“What’s up with his brain? Utterly foolish,” Hannah commented.
Bryson sneered, “His brain is malfunctioning.”
Before they could extract an answer from Hurst, Franco’s associate arrived.
Barth Larson, employed by Franco, remained composed upon witnessing the situation indoors.
He approached the sofa and respectfully bowed to Bryson.
“Mr. Mitchell, the chairman has instructed us to escort Mr. Hurst Mitchell back. And, you should also come back to the Mitchell mansion with Miss Moore.”
Bryson remained silent. He rose and said to Hannah, “Let’s head there and see what’s happening.”
Contrary to their earlier arrival with their eyes blindfolded, they now left with poise.
The car remained silent on this occasion. Barth occupied the passenger seat and remained silent.
As the car halted at the entrance of the Mitchell mansion, the night had fallen, enveloping the surroundings in silence.
The mansion’s living room was ablaze with light, filled with members of the Mitchell family.
Franco sat in the chief seat, his expression stern.
Bryson entered the living room, taking a seat without acknowledging anyone.
“Bryson, don’t you see your elders here?”
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One of his uncles, Bohumil Mitchell, spoke up, clearly displeased.
“We are your elders!”
Choosing to ignore his words, Bryson turned around and gestured to Hannah, saying, “Join me over here.”
Hannah didn’t keep her distance like Bryson. She approached Franco and nodded, saying, “Mr. Franco Mitchell…”
But before she could finish, Bryson pulled her to sit beside him!
Bryson, legs crossed, looked every bit like a nobleman, yet his gaze upon the others was arrogant.
“Speak up. I’m short on time.”
This wasn’t Bryson’s usual manner.
Franco’s brow furrowed at this. Then, another uncle of Bryson‘s, Darryl Mitchell, interjected, “Let’s forget this for my sake.
Consider it a moment of madness from Hurst… He’s your cousin. Let it go.”