Whispers Turn to Whimpers: Could He Ever Change?

It was way past midnight.

Except for Sylvia, who had tapped out early due to exhaustion and was sent back to her room by the Harrison brothers, everyone was gathered in the living room, anxiously waiting for news.

Finally, it was Sawyer who burst in with an update. "We found the driver!"

At that, Gilbert leaped to his feet. "Where?"

"Our guys are already on their way there," Sawyer replied.

"Lead the way!"

"Right."

Gilbert turned and headed for the door.

"Caroline."

Francis turned to Caroline, who looked stunned. "What's up?"

He said, "We're going too."

What? Caroline's face soured instantly, though it was hard to tell under the dim lights. "Us? But, your health..." "I'm fine."

Francis waved off her concern, adamant, "Sherilyn's my sister.'

How could he just sit around when his sister was missing?

He glanced at Caroline, frowning, "If you don't want to come, stay here."

Caroline was taken aback, forcing a smile. "What are you talking about? Do you think I'm not worried about Sherilyn?"

As if!

She couldn't let herself stay behind. At the very least, she could keep an eye on him.

Suppressing her irritation, Caroline steadied the wheelchair. "I'm worried about you, too. If we're going, we'll go together." "Alright."

As they stepped outside, it was no surprise to Gilbert to see the sleek silver Pagani still there. Edgar hadn't left yet? Too bad, if he wanted to follow, let him.

A convoy of cars sped off into the

novel

night, with Edgar gripping the steering wheel tightly, his leg throbbing with a pain that seemed to grow worse.

Snow was falling heavily, blanketing everything in sight.

They arrived at a decrepit industrial area, low buildings as far as the eye could see, the air thick with a damp, musty odor.

Inside one of the low-rise buildings

the floor was bare concrete, and the

roof was strung with thick copper

bulb that cast a dim, andescent

wire holding a single

orange glow.

The setting was unnervingly irritating.

In the center of the room, a man with a buzz cut, probably in his forties, was being held down by several burly men.

"Ah..." The buzz-cut thug yawned, tears streaming down his face. "What do you guys want? It's late, and I wanna sleep." Gilbert was the first to step forward, his eyes immediately locking onto the buzz-cut thug.

Leaning forward on a table, his gaze was sharp as nails. "Where is my wife?"

"Huh?" The thug looked confused. "Who's your wife?"

"Charles!"

On cue, Charles stepped forward, pulling out his phone to show a photo of Sherilyn. "Look closely! Remember her?"

"Whoa."

The buzz-cut thug squinted at the photo, his eyes hazy. "Pretty lady."

"That's not what I asked!" Charles' patience was wearing thin. "She got into your car. Where did you take her? Do you remember?" "Ah, that..."

The thug paused, his smile slackening as he scratched his temple. "How should I remember that?"

But then, scanning the room and theProperty © of NôvelDrama.Org.

crowd that had accompanied

Gation. Wealthy folks, h he realized the gravity.ne

the

"Let me think... Oh, I remember now," he said, trailing off, his eyes landing on Gilbert, clearly recognizing him as the boss.

"Heh." The thug raised his hand, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips in a universal gesture for money.

"If I give you the info, how much will you pay me?"

Gilbert shot him a glare that could freeze hell over.