Chapter 519

Chapter 519:

In the dimly lit hall, a buzz-cut man, somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, sat slumped between two large men gripping his arms.

Unbothered by his predicament, he yawned, blinking lazily as tears welled up from exhaustion. “What’s this about?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s late. I need to get some rest.”

The air shifted the moment Eric stepped inside. His gaze locked onto the buzz-cut man instantly.

With slow, deliberate movements, he strode toward the table, planting both hands on the surface, his body leaning forward. “Where’s my…”

“Where’s my wife?”

The buzz-cut man blinked in confusion. “Huh? Your wife?”

“Phillips!”

At his command, Phillips stepped forward, unlocking his phone and thrusting it toward the man’s face. “Look closely! Do you recognize her?”

“Wow…” the man murmured, his voice dragging as he took in the photo. “She’s a real looker!”

“That’s not the damn question!” Phillips gritted his teeth. “Where did you take her after she got into your car?”

The buzz-cut man paused, as if sifting through his scattered thoughts. Then, a slow, lazy chuckle left his lips. “How do you expect me to remember such details?”

But the way his gaze flickered across the room, taking in the sheer number of men standing before him—the wealth, the power—he knew. This wasn’t an ordinary situation.

With a smirk, he tapped his temple.

“Let me think… I remember, I remember, she—” His gaze flicked toward Eric, his smirk deepening.

It was clear. This man was the one in charge.

A low chuckle broke the silence. The buzz-cut man smirked, raising his hand in a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers rubbing together as if he was counting money.

“If I tell you what you want to know, what do I get in return?”

Eric’s stare turned razor-sharp—lethal.

Phillips stepped forward, his voice snapping like a whip. “If the information is real, money’s not an issue!”

“Hold on.”

Eric lifted a hand, halting Phillips in his tracks.

“What is it, Mr. Flynn?”

His gaze drifted downward—toward something near the man’s feet. His breath hitched, his body tensing as he slowly bent down, fingers closing around a red cashmere cardigan. Hadley’s.

Heat surged through him like wildfire. A slow-burning fury that erupted all at once.

Without hesitation, Eric pivoted, his leg snapping out in a brutal kick, sending the chair, and the man in it, crashing to the ground!

“Mr. Flynn!”

“Eric!”

Phillips’ voice rang out, followed by Linda’s sharp gasp as she pushed Ernest’s wheelchair into the room.

But it wasn’t over.

Eric moved before anyone could stop him, grabbing the fallen man by his collar and yanking him upright. Then—another punch. A sickening crunch echoed through the room as blood splattered onto the cold concrete floor.

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