Copy & Paste Power in Modern World

George Malani’s car was moving through the city in the afternoon.

He was not traveling alone.

One security car moved ahead of him. Another followed from behind. His own car stayed in the middle. The driver held the wheel, while the security assistant sat in front. George’s personal assistant sat beside him in the back.

George had always believed in layers.

One man could be bought. One guard could make a mistake. One driver could panic. But a team made things harder for anyone who wanted to reach him.

After the news scandal and the pressure on his company, he had started moving with more caution. He did not like looking afraid, but he had still increased the number of men around him. It was not fear in his mind. It was preparation.

At least, that was what he believed until the road shook.

The car in front exploded first.

The sound slammed into the street so hard that George’s whole body jerked against the seat. Fire burst from the front car, and broken pieces hit the road like thrown stones.

For one second, George could not even hear properly. His ears rang. The glass in his own car trembled, and the driver almost lost control before grabbing the wheel again.

Before anyone inside George’s car could understand what had happened, the car behind them exploded too.

The second blast was smaller, but it cut off the road behind them.

Now there was no clean way forward and no clean way back.

The driver shouted and stepped on the brake.

George grabbed the seat in front of him.

"What is happening?" he shouted.

The security assistant in the front seat had already pulled his gun halfway out. His eyes were wide, and even he looked like he did not know where to aim.

He looked left, then right, searching for the shooter. His hand was trained, but his mind was late. The attack had already entered the car before he found a target.

Then a shot came from ahead.

The bullet hit the security assistant in the head.

His body dropped sideways against the door.

George froze.

His assistant beside him let out a frightened sound and covered her mouth. She tried to open her side of the door, but the locks did not move. The driver was still alive, shaking with both hands on the wheel, but he also did not know what to do.

George reached for his own door.

His first thought was to run.

That thought died almost at once.

Before he could open it, someone walked through the smoke toward the car.

The man wore a mask over his face.

He did not run or hurry. He only came closer with the gun in his hand, as if the street belonged to him.

George’s fingers stopped near the handle.

The masked man reached George’s door and stood outside the window.

For a second, he only looked in.

Then he lifted the gun and tapped the glass twice with the barrel.

The sound came twice, light and sharp against the glass.

George did not move.

He had seen many violent men in his life. He had hired some. He had used others. But this was different. The man outside was not making demands. He was not shouting. He was not trying to drag him out.

He was only showing that he could have killed him if he wanted.

That was worse than a threat.

A threat still left space to bargain. This man had already shown the result before asking for anything.

The masked man then raised his free hand.

He shaped his fingers like a phone and placed them near his ear.

After that, he turned and walked away.

No one inside the car spoke.

George’s assistant was trembling. The driver kept breathing hard, staring at the burned security car ahead. Outside, the road had become chaos. People were running away. Someone screamed from a nearby shop. Smoke rolled across the street.

George stayed frozen in his seat.

His entire security team had been crushed in seconds.

The men he had kept for protection were dead before they could protect anything.

George’s mind usually moved fast. That was how he had survived in business. That was how he had handled police pressure and transport rivals who thought money alone made them dangerous.

But now his mind did not move properly.

He could not understand what had just happened.

A few minutes passed before his phone rang.

George flinched at the sound.

He looked down at the screen.

The number made his blood turn cold.

Rovan Hale.

For a second, George only stared at it.

That was impossible.

Rovan was dead. George had ordered it. He had also made sure the phone was destroyed.

That number should not exist anymore.

If it was ringing now, then the person calling him was not only threatening him. He was telling George that even dead lines could still be used against him.

Still, the number kept ringing.

George slowly answered.

He did not speak first.

The voice on the other side was heavy and changed, but George knew who it was.

"So," Adam said, "how did you like my attack, Mr. George, the smart person?"

George’s hand tightened around the phone.

Fear was still sitting inside his chest, but anger rose with it.

"I already know you did it," George said.

Adam gave a soft laugh.

"Of course you do," he said. "You are smart, right?"

George did not answer.

Adam’s voice stayed calm.

"You know, if you had made an alliance with me when I approached you in the beginning, this would have been much better for you."

George’s breathing became heavier.

Adam continued, "But you had that attitude. You thought I was just one person. You thought behind you stood your whole business and your clever mind."

The words were not only a warning.

They were a taunt.

Adam wanted him to hear every part of it.

"Now tell me, George," Adam said. "How useful did all of that feel today?"