Chapter 1362:


    When confronted with a mysterious figure wielding immeasurable power, the wisest and safest strategy remained simple: don’t position yourself as their adversary.


    Maia slowly unclenched her tightly balled fists, letting tension drain from her rigid fingers.


    From the precise moment the man unveiled himself as Mr. M’s representative, she’d deliberately chosen silence as her shield.


    She studied him now, watching as he smiled directly at her with knowing warmth.


    His theatrical performance practically screamed its message to Maia—everything unfolding tonight was part of an borately orchestrated conspiracy nned long in advance. Perhaps the genuine setup had germinated at the Morgan family’s birthday banquet itself, on that pivotal day when everyone first learned Mr. M existed at all.


    Kiley, however, interpreted Maia’s silence as capittion. The money belonged to Mr. M’s empire, not hers.


    Kiley’s lips twisted into a sneer. She’d never anticipated Maia would demonstrate such fierce loyalty to her bodyguard, willing to transform herself into a puppet just to satisfy Chris’s modest wish to see Laurence again.


    Meanwhile, Pattie copsed heavily into a chair, dragging her hand across her damp forehead.


    She threw a nce toward Maia, bitterness coating her thoughts like acid.


    Mr. M had casually offered three billion dors. Who in God’s name was this man really?


    Even if she mortgaged her entire MCNpany down to its foundation, Pattie couldn’t possibly secure that astronomical sum from any bank.


    Online spection swirled that Mr. M was actively pursuing Maia’s affections. Pattie suddenly wondered whether Chris had discovered this truth long ago.


    She instinctively twisted in her seat to check Chris’s location, only to freezepletely.


    gα?ησν????s??om has it all


    Chris had vanished without a trace. Where had he disappeared to? Could it be that Mr. M’s overwhelming presence had stirred feelings of inadequacy deep within him?


    Chris maneuvered the kitchen cart through the chaotic swirl of ttering pans and shouted orders, the metallic scent of steam and spices cloaking his movements.


    He slipped past harried staff without drawing a nce and emerged into the shadowed alley where the garbage truck waited, its hydraulic arms groaning as it lifted a bin and emptied its contents into the grindingpactor.


    Two men in grimy overalls stood ready.


    Chris offered no words.


    Kolton might have seeded trackers or live microphones on Laurence.


    Silence remained safest. Chris positioned the cart squarely before the two workers and peeled away the mask in one fluid motion.


    Recognition shed in the two men’s eyes.


    They produced handheld scanners and swept them across Laurence’s frail form. The devices erupted in shrill beeps almost instantly.


    Four dots pulsed on the screen: one in his shoe sole, one in the wheelchair’s armrest, beneath the cor, and at the hem of one pant leg.


    Chris’s brows lifted in grim admiration. Kolton had anticipated everything. He truly yed chess while others yed checkers.


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