?Chapter 2793:


    “Gather some men and make arrangements.” His words halted for a moment, sharp and cold.


    “See to it he receives… special attention.”


    Quentin’s posture stiffened immediately.


    “Understood.”


    A faint smirk yed on Ernest’s lips.


    “I won’t go into specifics. You know how to act discreetly.”


    “You have my word, Mr. Flynn.”


    Eric then addressed Xander.


    “Coordinate with Quentin on this task.”


    “Understood.”


    “Good.” Ernest gave a brief nod, flicking his cigarette with a casual wave.


    “You’re dismissed.”


    “Yes.”


    A nce passed between Quentin and Xander before they stepped out together.


    Leaning back, Ernest let a smoke ring slip from his mouth, his eyes stinging with hidden dampness.


    “Ernest.” Eric studied him closely, speaking in a low tone.


    “For the moment, this is all we can manage. But I promise you—Gifford will not know a single night of rest.”


    “Yes.” A slow nod acknowledged Eric’s words.


    “Elissa, I’ll get a small taste of vengeance for you first,” he thought.


    Atst, Gifford had fallen into their hands.


    The chance they had waited for was finally here.


    When it came to Linda, though…


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    Ernest twisted away, grinding the cigarette into the ashtray with deliberate force.


    That evening, inside the detention center, an eight-man cell turned hostile as seven inmates pressed Gifford into a corner, shoving a towel between his teeth.


    The seven inmates split their roles, assigning one to keep watch. The remaining six set to work, delivering punches and kicks with precision.


    Their assault was calcted, almost practiced—his body bore hardly any surface bruises, yet each strike drove him into silent agony.


    With the towel gagging him, his throat ached to scream, but no words formed.


    Only muffled groans slipped out.


    “Mmph… mmph… mmph…”


    In his heart, he was desperate to ask, “Who are you? Who sent you?”


    However, not a single one of them spared him a nce.


    “Mmph… mmph… mmph…!” Gifford twisted his neck, faint whines slipping past the gag as he fought to summon help.


    What he longed for was a transfer to another cell.


    Deep down, he recognized these beatings were no coincidence. Death was not their aim—torment was. They intended to drag him through misery day after day for as long as he remained here.


    Eric left the study and nced at his wristwatch.


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