Amadeus Yancey walked over holding a mug and glanced over when he passed by, "Yerba."
"Oh." Alfred Garland scratched his head, staring at the CD in his hand with longing eyes, puzzled why Nathalie Quinlan would buy a ga from Yerba.
He couldn’t understand the ga descriptions on the cover, and neither could the young master. They wouldn’t even be able to play it when the ti ca!
He put the ga back in its original spot and noticed that there were many other foreign-language ga CDs on the sofa, each tightly wrapped, their exteriors not revealing what kind of ga they might be.
"Amadeus, are all these from Yerba?"
Amadeus Yancey brought back a glass of water for Nathalie Quinlan and looked over the sofa full of gifts. He casually scanned and noticed that they were all the sa type of ga—shooters.
The sofa was a ss, scattered with about a dozen CDs.
Soone who doesn’t understand the Yerba language couldn’t possibly make sense of the packaging on these ga CDs.
Nathalie Quinlan didn’t buy a single wrong one; obviously, she recognized the text on the package, and she had carefully selected these gas for Edric Yancey.
There are many people in the country who understand English, but very few who understand Yerba language!
Even Alfred Garland, who frequently traveled abroad, didn’t understand Yerba language, where did Nathalie Quinlan learn it from?
She was like a puzzle, and he beca increasingly eager to clear the fog and understand her past!
Amadeus Yancey set the mug on the table in front of Nathalie Quinlan, looking at the girl playing with her phone, his narrow eyes profound and distant, carrying a aningful depth, "Why did you buy so many shooter gas?"
Nathalie Quinlan was checking her phone. She opened a new ssage, expecting it to be another update from Jhovany Sullivan and the others, only to find that the sender was Mr. Zachmann. The latest chat had a record of a money transfer; it wasn’t much—she counted, exactly 200,000.
"...You said Edric likes simulated guns, right? That store happened to sell ga CDs, so I picked out a few for him."
She half-closed her eyes, responding casually without any intention of accepting the money. Her fair complexion unusually betrayed a look of puzzlent.
Why would Mr. Zachmann transfer money to her for no reason?
Amadeus Yancey didn’t say much, only comnted, "That’s too wasteful. He’s just a child, he won’t be able to play those expensive gas you got him. How much is it? I’ll transfer the money to you."
Nathalie Quinlan was still figuring out how to reply to Mr. Zachmann’s ssage and without looking up, casually replied, "It’s not necessary, it’s just a small amount."
Amadeus Yancey pressed his lips together, holding the ga CD and said nothing.
Alfred Garland, who had been listening to their conversation, felt confused and picked up a ga CD from the sofa, asking with a look of bewildernt, "Amadeus, are these things expensive?"
He thought they looked about the sa as a CD and assud they might cost ten or twenty each. So it seed to him like Nathalie Quinlan had bought a wholesale bunch of more than ten.
"Yeah." Amadeus Yancey didn’t play gas himself, but people around him did. He’d seen at Sadam Vinson’s the types of ga CDs Nathalie Quinlan bought for Edric Yancey—the prices of these genuine original versions weren’t cheap.
Alfred Garland scratched his head, unable to hold back his curiosity and gossiped, "About how much per CD?"
Amadeus Yancey flipped through one, half-closed his eyelids, his deep-set eyes slightly narrowed, and spoke casually, "Around ten or twenty thousand each."
Alfred Garland: "..."
Alfred Garland: "?"
Alfred Garland: "???"
He suddenly looked over at Nathalie Quinlan, seeing her seemingly indifferent and still fixated on her phone, head not lifted, the amount seemingly insignificant to her.
Instantly, the CD in his hand lost its appeal!
Damn, Ms. Quinlan is way too rich!
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