Chapter 78: Mr. Calvin brought someone to see you grandpa Luther

Chapter 78: Mr. Calvin brought someone to see you grandpa Luther "Simple." Taylor’s fingers, which had been idly toying with his glass, stilled. He lifted his gaze to meet Calvin’s, his expression as composed as ever. "I’d agree with his terms." The answer caught Calvin completely off guard. After all, though Taylor appeared gentle and approachable on the surface—like polished jade—he was anything but. Beneath that refined exterior lay a shrewd, unyielding mind. His ruthless methods in handling matters were no less formidable than those of Sinclair. Of course, that was partly because the Taylor family’s main lineage now consisted solely of him and his sister. If Taylor had shown even the slightest weakness, the position of Taylor family head would have slipped from his grasp long ago. Calvin poured himself another drink, his lips quirking in amusement as he studied his old friend. "I thought you’d refuse." "Since Michael has returned, he’s undoubtedly planned everything out," Taylor replied, pouring himself a glass as well. He took a slow sip before continuing, his voice measured. "Even if I refused, he’d find another way to get what he wanted." Calvin remained silent, his handsome and refined features reflecting agreement as he quietly waited for his friend to continue. "As for whether the method he uses to achieve his goal is good or bad, and what consequences it might bring—no one can predict that." Taylor’s lips curved slightly, but his eyes remained cold and detached. "Given that, it’s better to just agree to his terms." He withdrew his hand from beneath the table and placed it on the surface. "If he has no ulterior motives, all the better. But if he does, it’s easier to deal with them out in the open than hidden in the shadows." "That’s exactly what I was thinking," Calvin said, frowning. "But what about Sinclair’s side..." "Don’t worry. If we can figure this out, so can Sinclair," Taylor replied, his smile deepening. "At worst, we can always concede an extra twenty percent in your joint project afterward." Calvin sighed, the hesitation in his eyes fading as he picked up his wine glass. "Thanks." "I never accept thanks in words alone," Taylor didn’t reach for his glass, instead fixing Calvin with a knowing smirk. "Since today’s contract didn’t get signed, how about we revise the profit split?" Was this guy really determined to squeeze him dry?! Calvin: "This was the perfect example of *choosing the wrong friends* Absolutely worst. Gritting his teeth, he had no choice but to nod in reluctant agreement. Meanwhile, for the Sanchez family, this night was destined to be sleepless. Inside the Sanchez family villa, the atmosphere was thick with tension. "It’s the middle of the night already!" Victoria paced back and forth in the living room, her eyes bloodshot and her face twisted with anxiety. "Why hasn’t Clara come home yet?" Even her phone had been turned off the entire time. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the gnawing sense of dread in her chest only grew stronger. It was as if an invisible hand loomed overhead, ready to tear the entire Sanchez family apart. Terror and despair hung thick in the air. "Madam," the butler entered with a grave expression. "What is it? What happened?!" Victoria rushed forward, her steps frantic. "Did you find Clara?" The butler first nodded, then shook his head. Victoria’s pupils constricted, her face turning even paler. "What—what do you mean?" "Someone found the young mistress’s car at the corner of the road not far from here," the butler sighed heavily, his voice weighted with sorrow as he continued, "The front of the car was severely crushed, and the airbags were completely destroyed. It’s highly likely that it plunged from a river..." Before he could finish, Victoria’s legs gave way, her vision swimming with dizziness. She knew all too well—under such circumstances, there was no chance of survival for anyone inside that car. "Clara... where’s Clara?" "The car door was damaged. Clara wasn’t inside," the butler replied, his voice heavy as he looked at Victoria’s worried face. "I’ve sent people to search, but the water is too vast..." He paused, lowering his voice. "The chances of finding her... are slim." That was already a gentle way of putting it. The truth was, there was no hope at all. In just half a day— The company collapsed. Her husband was arrested. And now, her daughter has drowned in the river. Victoria’s mind teetered on the brink of collapse. "H-how... how could this happen?" Her entire body trembled uncontrollably, even the veins at her temples twitched violently. "This must be a nightmare... It has to be a nightmare. None of this is real." Her lips quivered as she raised a shaking hand and slapped herself—hard—twice across the face. "Once you wake up, everything will be fine." A crisp voice echoed through the empty living room, followed by a sharp, stinging pain. Yet when Victoria opened her eyes again, nothing before her had changed. At that moment, she completely broke down. Her body slid limply from the sofa to the floor as she let out a heart-wrenching wail. "Madam," the butler sighed, placing a box beside Victoria. "This is everything the Sanchez family left in my care." Without waiting to see if she had heard him, he turned and walked away. The Sanchez family’s current situation was clearly beyond saving. Over the years, he had done plenty of shady work for Augustine. If any of it came to light, he wouldn’t escape unscathed. He had to leave—and fast. Fortunately, what he had gained from the Sanchez family over the years was enough to take his family abroad and live comfortably. Time passed—how long, she couldn’t tell. "It must be that little bitch Camilla behind all this!!" Victoria suddenly struggled to her feet, her eyes bloodshot as she grabbed a kitchen knife and charged toward the door. "I’ll kill her! I’m going to kill her right now!!" Her face twisted with fury, her entire being consumed by madness. But before she could take another step, a sharp blow knocked her unconscious. Her limp body was then dragged like a dead dog into a black SUV. "Remember—she doesn’t get to die until the punishment is complete." The night slowly faded amidst the despair and ruin of the Sanchez family. Dawn crept in, the sky gradually brightened. Camilla woke up nestled in Sinclair’s arms. