Chapter 1297: Chapter 1297: Is This Even Considered an Issue?
“I saw an invitation, it’s Miss Yale’s engagent invitation…” Butler Santana stamred.
“Engagent?” Charles Mcintosh furrowed his brows, “With whom? When?”
“If I rember correctly, it’s the eighth of next month, with… Yukon Carbon.”
Charles Mcintosh’s complexion darkened.
Engagent?
No wonder Mr. Cheney looked so upset.
“Mr. Mcintosh, is it true?” Butler Santana couldn’t help but ask, “Miss Yale is getting engaged? What about Mr. Cheney?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Charles Mcintosh was uncertain.
He hadn’t concerned himself with Jasmine Yale’s affairs, as Sylvan Cheney hadn’t allowed him to interfere.
Lately, he had been swamped with work concerning Landon.
But this did explain a lot.
Only that woman could stir Mr. Cheney’s emotions so deeply.
When Charles Mcintosh entered the study, he also saw blood. If Mr. Cheney kept going like this, it wasn’t just a decade in prison he had to worry about—he wouldn’t even make it to prison, he’d have to go to the hospital!
Soon, the doctor finished the checkup and took Sylvan Cheney to the bedroom.
“Is there any problem?” It was Butler Santana who asked nervously.
The doctor shook his head: “No serious issue, just a rush of blood to the heart, plus a fever caused by a recent cold. The temperature has been fluctuating recently, so he needs to be well cared for.”
“I understand,” Butler Santana nodded.
“Let’s start with an IV drip,” the doctor swiftly began preparing the IV fluids, “Given his current condition, he absolutely must not smoke or drink; that’s the least of it.”
“This…” Butler Santana looked troubled.
It was common sense; not to ntion her, Mr. Cheney himself surely knew it.
But no one could persuade him, no one dared to say a word.
Taking advantage of the ti the doctor was treating Sylvan Cheney, Charles Mcintosh and Butler Santana stepped out of the bedroom.
Charles Mcintosh lowered his voice and spoke indifferently, “Take good care of Mr. Cheney, and if you really can’t manage, call .”
“Sure, Mr. Mcintosh.”
“As for the dication, you need to insist Mr. Cheney takes it. He can’t throw a tantrum about it; he can’t keep going on like this. Also, control the tobacco and alcohol in the Cheney Residence, and like I said, if you really can’t manage, call .”
“Mr. Mcintosh, does Mr. Cheney have sothing on his mind?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”
“Alright.” Butler Santana knew her place as a servant; if Charles Mcintosh didn’t want her to ask, she wouldn’t ask.
She just needed to take good care of Mr. Cheney.
“You go upstairs and help Doctor Connor now.”
Butler Santana nodded and went back into the bedroom.
Charles Mcintosh walked to the window downstairs, his eyes holding a profound depth.
Outside, the night was dense, the weather extrely cold, and the wind caused the branches in the garden to rustle loudly.
After a long while, Charles Mcintosh made a call to Joe Heath.
“Joe Heath, what the hell did you say to Mr. Cheney?”
“What’s wrong?” Joe Heath had gone ho, taken a shower, and was now comfortably lying in his own bed, “Don’t start yet, let guess… when people get angry, they usually cough up blood. Right, cough up blood! Isn’t that it?”
“You!” Charles Mcintosh was speechless, his face clouding over.
“My brother has suffered knife and bullet wounds; what hasn’t he endured? Is this even worth ntioning?” Joe Heath looked entirely unconcerned; he seed to have guessed correctly, “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. Just go ho and have a good night’s sleep. When you wake up, it’ll be a beautiful new day.”
“What the fuck did you actually say to Mr. Cheney? Is Jasmine Yale getting engaged?”
“Why are you yelling? Even my mom hasn’t yelled at like that. I didn’t do anything really, just took a fake invitation over there, who knew big brother would react so strongly?” Joe Heath shrugged.
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