Chapter 223: Name your price

Words : 1234 Updated : Oct 8th, 2025

Chapter 223: Name your price "President Luther" "Mr. Luther," Gerald stepped inside, his sharp gaze fixed on Yoland. "Where are you headed?" It wasn’t Sinclair. A fraction of tension eased in Yoland’s chest. He turned, his expression hardening into icy severity. "What’s the meaning of this?" "Meaning?" A cold smirk tugged at the scarred corner of Gerald’s mouth. "That’s my line, Mr. Luther. We were simply escorting someone back on President Luther’s orders. Why did you send men to ambush us?" So that’s what this was about? Yoland studied Gerald, his dark eyes calculating. Could it be they still didn’t know Sinclair was dead? "Ambush?" His eyes flickered briefly before he replied in a chilling tone. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." "Oh really?" Gerald turned to the mercenary beside him, his expression icy. "Bring them in. Let Mr. Luther take a look." "Yes, sir!" The mercenary nodded at the command and strode out. Moments later, dozens of battered, unrecognizable men were dragged in and tossed at Yoland’s feet like discarded trash. "Care to hear what they have to say, Mr. Luther?" Most were already lifeless, but the few still conscious stared up at Yoland and his assistant with desperate, pleading eyes, their muffled whimpers begging for mercy. The assistant swallowed hard, unnerved by the sheer terror in their gazes. No wonder people said those under Sinclair were anything but ordinary. "No need." Yoland averted his eyes, his face dark as he walked over and sank into the sofa. His cold, fathomless gaze fixed on Gerald. "Let’s talk." Gerald arched an eyebrow. "What could I possibly have to discuss with Mr. Luther?" "Name your price. Whatever Sinclair is paying you, I’ll double it." Seeing Gerald’s indifferent expression, Yoland pressed his lips together. "Triple, then. How about that?" Money makes the mare go. These desperados worked for Sinclair for the same reason—cold, hard cash. Tripling their pay should be enough to sway anyone. Whether he’d actually honor the deal was a problem for later. Gerald smirked, his lips curling into a sardonic sneer. "So, Mr. Luther, you’re trying to buy me off and make me betray my boss who is your nephew?" "Sinclair is already dead," Yoland replied through gritted teeth, his voice icy and clipped. "Betrayal doesn’t even come into it." His eyes narrowed intently, laced with a persuasive edge. "Gerald, you’re still young. A wise man knows when to bend with the wind." "Triple the salary is indeed tempting," Gerald slowly shook his head under Yoland’s confident gaze, his tone laced with regret. "But unfortunately, you might dare to offer it—I wouldn’t dare take it." "You—" Yoland froze, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "If you think it’s not enough, we can negotiate further." In a situation like this, he needed to keep these men under control first. Everything else could wait. "There’s nothing to negotiate. Unlike you, I’m not that reckless," Gerald scoffed, his gaze icy as if he were looking at a dead man. "You had a good life, yet you chose to throw it all away." He glanced at his watch, his voice turning grave. "It’s getting late. Let’s go—president Luther is waiting." "Yes, sir!" Several mercenaries nodded in unison and stepped toward Yoland and his companions. "President Luther?" Yoland’s eyes widened instantly, his face a mask of disbelief as he stared at Gerald. "You mean... President Luther is..." The words seemed to choke in his throat, too terrifying to voice aloud. "You know exactly who I’m talking about," Gerald sneered coldly. "There’s only one man who’s ever been called President Luther." Sinclair? "No... impossible," Yoland’s pupils contracted violently, his hands trembling uncontrollably at his sides. "He’s dead—he died in that car explosion!" The assistant beside him turned deathly pale, his legs buckling as if he might collapse to his knees. "The person in that car was never Mr. Luther. As for who really died... you might want to think harder about that," Gerald said coldly before waving a dismissive hand. "Take him away." San Francisco. The Calvin Family Estate. Contrary to Camilla and Tiffany’s expectations, the manor’s interior was surprisingly understated—a stark contrast to Calvin’s flamboyant outward demeanor. "Mr. Calvin," Jey waited at the entrance, immediately striding forward as soon as the car arrived. "Mrs. Luther, Miss Tiffany." "Hmm." Calvin’s voice was icy, the usual lazy drawl completely absent from his tone. "Bring a few sets of protective gear." His expression was cold and stern, with none of his typical languid amusement. "I’m quite interested in the scenery of this estate and would love to take a look around." Tiffany, sensing they had serious matters to attend to, smiled and spoke up proactively. "Would that be all right?" "Of course," Calvin replied, equally unwilling for Tiffany to be exposed to darker affairs. Calvin turned to Jey. "Have the butler show Miss Tiffany around. If she’d like, open the equestrian field in the back as well." The equestrian field? A flicker of surprise passed through Jey’s eyes. Mr. Calvin treasured those horses dearly, rarely allowing anyone near them except the grooms and stable hands. Even he himself was no exception. Yet surprisingly, he seemed to make an exception for this Miss Tiffany. Jey glanced at Tiffany again, his gaze now tinged with newfound respect. "Understood!" Soon, Tiffany was escorted away by the butler. Calvin turned his attention to Jey. "Any incidents while I was away?" "One of our men was poisoned while delivering food to that person," Jey lowered his head, his voice thick with guilt. "He’s still in critical condition. The family doctor said he’s never seen this kind of toxin before and isn’t confident about the treatment." "Damn it," Calvin’s eyes darkened, his handsome face hardening with icy severity. "Call the main residence immediately—have all the family’s physicians sent here at once." Camilla’s eyes flickered as she instantly pieced together the whole story. "I’ll take a look." After all, it’s a human life. Besides, she wanted to see firsthand the skill behind this poison. To defeat the enemy, one must first understand them. Calvin pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. Jey immediately led the way to the treatment room. "Mr. Calvin—" Several doctors paused their work and turned their attention to Calvin. Camilla’s beautiful eyes darkened as she took in the sight of the patient—his entire body a sickly shade of purple, his features barely recognizable. The situation was worse than she’d anticipated. Calvin’s expression was equally grim, his face etched with barely restrained fury. If this man hadn’t been useful alive, he would have torn him to pieces long ago. Camilla slipped into a fresh white coat, checked the patient’s eyelids, then began taking his pulse. "These two doctors will stay and assist. The rest of you, wait outside." She wiped her hands clean, picked up a sharp scalpel, and with a swift, precise motion, made an incision across the patient’s palm. Jet-black blood gushed out instantly, splattering across Camilla’s white lab coat in stark, vivid stains. The two doctors recoiled half a step in alarm. "Miss, the toxins in that blood are highly potent. You should really be more careful." "It’s fine." Camilla didn’t even blink, her hands steady as she continued working. Calvin knew he was of no use here. With a furrowed brow, he turned and left. Jey followed close behind. Meanwhile, at the Porter residence. "Let me out!"

Chapter 223: Name your price

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