Failure at its extre.
Nearing eighty, he always believed himself to be robust, staunch, and passionate, capable of commanding the north and south, making countless people submit.
Yet at this mont, he realized he was such a failure.
Apart from these cold subordinates and so money he couldn’t take with him, he had nothing at all.
Even Charles Mcintosh dared to discipline him and lay hands on him.
In the past, it had always been him taking action against them.
The wind blew against his body, the rain hit his face, cold, icy cold.
He couldn’t fathom what he felt in his heart; it was a sensation he hadn’t experienced his entire life.
Now, he solidly felt it.
The desolate wind cut across his face, very cold, like a knife scraping, exceptionally sharp.
Charles Mcintosh’s n fired several shots at the ship, and the hull began to wobble.
Charles Mcintosh gestured for them to dive in and search for Sylvan Cheney!
The crowd understood, turning on the ship’s lights, and several skilled bodyguards dove into the water.
"No need to fire anymore; take everyone on that ship away, hand them over to the police, and let them deal with it as necessary, without rcy." Charles Mcintosh commanded thodically.
But just as he finished speaking, Spencer Childe’s ship rocked twice in the strong wind and capsized!
Everyone aboard fell into the water, without exception.
In the darkness, Charles Mcintosh heard a woman’s scream, recognizing it as Lana Fern’s voice.
Charles Mcintosh closed his eyes briefly; his chest felt heavy.
So stifling.
Like the low pressure before a storm, the whole person feels particularly oppressed.
Both ships had overturned, only the rescue ship was still moving.
The nightti river was very turbulent, but once tomorrow’s sun rose, this place would be calm again, as if nothing had happened.
Charles Mcintosh painfully gripped the railing, but now was not the ti for sorrow.
He ordered his n to continue searching for Sylvan Cheney’s whereabouts.
"Are the dical personnel on board?" Charles Mcintosh asked his assistant.
"All present, doctors and nurses, all highly experienced. Mr. Mcintosh, rest assured. Mr. Mcintosh, are you injured?"
Charles Mcintosh shook his head, "I’m fine."
"Mr. Mcintosh, there’s clothing in the cabin; you should change, you’re completely soaked," the assistant asked worriedly.
"Are won’s clothes prepared?"
"Prepared, everything is ready, including blood bags." The assistant’s voice was steady, "Mr. Mcintosh, rest assured, Miss Yale will be okay."
"Make sure she gets treated, no matter the cost."
"Understood." The assistant nodded, "What to do with those people on that ship?"
"Have the police arrived?"
"On their way."
"Rescue those who can be rescued; if not, then so be it." Charles Mcintosh’s eyes were bloodshot, "Not one aboard that ship has clean hands."
After this catastrophe, Spencer Childe’s henchn must disperse.
For Sylvan Cheney, this is a good thing.
Those people acted recklessly; dispersing them ant eradicating harm.
As for Lana Fern, it depends on her fate.
Charles Mcintosh sneered, his deep-set eyes unfathomably profound.
People commit evil acts due to greed, jealousy, hatred... Regardless of the reason, evil cos with consequences.
"Mr. Mcintosh, the wind is too strong," the assistant worriedly looked outside, "The rain is heavy, and being in the center of the river, the search and rescue is very challenging."
"Tell , how long can soone with a gunshot wound to the waist survive..." Charles Mcintosh painfully rubbed his forehead.
Before his eyes erged the image of bloodstained river water, glaringly red.
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