Chapter 128:
Capitalizing on the real estate boom, the Griffiths Group quickly rose to the top of the Foiclens market, establishing themselves as the region’s wealthiest family. Had it not been for the medication Elena had obtained for Darren’s grandfather, he might not have lived as long as he did.
What truly stung for Elena was realizing that the food Darren used to bring her was nothing more than leftovers, scraps meant for dogs—not the special kindness she once believed it to be. The goodwill and years she had devoted to the Griffiths family felt wasted. It became clear why Sylvia had gotten involved with Darren so swiftly after Elena returned to the Reed family. Darren had been despicable from the start.
Elena kept her eyes lowered, appearing to yield.
Darren, seeing this, felt a surge of triumph. “Crying won’t get you anywhere. Don’t expect forgiveness unless you kneel and apologize—”
“You expect me to kneel?” Elena’s head lifted, her eyes glacial. There were no tears, only a cutting indifference.
“You—” Darren began, but she cut him off again.
Her stare was sharp, voice devoid of warmth. “Maybe I’ll leave flowers at your grave someday. But kneel to you? That’s laughable.”
“How dare you!” Darren’s anger boiled over. He started to move toward her, just as someone emerged from the elevator.
Malcolm’s assistant, Larry Yates, approached Elena and Lydia with composed professionalism. “Ladies, Mr. Johnson has instructed me to escort you inside. Please follow me—he’s expecting you.”
Elena’s eyes flicked toward Darren’s group, but Lydia gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Leaning in, Lydia murmured, “Forget them. I’ll deal with these fools later.”
Lydia’s sharp gaze swept over Darren’s entourage, and a visible shiver ran through the group. Unlike these privileged elites, Lydia was a seasoned assassin, intimately familiar with danger. Elena recognized the eager glint in Lydia’s eyes and quickly cautioned, “Just don’t cause any casualties. We’re not abroad.”
“Relax. I know the boundaries,” Lydia replied confidently.
Ignoring the gawking onlookers, Elena, Lydia, and Larry stepped into the executive elevator, disappearing from sight.
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It was only after they left that Darren snapped out of his stupor. “Who was that man?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “And who exactly is this Mr. Johnson?”
He was genuinely baffled. Why would someone like Mr. Johnson have any business with Elena? Among the four major families of Klathe, the Johnsons—led by Malcolm—were in a league of their own, far beyond the reach of people like Darren.
The Griffiths had no true foundation in Klathe and barely registered within the city’s elite. Even so, Darren’s companions were well aware of Malcolm’s formidable reputation.
“In this city, the only person called Mr. Johnson is Malcolm Johnson. That man earlier must have been his chief aide.”
“Malcolm Johnson?” Darren echoed in disbelief. “You mean the heir to the Johnson family?”
“Exactly.”
