The two gunmen standing at the back were carrying a cloth bag, seemingly containing a person.
The Middle-aged Man spread his hands, looking apologetic, and said, "Sorry, I think today, none of you are getting out of here."
Nolan Morrison scanned each of them, his Eyes lingering on the cloth bag for two additional seconds.
His gaze finally settled on the Middle-aged Man's Face and he said, "Mr. Brown."
The Middle-aged Man smiled and said, "My Wife wasn't wrong; you're indeed a Smart Young People. It seems like our upcoming conversation will be quite pleasant."
He was Mrs. Johns's husband, Mr. Brown, a... hypocritical Gentleman, a politician driven by greed, an unscrupulous Old Man.
Nolan Morrison laughed sarcastically; a pleasant conversation—might as well be a life-and-death struggle.
"Talk, about how I obediently hand over all the family property, or talk, about avenging your Wife?"
He paused, mocking, "No, looking at you, I guess you wouldn't avenge your Wife anyway."
