Charles Mcintosh’s n quickly arrived. Charles still had a trace of alcohol on him, but his mind was clear.
When Charles saw Sylvan Cheney, Sylvan was holding an umbrella.
Perhaps the wind was too strong, his shoulder was half wet, and his black trench coat was covered in water stains.
His bangs were also wet, and his reddened eyes were filled with exhaustion and grief.
"Mr. Cheney," Charles jumped out of the car, "The police will be here soon, but there are still no leads. I’ll help you search together."
"Charles," Sylvan called his na softly in the rain, his voice hoarse, "Do you think Jasmine left on her own?"
Charles paused: "I don’t think so. Miss Yale has always been very obedient. Besides, it’s raining heavily, and she didn’t bring an umbrella."
He had long thought that Jasmine Yale couldn’t have left on her own.
A young girl might play the runaway ga to make Sylvan worry.
But Jasmine Yale wouldn’t.
Her love for Sylvan was crystal clear to him.
But precisely because of this, things beca sowhat... frightening.
"Yes, she’s so obedient. This period, I told her not to go out, and she didn’t go out, very obedient." Sylvan’s eyes were filled with grief, "In Landon, whoever could take her away right under my nose and is so familiar with the Cheney Residence, who else could it be."
Sylvan’s voice floated, carried away by the wind and rain. In the darkness, the fingers holding the umbrella were turning white, and his jawline was tense.
Charles felt a sudden "thump" in his chest.
All the way here, he had thought about it, and now, his thoughts almost matched Sylvan’s.
"I’ll make a call." Charles took out his phone from his pocket.
Sylvan closed his eyes and did not stop him.
Charles’s call was not to anyone else but to Spencer Childe.
A year ago, the old man left Landon, claiming his health wasn’t good, and went to a sanatorium. As for which sanatorium, they were unclear.
The old man was always elusive; whatever he wanted to do, he didn’t need to do it himself. The people under him were enough to handle it, and they could do it quietly.
Charles also knew that Spencer Childe didn’t look favorably on Sylvan, even though Sylvan had helped him, saved his life; he still didn’t look favorably.
When Sylvan was born, Spencer wished he could kill this "Cheney" grandson, but his daughter cherished him deeply, so he had to stop.
In Spencer’s mind, Sylvan and his unfaithful father, Teagan Cheney, were the sa kind.
The call went out, but couldn’t get through.
Charles dialed twice more, the calls still wouldn’t go through.
A bad feeling arose in Charles’s heart with a sudden "ding."
If Miss Yale really was in Spencer Childe’s hands, then clearly Spencer had learned sothing, and Jasmine Yale might not survive.
Charles couldn’t imagine the expression Sylvan would have facing a lifeless Jasmine, but he knew if anything happened to Jasmine, Sylvan wouldn’t live much longer either.
Hopefully, his thoughts were wrong.
"Mr. Cheney, Elder Childe’s phone cannot be reached," Charles said.
The inability to reach him was perfectly expected.
The old man never wanted any contact with Sylvan’s people.
"Mr. Cheney, let’s not think of the worst. Maybe it’s not that serious. Let’s have people continue searching. Does Miss Yale have any friends in Landon, or perhaps she went to a place she likes to relax and hasn’t returned?" Charles’s voice drifted lightly.
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