Godly Investor: A Hundred Trillion Dollars For Investment And Donations-Chapter 245 -

Hearing what Ethan just said.

The master’s once-commanding presence dissolved into sheer desperation. He fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he clasped them together in a plea.

"Please… please, Ethan. Spare us! I made a mistake—no, we all did. Just let us go. I swear we won’t interfere with you again."

However Ethan’s cold gaze bore into the man, unflinching and merciless.

His grip on the staff remained firm, the faint hum of its power still resonating in the air.

Slowly, he took a step forward, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

"I’m not your karma," Ethan said, his tone low but sharp, each word laced with a chilling finality.

"But mark my words—your time will come. Whether it’s today or tomorrow, the price for everything you’ve done will catch up to you."

The master nodded frantically, sweat dripping down his pale face. "I-I understand. I’ll stay out of your way! You’ll never hear from us again, I swear!"

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At that moment Ethan tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile.

"That’s wise of you. Because if I ever find you or your family crossing my line again…" His voice hardened, the room seeming to grow colder as he leaned closer. "…I’ll make sure you live long enough to watch everything you care about crumble. And then I’ll leave you as the last reminder of your own failures."

Ethan words made the master shuddered, his body trembling as he lowered his head to the floor, utterly defeated.

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Around him, his family stood frozen, their faces drained of color, too afraid to even breathe.

Ethan’s footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hall as he walked away from the groveling crowd, their desperate voices fading into the background.

The pleas, the cries—they were all the same, hollow and predictable. None of it moved him.

When he stepped outside, the cool night air brushed against his face. Ethan paused, lifting his gaze toward the moon. Its silvery light bathed everything in a serene glow, almost mocking the chaos he had just left behind.

The world felt strangely quiet, as if the universe itself was taking a moment to breathe.

At that moment he exhaled slowly, leaning against the sleek car parked nearby.

His staff rested beside him, its faint glow dimming with the night. Ethan’s thoughts wandered, carried by the stillness of the moment.

"Should I just end them?"

he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves. He thought about the past, his old friends—the faces that once made him laugh, the memories that now seemed like fragments of a life he could no longer return to. There was a longing in his chest, but it was quickly replaced by the sharp reminder of his current reality.

The Silver family. Their business, their influence, their audacity—it was all a tangled mess that demanded his attention.

He couldn’t leave it unresolved, not when it posed a threat to everything he had built.

But then his mind drifted to his grandmother. wondering if he should visit her.

At that moment Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—Serenity’s name flashed across it.

Immediately a faint crease formed on his brow as he answered.

"Serenity?"

he said, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

"Ethan," Serenity’s tone was lighter than usual, almost playful.

"I wanted to invite you to a family dinner tonight. My father insisted. He wants to personally thank you for what you did at the hospital."

Upon hearing what Serenity just said.

Ethan hesitated, leaning back against his car. Although he had told her yes before, not he kind of down to do anything now.

"That wasn’t necessary. I just—"

"Ethan," she cut him off, her voice soft but firm. "You know he doesn’t ask for much. He really wants to meet you properly, and honestly… so do I."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Ethan considered declining. Dinners with powerful families often came with strings attached, and he wasn’t in the mood for hidden agendas or polite facades.

"Serenity…" he began, but there was something in her tone when she responded that stopped him.

"Please, Ethan. It’s just dinner. No obligations, no favors—just us thanking you. I’ll send you the address."

Before he could say no, the call ended, leaving him with a buzzing silence. He stared at the phone in his hand, a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement flickering across his face.

At that moment he knew he doesn’t have any other choice.

Moments later, a notification popped up with the address. Ethan sighed, sliding into his car.

Not long after Ethan arrived and pulled into the familiar lot, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings.

The restaurant’s polished exterior reflected the dim evening lights, and with a sigh, he realized he was back at the same place where he had dined with Jeremy.

A faint smirk crossed his face. "They’ll probably remember me,"

he thought to himself, though he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. He glanced at his car—a sleek, functional machine, but nothing compared to the flashy rides often parked here.

"This wasn’t my idea of a quiet night, he mused, stepping out and adjusting his jacket."

As he began walking toward the entrance, the distant hum of engines caught his attention. Serenity and her family arrived in a line of gleaming luxury cars, the kind that commanded attention without effort.

At that moment Ethan raised an eyebrow, his sharp instincts immediately picking up on their subtle display of power.

The cars parked in perfect unison, and the York family stepped out, their movements exuding a practiced elegance that only old money carried.

Serenity, dressed in a simple yet expensive outfit, gave Ethan a warm smile.

Her father followed close behind, his eyes scanning Ethan briefly before settling on their surroundings.

A younger man in the group, who seemed to be trying too hard to mirror the family’s grace, paused to glance at Ethan’s car.

"Who parked that dump truck here?" the man sneered loudly enough for Ethan to hear, his tone dripping with disdain.