of power, yet his presence felt heavier than everyone else’s combined.

Damon couldn’t judge his strength, and that uncertainty made him genuinely uneasy. He concealed his reaction and continued toward the table.

The seated men and women kept watching him. Their hostility remained, but now that he was paying attention, Damon caught the subtle tension beneath it.

Fear.

It appeared in small ways: a stiffened posture, a glance toward the head of the table, a moment of hesitation before someone looked back at him.

They despised him, yet something about the Thorne name still frightened them.

Damon didn’t understand the contradiction.

His knowledge of the family came from the records Thomas had preserved and the history the system had provided. The Thornes had once been among the wealthiest families in the country, with secret inheritances passed down through generations. Four years ago, the family had collapsed, leaving only a handful of servants at Blackstone Manor.

Damon still didn’t know what had caused the collapse. And judging by the faces around this table, the truth might be more complicated than the surviving records suggested.

He reached the empty chair indicated by the assistant and stopped beside it.

Nobody invited him to sit.

He didn’t ask for permission.

He pulled the chair back and sat down, placing the folder on the table in front of him.

The old man watched him without speaking.

Damon met his gaze.

After several seconds, the elderly man finally moved.

He raised his head slightly, and a faint smile appeared on his face.

"Welcome, Master Thorne."