"President Luther"
"Mr. Luther," Gerald stepped inside, his sharp gaze fixed on Yoland.
"Where are you headed?"
It wasn't Sinclair.
A fraction of tension eased in Yoland's chest.
He turned, his expression hardening into icy severity.
"What's the meaning of this?"
"Meaning?"
A cold smirk tugged at the scarred corner of Gerald's mouth.
"That's my line, Mr. Luther.
We were simply escorting someone back on President Luther's orders.
Why did you send men to ambush us?"
So that's what this was about?
Yoland studied Gerald, his dark eyes calculating.
Could it be they still didn't know Sinclair was dead?
"Ambush?"
His eyes flickered briefly before he replied in a chilling tone.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh really?"
Gerald turned to the mercenary beside him, his expression icy.
"Bring them in.
Let Mr. Luther take a look."
"Yes, sir!"
The mercenary nodded at the command and strode out.
