?Chapter 1580:


    One of them yanked open the rear door. “Time to move, Mr. Kolton Cooper,” he drawled, the title dripping with mockery. “The former king of Wront.”


    Kolton’s limp body was hauled out like cargo. He hit the floor hard. Unconscious, he made no sound and offered no resistance.


    The two men each grabbed an arm and dragged him forward across the filthy floor. His cheek scraped along the rough concrete, skin tearing open almost immediately. Blood mixed with engine grease and dust, quickly masking the once-aristocratic features of the Cooper family’s patriarch.


    Neither man looked down at him. There was no hesitation, no flicker of the deference they might once have shown. They had been his enforcers—loyal dogs. Now the leash had changed hands.


    “Nice improvisation with the voice changer,” the first remarked conversationally, as though they were chatting over coffee. “Mimicking that man’s voice on the live video almost had me convinced for a second.”


    The other gave a short, contemptuousugh and delivered a casual kick to Kolton’s ribs. “The idiot fell for everything. The oil field was a fabrication, the interrogation a charade. If he was naive enough to fall for their tricks, manipting him myself was almost too simple. When I called to ask if he’d decided, he immediately confessed his n to surrender to the authorities. All I had to do was nod and keep him talking.”


    They hauled him deeper into the garage until they reached a heavy, rust-streaked iron door set into the far wall. One man gripped the handle and pulled. The door swung open with a metallic groan.


    Brilliant white light flooded out, forcing both men to squint and turn their heads.


    Beyond that ordinary thresholdy something else entirely. Polished metallic walls gleamed under seamless, flowing illumination. The floor was mirror-smooth, iid with glowing guide strips that pulsed faintly blue. Overhead, semi-transparent holographic screens drifted like ghosts, rivers of data scrolling in perfect silence.


    One after another, an operating theater, an observation room, and a control hub came into view. Surgical lights stood poised on sleek, articted arms. An array of sterile instrumentsy in perfect order while holographic screens disyed silent, cascading streams of data.


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    It was a cutting-edge subterraneanboratory—its existence a secret that Kolton himself had never known.


    Kolton was hauled up by the two covert operatives and dumped onto a specially designed operating table, his body hitting the surface with the careless force reserved for dead weight. Metal restraints snapped shut around his wrists and ankles, the sharp click of mechanical locks sealing his limbs in ce.


    “Inject him with the stimnt.” Themand came from one operative as he stripped off his disguised police uniform, his voice t. “I’ll report to the boss.”


    Without hesitation, the other operative reached into the medical kit positioned beside the table and withdrew a syringe that had clearly been prepared in advance. The needle drove into Kolton’s skin. A frigid fluid surged through his veins, spreading outward in a numbing rush.


    Five minutes passed.


    Kolton’s eyes flew open.


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