She looked at her phone, utterly puzzled: "I rember when I handed it to you just now it still had eighty percent battery; it couldn’t have died all of a sudden, right?"
Upon hearing her words, Thomas Gordon’s eyelid twitched violently, an ominous premonition flooding his heart—the phone had been hacked remotely.
His legs completely gave out, and he collapsed onto the sofa, unable to gather his strength for a long ti, clutching his head, mumbling: "It’s over, it’s all over."
He didn’t know where in the world his incompetent wife received the text ssage and what kind of vicious predator she had attracted.
But clearly, this ti the other party ca prepared.
Their family was going to be scapegoated no matter what!
The Gordons were not going to get out of this unscathed this ti.
"Husband, you, you don’t be like this, I’m scared." Mrs. Gordon saw him so afraid and belatedly realized the fear: "That Nathalie Quinlan can’t possibly ss with our family, we’ve been established in Beijing for so many years, even a broken ship has three nails, why should we be afraid of her? Mr. Yancey is just playing with her anyway, the circle is abuzz that Mr. Yancey and Caryn Zachmann are still a couple, what right does that girl from McKinney have to compare with Caryn Zachmann, Caryn is Beijing’s number one socialite, a hundred tis stronger in both appearance and talent, otherwise why would Mateo like Caryn..."
Thomas Gordon ignored her, continuing to clutch his head, his expression ashen.
At this mont, soone barged in.
The servant didn’t manage to stop the intruder, a burly man with tattoos encircling his arm, clearly soone from the underworld.
The man didn’t waste words, upon seeing Thomas Gordon and Mrs. Gordon, he directly asked: "Are you the parents of Mateo Gordon?"
Mrs. Gordon forced herself to suppress her fear, took a step back, eyes full of wariness as she looked at him: "Who are you, who allowed you to barge in, do you know whose house this is?"
The man sneered, utterly arrogant: "I don’t care whose house it is."
"Amadeus sent to give you sothing."
Upon hearing the na ’Amadeus,’ Thomas Gordon sprang up from the sofa, taking the item from the man’s hand.
There were three photos.
The photos were still warm, likely just taken and imdiately delivered to them.
He looked closely, and the protagonist was a Mateo Gordon he hadn’t seen for a week, lying on the ground covered in blood, his right hand hanging at an awkward angle at his side, clearly broken by force.
"Ah!" Mrs. Gordon also saw the content of the photos, her eyes rolled back, legs gave out, she scread, and then fainted.
Thomas Gordon didn’t have the mind to care for her, his heart racing with anxiety, clinging to the last shred of sanity, gripping the photos, he asked in a deep voice: "What does Amadeus an?"
"Hmph, what does it an?" The burly man didn’t bother to explain, questioning him in return: "Amadeus would also like to ask Mrs. Gordon what it ans."
Thomas Gordon instantly lost his temper: "My wife she..."
The burly man didn’t let him explain, straightforwardly said: "Thomas Gordon, save your explanations for Amadeus! Amadeus has said, Ms. Quinlan got her hand injured in the car accident, so Mateo Gordon loses a pair of hands. If Mrs. Gordon doesn’t co to her senses and keeps ssing around, there’s still Mateo’s neck left to be broken. If Mrs. Gordon wants to play, we are ready to oblige at any ti!"
Thomas Gordon’s face turned green, muscles on his cheeks kept twitching, not knowing whether it was from anger or the instinctive reaction of a man gripped by fear.
The man in black didn’t waste any words with him, leaving with a final remark: "The things in these photos, it’s just the interest we demand from Mrs. Gordon, to prevent her from thinking she got away with it undetected. Amadeus is busy right now, can’t spare the ti, but this matter... is far from over!"
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