“I happened to discover something that transpired a long time ago. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you wouldn’t want Miss Moore to learn about it, am I right?”
Bryson read through the papers, his pupils shrinking as he processed the information they contained.
A satisfied smile stretched across Merlin’s lips.
“You see, I’m not sure if the person in front of me right now is really Bryson Mitchell or…” He deliberately paused before continuing in a sharp tone, “Sewell Mitchell.”
Bang!
Bryson slammed his fist against the table and shot a menacing glare at Merlin.
“Don’t be so anxious, Mr. Mitchell,” Merlin said calmly.
“I admit, I used a few tricks to dig up the details of your past.
You were admitted in a private hospital in Newport, weren’t you? You were seeing a psychiatrist for half a year. I have to give them credit, the hospital was really strict when it came to their patients * information. I had to numerous methods to personal employ just get my hands on your file. According to your medical records, you have a severe Dissociative Identity Disorder, though you eventually got discharged.”
A mischievous glint entered Merlin’s eyes.
“What I want to know is whether Mr. Mitchell has truly recovered from his condition or not.”
“And what does it have to do with you?” Bryson asked in an icy voice.
“Well, some time ago, someone made trouble in the black market over at Newport. It caused a complete mess. Are you the one behind it?”
Merlin spoke slowly, in a somewhat flat tone, as if he was simply confirming what he already knew.
“You made such a huge scene the moment you returned. Aren’t you at all afraid that your old enemies will come and hunt you down?”
Bryson saw no point in keeping up the act for a second longer.
Click.
He flicked his lighter open and lit the cigarette he had put between his Lips.
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Bryson then tossed the lighter on the table, leaned back on the sofa with one arm stretched out along the length of the backrest.
“You do have the means, I’ll give you that. But that’s all you have, nothing more.”
Merlin glanced at the cigarette before smiling again.
“Bryson Mitchell hated the smell of cigarettes. Should I take this as your admission that you are Sewell Mitchell all along?”
“Does it really matter?” Bryson shrugged and flashed him a lopsided grin.
“At the end of the day, we are the same person. So, you managed to get your hands on my affairs abroad. What is it that you want, exactly? Do you want to use this information as proof that I am incapable of leading the Mitchell family? Or are you going to release this to the public and cause my company’s stock value to plummet?”