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his cool, masculine cologne made her sigh in contentment, her beautiful eyes fluttering half-shut. She tilted her head slightly and pressed a soft kiss against the sharp line of his jaw. Before she could pull away, a deep, husky voice rumbled above her. "Sweetheart, there are other places that need your kisses more." "You’re awake?" A shiver of danger prickled down her spine, and she immediately threw off the covers, scrambling to escape. "I’ll go make you breakfast." A sudden chill washed over her, snapping her to attention. She glanced down at herself. Camilla: !! Before she could react, a pair of strong, slender arms encircled her waist, pulling her back effortlessly. "Breakfast," Sinclair’s striking face hovered close to her ear, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Tastes just as good anywhere." --- Luther Family Estate, Living Room. Grandpa Luther was discussing the details of his birthday banquet that evening with Uncle Carlos. "Boss," A servant hurried in, bowing slightly. "Mr. Calvin is waiting outside. He says he’s brought someone to see you." "Calvin?" Grandpa Luther raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What kind of guest could that rascal possibly bring to visit me?" He chuckled lightly. "go ahead and show them in." The Luther, Calvin, Taylor and Porter families had been close for generations, their bonds woven through decades of friendship. In fact, Grandpa Luther had practically watched Calvin and Taylor grow up. Naturally, the gates of Luther residence were never closed to them. "Right away." Uncle Carlos smiled and stepped out. As Grandpa Luther reached for his teacup, preparing to take a sip, his finger grazed against an almost imperceptible chip on the rim. A single drop of crimson blood welled up. Shaking his head with a wry smile, he sighed. "Getting old really does a number on your eyesight." Outside the Luther Family’s grand estate, a sleek black Mercedes van sat parked in silence. Leaning casually against the car was a young man in a pristine white suit, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as wisps of smoke curled lazily into the air. His strikingly androgynous beauty was matched only by the icy detachment in his expression. Nearby, servants busy with their chores couldn’t help stealing glances his way. "Mr. Calvin is just too gorgeous!" one whispered. "Right? Like he stepped straight out of the sky!" another agreed. "Boss Sinclair, is handsome too, but his aura is so intimidating—I can never bring myself to look him in the eye." Then, a maid who had worked at the Luther residence for nearly a decade suddenly murmured, "Honestly, I’ve always preferred someone gentle like Boss Michael." Before the words had fully left her lips, another servant—one who knew better—flashed her a sharp, warning look, pupils contracting in alarm. For reasons left unspoken, that name had become strictly forbidden five years ago. The newer maids exchanged puzzled glances. "Boss Michael? Who’s that? We’ve never heard of him." The man quickly regained his composure, casting a guilty glance around before lowering his head. "You must’ve misheard me," he muttered. "I said Boss Taylor." "Mr. Calvin" Uncle Carlos greeted Calvin with a respectful nod, his smile warm yet measured. "Grandpa requests your presence—along with your guest." As he spoke, his eyes darted swiftly toward the car behind Calvin. Truth be told, he couldn’t begin to guess who this mysterious guest might be. "Mm," Calvin acknowledged with a curt nod, crushing the cigarette beneath his heel before turning to wrap his knuckles against the car door. "Time to come out." The door swung open from within. A middle-aged man with a scar arching over his left brow stepped out first, then turned to assist the figure seated in the wheelchair. In an instant, every pair of eyes in the vicinity locked onto them, brimming with curiosity. The man in the wheelchair wore a steel-gray suit, his pale, gaunt face framed by gold-rimmed glasses. A string of lustrous prayer beads coiled around his slender fingers, their soft glow seeming to emanate from his very skin. He carried an air of detachment from the mundane world—refined, scholarly, almost ethereal. "Uncle Carlos—" Boss Michael?! Several servants recognized him, their faces twisting in disbelief. Even the ever-composed Uncle Carlos couldn’t mask his shock. Five years ago, on that rain-lashed night, Sinclair had never revealed what truly happened. But one thing was certain. Michael had crossed a line—one Sinclair would never tolerate. Given his temperament, allowing Michael to leave America alive had been mercy enough. Grandpa, though regretful about losing Michael’s talents, had remained silent. So why... why was he back now? "Well?" Noticing Uncle Carlos’s silence, Michael’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Has five years really made me so unrecognizable, Uncle Carlos? Or—" His eyes, half-hidden behind the glint of his glasses, narrowed slightly. "—are you not planning to let me see grandpa?"