Shepherd's Revenge: Rewriting a Business Empire

Not only was Cecilia Shaw completely unfazed, but she even pointed straight at my face and started yelling, "Report this to the highway patrol? Who are you trying to scare?"

Her freshly manicured finger nearly poked me in the eye.

"You broke bastard, do you even know what car this is?

"It's a G-Wagon with a price tag over six million dollars and fully made from carbon fiber—a custom limited edition! I bet you've never even heard of something like it in your life!"

She brushed the dust off her hands with a disgusted look. Her high heels clacked as she took two steps back, afraid the sticky sheep's blood on the ground would stain her expensive shoes.

"It's these disgusting sheep of yours that completely wrecked my front bumper and the factory paint. You should be worrying about my repair costs! Even if I harvested and sold all your organs, you still couldn't afford one of my headlights!"

Those who knew nothing about the law often mistook wealth for immunity. It gave them confidence. What was truly fascinating was why so many of the nouveau riche believed money placed them above traffic laws.

"Ms. Shaw, I'll repeat this one last time—this is Summit Highway. The entire highway is currently closed in both directions."

I raised my hand and pointed ahead.

In the middle of the road, the red-and-white barricade that the G-Wagon had smashed through lay broken in two, surrounded by a pool of blood, and a jarring set of black skid marks stretched more than 30 feet across the asphalt.

"You deliberately drove through a roadblock. The traffic regulations are perfectly clear, and what you did is considered endangering public safety.

"Once the highway patrol are done investigating the scene, there will be no dispute in assigning liability. You'll bear full responsibility. As for the sheep you killed, you'll compensate me for every single one at full value," I said plainly.

"Bear full responsibility?" Keith Jameson, the male assistant standing behind Cecilia, couldn't hold back his laughter. "So, the country hick memorized a few pages of the traffic handbook and now thinks he's some big-shot lawyer?"

He stepped forward and spat on one of the dead sheep. "Do you have any idea how valuable Ms. Shaw's time is? It costs hundreds of thousands every minute.

"Forget this lousy mountain road in the middle of nowhere—even if it were an expressway in the city, Ms. Shaw would just drive straight through.

"So what if a few livestock got run over? What, are we supposed to hold a funeral for them?"

The two of them played off each other in perfect harmony, perfectly demonstrating their belief that the strong could do whatever they pleased.

Cecilia held her chin high. Her wavy curls whipped wildly in the wind. She was every bit the picture of arrogant superiority.

"It's fine. Let him report us. Might as well call 911 while you're at it.

"I'm not backing down. I'd love to see if they're actually brave enough to seize my car, or whether they arrest you first for trying to scam me!"

She unzipped her Hermes handbag, took out a disinfectant wipe, and carefully cleaned the fingertips that had touched the dust on her car.

"And a friendly reminder—those dead, ordinary sheep aren't worth much. At best, they sell for a few dozen bucks a pound. Even if every one of them died, they're only worth a few tens of thousands.

"But my car? Once the damage has been assessed at the factory, the repair estimate won't be less than a million dollars."

Cecilia flung the filthy wipe straight at my face. "Get on your knees and apologize. Then, lick my car clean. If you please me, I might just spare you."

She snorted coldly, continuing, "Otherwise, you can spend the rest of your life praying for those sheep from a prison cell."