Underground parking garage.
Sylvan Cheney walked to his Maybach, opened the door, and got in.
A shadowy figure darted out from the corner and opened the passenger door.
"President."
"Send them back," Sylvan whispered, giving a few instructions.
The subordinate nodded as he listened, indicating understanding.
"Only the three of us know about this. If a fourth person finds out, handle it," Sylvan coldly warned.
"I understand."
"Get out."
"Yes."
The subordinate put on a baseball cap, confirmed no one was around, opened the passenger door, got out, and quickly ran into the darkness, disappearing without a trace.
Sylvan didn't drive off immediately; he silently stared ahead, his jawline tense, eyes filled with a cold chill.
In the silence, he could clearly hear his heartbeat, one after another, even and calm.
After a long while, he stepped on the gas and drove the Maybach out of the parking garage into the rain.
