Chapter 729
Chapter 729:
“Farris?”
“Mr. Lambert, I noticed you’ve been stationary here for quite some time. Might you need assistance?”
“What a coincidence.” Jorge forced his lips into an awkward smile. “But I’m fine, really. I’ll just call for a ride.”
“Please, Mr. Lambert, allow me to offer you a ride. The streets are rather deserted at this hour. Finding another ride could prove challenging.” A warm, practiced smile played across Farris’ features.
“Well, if you’re insisting…” Jorge conceded with a heavy sigh.
One undeniable fact weighed on his mind. As Harlan’s most trusted assistant, Farris’ sudden appearance in this desolate spot, at this ungodly hour, reeked of calculation rather than coincidence. And MO’s guess was right.
Harlan had been monitoring his movements, and he likely knew about the White Goose Mountain incident, suspecting his loyalty. This “chance” encounter with Farris was nothing but a carefully laid test.
The journey ended at an upscale nightclub, its neon lights cutting through the darkness.
“Farris, why bring me here? My reputation might precede me, but I don’t indulge without purpose,” Jorge asked.
“Mr. Lambert, please get out. Room 403,” Farris’ response was clipped, offering nothing but the stark numerals.
Jorge’s lips tightened into a thin line before morphing into a bitter smile. Wordlessly, he complied.
The Govis Nightclub stood as Cloverhill’s premier entertainment destination, a familiar playground where Jorge had spent countless carefree nights. Tonight, however, each step felt leaden with foreboding.
The corridor seemed endless before he finally reached Room 403.
𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑬: 𝒈⋅𝒂𝒍⋅𝒏⋅𝒐𝒗⋅𝒆𝒍⋅𝒔⋅𝒄𝒐⋅𝒎
Drawing a steadying breath, Jorge rapped his knuckles against the door.
A muffled voice granted entry, and he pushed the heavy door open.
The spacious room held just one occupant—Harlan.
“Mr. Welch.”
Jorge’s greeting carried the weight of respect tinged with fear. He remained frozen at the threshold, his eyes reflecting a complex mixture of reverence and dread.
“Jorge, let’s not stand on ceremony.” Harlan’s smile was honey over steel as he gestured towards the empty seat. “Thank you, Mr. Welch.”
Jorge eased the door shut and crossed the plush carpet, settling into the sofa across from his host with barely concealed tension.
“Please, have a drink.” With practiced grace, Harlan poured deep red wine into two crystal glasses. His refined movements and genteel manner could almost make one forget the power he wielded.
Jorge accepted the glass with reverence, nodding repeatedly like a puppet on strings. “Thank you, Mr. Welch.”
“Word reaches me that MO intercepted you tonight. Something about White Goose Mountain and a race with Conley?”
“Yes.” Jorge’s hand trembled noticeably around his wineglass. He knew better than to attempt deception. “I was terrified at first, thinking I was their target. But they merely expressed interest in visiting White Goose Mountain. The race with Conley is pure coincidence, nothing more.”
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