?Chapter 872:


    Chris wasn’t the type to dial and then stay quiet. The line was live, yet no words came. Only muffled sounds slipped through, as if the phone had been hidden from sight.


    Maxwell’s chest tightened. What could drive Chris to reach out like this? If he wasn’t speaking, was it because he couldn’t? Because he was in danger?<fna563> Official source is find{n}ovel</fna563>


    The thought struck like lightning, widening Maxwell’s eyes with sudden realization.


    From the back seat, Marisa straightened, her lollipop slipping from her fingers as she blurted out, “Maxwell, look at this! Vince Ward’s putting on a show again — he’s actually proposing to Maia in front of everyone. It’s all over the inte. Some people are even saying Maia isn’t worthy of him. Can you believe that?”


    Her words snapped Maxwell’s attention to Marisa’s phone. On the live stream, Chris’ outline was unmistakable in the background.


    A knot tightened in Maxwell’s chest. “Why would Chris call me in the middle of this chaos?” he muttered, suspicion sharpening his focus.


    Before the thought could settle, Maia’s voice suddenly broke through the Bluetooth, catching himpletely off guard.


    Maia’s voice came through Maxwell’s headphones, clearer now than before. It seemed Chris had taken the phone out of his pocket, risking being noticed.


    Over the line, Maia spoke firmly. “Take a breath, Vince. Give me the remote first… I’ll sit and exin everything properly.”


    Earlier, Maxwell couldn’t make out her words, but now they rang out sharp and undeniable.


    A remote?


    Recognition shed across Maxwell’s face.


    Then he caught Chris whispering, “Maia, stay back. He’s wired with explosives.”


    The realization hit Maxwell like a bolt of lightning. He shot up from his seat, terror racing through him, sweat prickling his skin. Explosives?


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    Everything suddenly made sense — Chris’ strange, silent call, the muffled sounds, the urgency.


    Maxwell remembered his own routine. Every week, around this exact hour, he would stop by the spicy restaurant to settle the ounts. And he always had the “cello” with him in the car.


    But that instrument case didn’t hold a cello. Hidden inside was a custom-built weapon, crafted to transform into a high-powered sniper rifle.


    Right now, Maxwell was stationed just under a hundred yards from Harmony za.


    Standing across from it, Friendship Tower matched Harmony za in height. Its rooftop faced the za head-on, offering a broad, unobstructed view of the entiremercial strip.


    A n crystallized in Maxwell’s mind in seconds. Without hesitation, he ended the call, his resolve hardening.


    “Keep your head down. Don’t meddle with anything. Cross the street, head into Skyline International, and treat yourself to something. I’ll transfer the money now,” Maxwell said firmly to Marisa.


    “Wait, what?” Marisa blinked in confusion, struggling to understand why Maxwell was suddenly acting this way. Before she could process it, the force of the car’s eleration threw her back against her seat.


    A thunderous roar from the engine tore through the air as Maxwell mmed the gas, veering across threenes before darting into the underground parking of Friendship Tower.


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