Chapter 88: Isn’t that Mr. Jonathan Luther? ( please this is Chapter 91)

Chapter 88: Isn’t that Mr. Jonathan Luther? ( please this is Chapter 91) The room was dimly lit. "Take a guess," the man said, his strikingly handsome features appearing even more chiseled under the glow of the surveillance screen. "What solution have they come up with?" His sharp, dark eyes took in every subtle shift in the expressions of the people on the monitor, his gaze icy enough to freeze the air. Studying the man’s aloof, godlike profile, Ramsey answered cautiously, "Seeking help from grandpa?" Sinclair’s long, pale fingers tapped idly against the armrest of the sofa, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Progress." Ramsey exhaled slightly in relief. "Is everything ready on Camilla’s end?" The tone was just as indifferent, but Ramsey detected a trace of warmth beneath it. "All set. We’re just waiting for the show to begin." "Good." Sinclair gazed at the image of Tyler on the screen, his dark, almond-shaped eyes laced with casual indifference. "It’s time we made our move." Margaret and Tyler were so eager to cozy up to the Porter family, weren’t they? Well, he’d give them exactly what they wanted. The messier the drama, the more entertaining it would be. —— On the other side of the estate, Margaret turned to Jonathan, her eyes brimming with urgency. "Tyler is right," she insisted. "Call your father. Have uncle Carlos come down and escort us in." Uncle Carlos wasn’t just the Luther Family’s butler—he was Grandpa’s most trusted confidant. His standing in the household was practically that of a second master. If he personally ushered them inside, at least they could salvage some dignity in front of the guests. Right now, it was their only option. Jonathan shot a venomous glare at the bodyguard blocking their path, his face twisted with barely contained fury. "Once this damn banquet is over—" he growled through clenched teeth. "Just wait—I’ll teach you a lesson." If he couldn’t handle that rebellious son Sinclair, surely he could crush this insignificant underling. When the time came, he’d make sure the wretch regretted being born—force him to learn his place once and for all. The bodyguard dipped his head in acknowledgment but remained silent. A closer look would reveal no trace of fear in those downcast eyes. After all, the man standing behind him was none other than President Luther himself. Jonathan pulled out his phone and dialed Grandpa Luther’s number. Meanwhile, inside the banquet hall, someone recognized Jonathan through the windows. "Isn’t that Mr. Jonathan Luther over there?" "You’re right! How could the old master’s own son be barred from his birthday banquet?" "Not surprising, really. Sinclair’s the one calling the shots in the Luther Family now." "Now that you mention it, I do recall their... strained relationship." Nods of understanding rippled through the crowd—those privy to the family’s dirty laundry exchanged knowing glances. By all rights, Mr. Jonathan, as Grandpa’s only son, should’ve inherited the family leadership. Yet certain... unspoken circumstances had changed everything. Grandpa Luther bypassed Jonathan entirely and handed the family leadership directly to Sinclair. This decision caused quite a stir at the time, not just within the Luther Family but throughout the entire capital. Later, Jonathan remarried and brought home a love child only three years younger than Sinclair. That was the final straw—the relationship between father and son shattered beyond repair. Taylor and Calvin exchanged silent glances, their eyes brimming with undisguised scorn. Mr. Jonathan had wronged Sinclair in far worse ways than this. Meanwhile, the high-society ladies in attendance had their attention fixed elsewhere. "Is that woman next to Mr. Jonathan really Margaret? She’s nowhere near as elegant or beautiful as his first wife," one remarked with a sniff. "Exactly. What on earth was he thinking?" another chimed in. "What do you expect? Men are all the same—no matter how lovely the flower at home, they’ll always chase after the wild ones." "And that young man in the wheelchair—is he the illegitimate son from back then?" Sandra studied Tyler from a distance, her brow furrowing slightly. There was something oddly familiar about his features, as if she’d seen him somewhere before. —— Upstairs, in the VIP lounge of the banquet hall... "Buzz... buzz..." "Buzz... buzz..." Uncle Carlos stared at the vibrating screen displaying the caller ID "Sir," a trace of resignation flashing in his eyes. He wouldn’t dare disobey the Boss Sinclair’s orders. With a practiced motion, he muted the call and returned the phone to its original spot. Then, as if nothing had happened, he resumed pouring tea for the two elderly gentlemen in the room, his movements steady and unhurried. Meanwhile... "Beep... beep... beep..." The call rang until it disconnected automatically—no one picked up. Three attempts, the same result Jonathan lowered his phone, his expression beyond mere displeasure. It was a storm barely contained. "Jonathan?" Margaret noticed his silence, watching as he set the phone down with a furrowed brow. "What’s wrong?" Tyler, his pale face tilted upward, also turned questioning eyes toward Jonathan. "I called three times in a row," Jonathan’s voice was hoarse, his eyes smoldering with suppressed rage. "No one picked up." The old man’s phone was always kept with uncle Carlos. All these years, not a single important call had ever been missed. Yet now, of all times, the call went unanswered—clearly deliberate. "That spineless Carlos must be following that little bastard’s orders, deliberately working against us," Margaret spat, her eyes dark with malice and fury. "So what do we do now?" After planning for so long, they couldn’t just walk away empty-handed. What’s more— Margaret glanced toward the banquet hall, where several figures were already watching them. Her jaw clenched. Many inside had already taken notice. If they couldn’t get in, they’d likely become the latest gossip and laughingstock among the elite. Jonathan clearly knew it too. His fists tightened in silent frustration. "Dad, Mom," Tyler’s fingers gripping the wheelchair handles turned white-knuckled, his handsome face darkening like a gathering storm. "I endured the pain to come and celebrate Grandpa’s birthday, only to be stopped at the door by Sinclair. The delay worsened my injuries until I collapsed." He suddenly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Margaret and Jonathan. "What do you think would happen then?" A glint flashed in Margaret’s eyes. No matter what, Tyler was also the old man’s grandson. Today was his grandpa’s birthday banquet. If Sinclair’s obstruction led to Tyler collapsing from aggravated injuries instead of offering his well-wishes— With things escalating to this point, Grandpa Luther would inevitably find out. When that happened, not only would Sinclair be held accountable, but public opinion would also swing firmly in their favor. "This plan isn’t—" Before Margaret could finish, a deep male voice cut her off. "Sir, Madam, Mr. Tyler" Ramsey approached the trio, bowing respectfully. "Please come in." The sudden reversal left Jonathan and his two companions momentarily stunned. "Just a moment ago, Sinclair had people blocking us from entering," Margaret was the first to recover, her face dark with displeasure. "What’s the meaning of this now?" Her voice rose noticeably, clearly intended for the ears of the guests gathered in the banquet hall nearby. At that moment, Sandra finally got a clear look at Tyler’s face. Her body stiffened as her expression transformed instantly. How could it be him?! Meanwhile, deep in the basement of the Luther Family estate... "Sir, what should we do now?"