"Mr. Cheney, it's getting foggy, where are you driving?" Charles Mcintosh asked nervously.
His palms were covered in a dense layer of sweat.
"Three Pavilion Road." Sylvan Cheney looked straight ahead, no vehicles in sight.
"Mr. Cheney, you're driving too fast, the fog is thick, and it's raining heavily."
"I know." Sylvan Cheney suppressed all his emotions, his gaze was bloodshot, with an icy chill in his eyes, "I'll be careful."
He would be careful until Jasmine Yale was found.
After a few seconds of pause, Sylvan Cheney asked heavily, "Still no news?"
"Yes." Charles Mcintosh nodded.
An indescribable emotion kept rushing into his mind, making his blood surge, every cell in his body shouting, waving.
Sylvan Cheney's throat was filled with bitterness, his tongue tasted bitter.
His mind went blank for a few minutes.
"Mr. Cheney, don't worry, we'll find her, we definitely will." Charles Mcintosh said.
