Chapter 84: Closing the Trap

The bodybuilder stepped forward, flushing with anger. "I said move, suit."

He shot a hand forward to shove Jude back against the hood of the car.

His 4 friends watched from the steps, expecting the impact to knock Jude flat. In their gym, he benched 400 pounds; moving someone in a business suit shouldn’t have taken effort.

His palm slammed against the shoulder of Jude’s jacket.

Jude didn’t move. He didn’t shift his stance or sway back.

The smiles on his friends’ faces faded. The man blinked, looking down at his hand in confusion.

Jude looked at the hand on his lapel, then glanced up with a calm expression. "Did you actually put weight into that?"

The bodybuilder’s face darkened. "I held back so I wouldn’t snap your collarbone. Watch where you land this time."

Setting his feet on the pavement, he drove both hands straight into Jude’s chest with full force.

Jude didn’t give an inch.

Panicking slightly, the man grabbed Jude by both shoulders, dropped his hips, and tried to lift him off the sidewalk to throw him into the street.

Veins bulged along his neck as he strained with every pound of his 240-pound frame, but Jude stayed planted on the pavement, completely unaffected.

Sweat formed on the bodybuilder’s forehead. This guy isn’t moving...

"You’ve had your turn," Jude said evenly. "Step back."

Jude brought his right hand down in a short tap against the top of the man’s left shoulder.

The bodybuilder’s knees collapsed, and his 240-pound frame crashed straight onto the sidewalk, landing hard on his tailbone.

The man cried out, clutching his lower back as pain shot up his spine, leaving him flat on the ground.

His 4 friends stared in disbelief. A single short tap had dropped him immediately?

Jude looked down at him. "Do you still want her number? If you need another demonstration, I can close my hand next time."

The man waved his hands frantically, tears in his eyes from the pain. "No! I’m good, man. Don’t hit me again."

Jude turned to Sophie, gesturing toward the entrance. "Let’s head inside, Sophie. I’m hungry... barely put any weight into that."

As the doors closed behind them, the 4 men rushed down the steps to drag their friend off the sidewalk, pulling him away down the block as fast as they could.

Inside the bistro, Jude and Sophie sat at a corner booth by the window.

As the waiter poured water, Sophie watched him across the table, her pulse still settling. Anyone else standing outside would have been dragged into a shouting match or worse. Instead, Jude had handled the man without raising his voice.

Looking at him as he checked the menu, she felt a quiet hesitation.

She was a scholarship student on a budget who rode a commuter bicycle. Jude Lawson ran major companies, drove an ultra-rare hypercar, and handled situations like this without breaking a sweat.

She set the thought aside and smiled. "Mr. Lawson, thank you again for stepping in. Today would have been a mess without you."

"Don’t worry about it," Jude said, passing the menu to the waiter. "Let’s eat, then we’ll find you a proper replacement bike."

The waiter took their orders and stepped away. Jude unbuttoned his suit jacket, draped it over the back of the chair, and set his phone on the table.

Across from him, Sophie kept her hands in her lap, glancing around at the other diners in tailored coats and designer dresses.

A busboy arrived with warm sourdough and butter, but neither of them touched the basket yet.

Jude poured more water into her glass. "Pick whichever model you want online later. I’ll have someone handle the delivery so you don’t waste time running between shops. Just focus on your classes."

While they sat down for lunch, a black Mercedes-Maybach pulled up to the gates of the Vanguard estate on the Upper East Side.

Lucas Vanguard stood near the steps with a splint taped across his nose, hurrying down as the rear door opened.

A man in his 50s stepped out wearing traditional silk robes, rolling a string of jade beads in his hand.

Walking 2 steps behind him was a 300-pound assistant with a shaved head and calluses across his knuckles.

Lucas bowed slightly "Master Liu. Thank you for coming uptown. My father is waiting inside."

The robed man gave a curt nod. "Your contact said someone here wanted to see practical application."

"Yes, right this way."

Lucas led them through the foyer into the main salon, where Silas Vanguard sat on a sofa.

"Dad, Master Liu is here," Lucas said.

Silas looked the man over, his expression guarded. "So you’re the contact Corso recommended from Macau?"

The man tilted his chin up slightly. "Doubt is normal," Liu said calmly. "Step forward."

The 300-pound assistant stepped onto the center of the rug, setting his feet wide and bracing his core.

Standing 6 feet back, Liu took a short breath, drew his hands in, and drove both open palms forward into the air.

Across the 6-foot gap, the assistant’s torso buckled as if struck directly in the ribs.

The man staggered back 3 steps, coughed up a spatter of blood onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.

Lucas’s jaw dropped. "From 6 feet away?"

Silas stood up from the sofa, his eyes locked on the fallen assistant.

Liu resumed rolling his beads, his breathing steady. "If Chairman Vanguard suspects staging, you’re welcome to test it yourself. My assistant has conditioned his core for 12 years, and that was only a fraction of full compression."

Seeing the impact across an open room, Silas’s doubt vanished.

"Good," Silas said, a smile breaking across his face. "With Master Liu on site, we can handle Jude Lawson tonight."

Silas pulled his phone out and dialed Anna’s secure line.

"Anna," Silas said, his voice flat. "The specialist is at the house. Come to the estate tonight just as Lawson directed. We’re closing the trap."