"Thank you for your trust, Miss Ginny."
The two remaining bodyguards gratefully thanked Beth after receiving her offer. She spared no expense when it came to security—especially after the recent assassination attempt. She now paid her personal bodyguards twice the industry standard. To her, spending money to save her own life was never up for debate.
The candidates who weren't chosen had no objections. The entire process had been transparent and fair. If their skills didn't measure up, there was nothing to complain about.
Beth's two assistants escorted the rest of the candidates out, handing each of them a small gift as a consolation prize.
The two final picks—one from the Marine Corps' Force Recon, the other from the Army Rangers—were both from elite units. Their resumes were impressive, and Owen chatted briefly with them to get a sense of their personalities.
So far, he saw no major red flags. Both were quiet and reserved—not much for conversation—but that made them perfect for personal security.
Barring any surprises in their background checks, these six would make up Beth's final team. Of course, that was assuming they passed.
No wealthy client would fully trust the personnel files provided by a security firm. While those reports were usually accurate in broad strokes, they often contained subtle omissions or padding.
When you're handing someone your life, you do your own vetting. Background checks would dig into every detail of these men's pasts. If any had psychological issues or a history of violence against employers, they'd be cut—no matter how capable they were.
With the security team finalized, Owen was about to take his leave.
"Beth, if there's nothing else, I'll—"
Bang bang bang—
Owen's words were cut off by the sudden crack of gunfire. His instincts kicked in instantly—he dropped flat to the ground, scanning the surroundings.
"Get down! Get down!"
Looking back, Owen saw Beth's two assistants still standing dumbfounded. He quickly shouted at them to hit the floor. Everyone else in the room, being professionals, had already responded correctly the moment shots were fired.
Credit where it's due: the two new bodyguards reacted quickly. Despite not having signed contracts yet, both immediately dove on top of Beth to shield her.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang—
The gunfire resumed, this time in slow, deliberate single shots. Owen listened carefully and confirmed—the shots were coming from above.
"Beth, you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Beth didn't seem too shaken. Lying on the floor, she already had a compact pistol in hand. Ever since the last incident, she never went anywhere without a firearm.
They crawled along the floor toward a load-bearing pillar and took cover behind it. Even if bullets came from the other side, the thick column would provide real protection.
"Any other weapons?" Owen asked in a low voice.
"Yes—over there, in the lockbox on the desk. Code is 3367…"
Owen looked where she pointed and spotted the box. In two quick strides, he reached it and punched in the code.
Beep. The door popped open. Inside was a Walther P99—compact and clearly meant for Beth's personal use.
Owen checked the pistol—slide, mag, chamber. Ready to fire. He stuffed a spare mag into his pocket and moved to the window to observe.
Gunshots continued above. In the plaza outside the building, several people were already lying motionless. With each few shots, another person collapsed. The shooter had no specific target—just anyone in sight.
Fucker.
Owen cursed silently, then turned and bolted for the door. "Call 911, lock the doors, stay here. Don't let anyone get close—if they force it, shoot. I'm going up to check it out!"
Before he even finished the sentence, he was already gone. His voice echoed back from the hallway.
In the stairwell, Owen sprinted upward. Wall Street was America's financial heart, and tens of thousands of people worked in the area every day.
This was lunch hour—many people were eating sandwiches on the steps in the plaza, or grabbing lunch in the nearby open-air cafés. They were all potential targets.
From what Owen had seen just moments ago, there were nearly a hundred people in the square. Judging by the rate and rhythm of the gunshots, the shooter was using a civilian-model assault rifle—semi-auto only. Even so, a hundred lives wouldn't last long.
He had to move faster. Every second saved meant more lives saved.
Bounding up the stairs three at a time, Owen heard the chaos unfolding below. Screams echoed from the plaza. Some people lay motionless in spreading pools of blood.
Most others were lying flat on the ground—America's daily dose of freedom. In this country, where gun ownership outnumbered citizens, every American had been taught: if you hear gunfire, hit the ground immediately.
This was the most armed society on Earth. A well-known research institute once recorded 355 mass shooting incidents in just 336 days—more than one a day. A staggering, terrifying figure.
But numbers are cold, distant things—until one day, you become the number.
…
31st Floor
Owen burst from the stairwell. The gunfire had stopped. He didn't know if the shooter had fled. Holding the P99 low, he moved cautiously. A few steps in, the gunshots resumed.
Shit—
Owen dove back into the stairwell. The shots weren't from this floor—they were higher. The pause had only been for reloading. The shooter had already fired over 30 rounds. Owen couldn't bear to imagine what the plaza looked like now.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang—
The sound of lives being cut short continued.
Owen reached the 32nd floor. As soon as he stepped out, he knew—the shooter was here.
Gun drawn, he advanced toward the sound. On the way, he passed several bodies—hotel staff and guests alike. It seemed this building wasn't just office space but also housed hotel rooms.
He followed the noise down a corridor. The shots came from one of the rooms around the corner.
Owen moved in tactical strides, keeping his footsteps silent. Peeking around the corner, he saw a man trembling violently.
He was in uniform—probably a police officer. His belt held a sidearm and baton, but the man looked like he was falling apart. He was drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably.
The officer's back was to Owen. Calmly, Owen approached and knocked him out with a swift blow, then took his sidearm.
It was clear what had happened: the officer had responded to the gunfire and tracked it here, but froze from fear.
If he had acted sooner, he might've saved lives. But with someone like this, Owen didn't expect backup—better to knock him out and move on.
------------------
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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