Chapter 250

That afternoon, at four o'clock, some 200 kilometers from the hustle of Ol’ Mare, lay Amber's old stomping

grounds-the Chesire family farm.

It was a slice of rural life, tucked away in the boonies with craggy mountains for neighbors and a village that

time forgot. The Chesires were the local success story, the one family who had made good in the city, and the

village’s pride and joy.

“Alex's here!”

“Let's roll out the red carpet, folks-Alex’s the Chesire family’s pride and joy!”

“Wait, he married into the family? So he’s the one being kept? What’s he gonna do about the mess we're in...”

The villagers were all abuzz at the Chesire crossroads, even before Alexander pulled up.

Then, with a flash of red, his Porsche sliced through the country quietly, easing to a stop before the curious

onlookers.

“Which one of you is Mister Kashton Chesire?”

Alexander stepped out, all charm and smiles. “So, what’s the word? No need to rush. Just lay it on me.”

Amber’s uncle, or Kashton as he was known, was the head honcho around these parts. He pushed through the

crowd, his face lined with concern. “You must be Alex. Our village...”

Over the past few months, a mysterious wave of sickness had swept through the village. Those who sought

medical attention at the county hospital were met with a startling discovery: they all suffered from stomach

ailments linked to poor dietary hygiene, ranging from mild ulcers to early-stage stomach cancer. Fear gripped

the entire village.

“We've scraped together some cash to get the county’s environmental experts to check things out, and they assured us our

water's clean,” Kashton explained, his face etched with worry as he let out a heavy sigh.

“We were hoping that maybe Patrick, who’s made it big in the city, could hook us up with some legit experts. If this keeps up...

Well, it’s just bad news.”

Alexander’s brow creased in thought.

Mass sickness such as this usually pointed to an environmental cause. The Chesire family’s land was nestled in the mountains,

with pristine scenery and top-notch water quality. The soil was rich, and the villagers lived

off the land, rarely needing outside food.

What, then, was happening?

“Mister Kashton Chesire,” Alexander said, his voice low and steady. “Think back for me. Before everyone started getting sick, did

anything unusual happen? Like any small earthquakes, landslides, mudslides, or plants dying off?”

“Oh!” Kashton’s eyes widened as if struck by a sudden realization, and he began nodding vigorously. “Yes,

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crops started dying. However.....”

He trailed off, uncertainty clouding his face. “The factory folks claimed their purifiers would prevent any environmental damage,

and a lot of our own are employed there.”

Apharmaceutical factory?

Aspark of insight flickered in Alexander's gaze. Without wasting another moment, he said, “Everyone, head

home and stay tuned. I’m going to check out that factory.”

With those words, he turned to leave.

“Alex, hold up a sec!”

Kashton gestured emphatically, turning to a young man with a buzz cut by his side. “Meet my son, Asher. You

don’t know your way around, so he’ll guide you there!”

Alexander had no objections. With the earnest Asher Chesire riding shotgun, he revved up the cherry-red

Porsche and sped off toward Abason Mountain.

The journey took them about five or six miles north of the Chesire estate, right to the base of Abason Mountain.

“We're here, Alex!”

Asher pointed out the window at a sleek industrial park up ahead, his voice tinged with a hint of innocence. That’s the pharma

plant. Rumor has it the owner’s a northerner, goes by Jackman.”

The Jackmans from the north?

Alexander’s face remained unreadable. He parked the Porsche by the curb and strode with Asher toward the

park’s entrance.

“What's your business here?!”

Two guards spotted them from afar and charged over, batons at their waists. “Got an appointment? This factory's off-limits to

outsiders!”

Asher offered a sheepish grin, shaking his head quickly. “We’re just looking around outside. We won't...”

“We're here to conduct an inspection.”

Alexander cut him off with a wave of his hand, his tone composed and detached. “I have reason to believe the villagers’ sickness

is tied to your waste disposal. If you’re on the level, you've got nothing to fear. So open up!”

An inspection?

The guards exchanged wary glances, then sneered at Alexander. “Who do you think you are, demanding an inspection? Don’t

test my patience, kid. Beat it!”

With that, they strutted off toward their post.

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crops started dying. However.....”

He trailed off, uncertainty clouding his face. “The factory folks claimed their purifiers would prevent any environmental damage,

and a lot of our own are employed there.”

Apharmaceutical factory?

Aspark of insight flickered in Alexander's gaze. Without wasting another moment, he said, “Everyone, head home and stay

tuned. I’m going to check out that factory.”

With those words, he turned to leave.

“Alex, hold up a sec!”

Kashton gestured emphatically, turning to a young man with a buzz cut by his side. “Meet my son, Asher. You don’t know your

way around, so he'll guide you there!”

Alexander had no objections. With the earnest Asher Chesire riding shotgun, he revved up the cherry-red Porsche and sped off

toward Abason Mountain.

The journey took them about five or six miles north of the Chesire estate, right to the base of Abason Mountain.

“We're here, Alex!”

Asher pointed out the window at a sleek industrial park up ahead, his voice tinged with a hint of innocence. That’s the pharma

plant. Rumor has it the owner’s a northerner, goes by Jackman.”

The Jackmans from the north?

Alexander’s face remained unreadable. He parked the Porsche by the curb and strode with Asher toward the

park’s entrance.

“What's your business here?!”

Two guards spotted them from afar and charged over, batons at their waists. “Got an appointment? This factory's off-limits to

outsiders!”

Asher offered a sheepish grin, shaking his head quickly. “We’re just looking around outside. We won't...”

“We're here to conduct an inspection.”

Alexander cut him off with a wave of his hand, his tone composed and detached. “I have reason to believe the villagers’ sickness

is tied to your waste disposal. If you’re on the level, you've got nothing to fear. So open up!”

An inspection?

The guards exchanged wary glances, then sneered at Alexander. “Who do you think you are, demanding an inspection? Don’t

test my patience, kid. Beat it!”

With that, they strutted off toward their post.

+15 BONUS

“You won't open the gate?”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, and he reached out, his hand closing around the metal of the retractable gate. Slowly, he began to

apply pressure.

The gate groaned under the strain, its high-strength alloy contorting in Alexander's grip, the sound of metal on metal sending

shivers down the spine.

“W-What the...”

The two guards, who had not even made it to their station yet, were rooted to the spot, eyes wide with shock.

Asingle hand bending a gatepost, fingers like iron? Was that guy even human?

“Mister Jencks!” One guard's voice shook as he grabbed the walkie-talkie, his voice shaking as he spoke, We've got trouble at

the front gate. Someone’s wrecked the retractable gate with their bare hands. The guy’s strength is off the charts!”

A deep voice responded from the walkie-talkie authoritatively, “Causing a scene at Jackman’s

Pharmaceuticals? He can just wait!”