Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 149: Eleanor Is Not Dead

"And there’s the gang."

Mr. Ghost seemed to be driving, his speed slowing down, the wind noise fading, revealing a few horn honks.

"For us to dare to stage such a bold fake death, the gang has assurance; they’re on the same path with these shady, dark, and unclean hospitals. With even a bit of preparation, the old man’s people, who are unfamiliar with the place, wouldn’t be able to prevent it."

"Even if we take a step back, and we fail or get exposed, the gang deals in arms smuggling. I just can’t believe a few thugs and a dozen handguns would leave them helpless."

On the rooftop, the wind was strong, pressing Damian Sinclair’s suit tightly against him, sketching a slim and distinguished silhouette, the hems flapping fiercely.

"Did you ask the gang?"

Mr. Ghost, "No. If the gang is truly behind this, I’m alone and weak; confronting them directly wouldn’t be wise. At the icehouse, after they blocked me several times, they showed me the lost child. I feigned being unable to accept it but had to believe, then left."

Afraid Damian Sinclair would misunderstand him as cowardly, Mr. Ghost sped up his speech.

"After leaving the hospital, I hid nearby. When that bastard friend of mine came out, I followed him. Now I’ve returned to Reykjavik. The gang’s little gathering point is here. I’m biding my time to figure out what’s really going on behind the scenes."

Damian Sinclair gasped, "That’s very dangerous."

The wind and horn sounds ceased from Mr. Ghost’s side as he parked the car on a small path.

"Don’t worry, President Sinclair, I’ve been in the snakehead business for nearly twenty years. If there’s one thing I have, it’s being keen-eyed. If I catch a whiff of danger, I retreat first, wait for them to relax, and then come back."

Damian Sinclair’s chest heaved as he forced himself to calm down, "Don’t take any risks just yet."

He walked a few steps, suddenly remembering something, and turned abruptly at the rooftop railing.

"What about Cillian Grant? When you went to the hospital, his people must have already known Eleanor was dead. How did they react? Why didn’t they take the body?"

This seemed unbelievable, the biggest mystery.

Cillian Grant schemed for Eleanor for four years, obsessively and indisputably. While he still had a child and was planning to marry her, Eleanor suddenly died.

Whatever the case, would he leave Eleanor’s body?

The more Damian Sinclair thought about it, the clearer the threads of suspicion became in his mind; Mr. Ghost’s suspicions seemed well-founded, and the possibility of Eleanor’s death seemed slimmer.

First, the deadliest factor in Mr. Ghost’s entire narrative was that Mr. Grant discovered his and the gang’s actions in advance, which led to chaos and loss of control.

But how did Mr. Grant find out? Froskar is thousands of miles away, and Mr. Grant’s only eyes and ears there were his own men, incomparable to the gang.

The leak could only have been domestically.

Damian Sinclair thought of the postponed board meeting.

He originally believed Cillian Grant had instructed several directors to cause a scene, implicating The Grant Family to stir up trouble—once to insult him and simultaneously to mock his father—to expose The Grant Family’s secrets in front of outsiders, paving the way for his open relationship with Eleanor in the future.

This behavior seemed somewhat rash, but his malice was clearly displayed.

But he hadn’t found it odd before.

After all, with Mr. Grant pressuring every step and him eager to help Eleanor escape.

Cillian Grant had to grudgingly go along with him to deceive Mr. Grant, hating him to the core, so acting a bit rashly was reasonable.

But what if Cillian Grant did it on purpose?

Mr. Grant was sharp-eyed and suspicious, able to follow the slightest thread to its source. Cillian Grant and Mr. Grant were father and son, performing a well-orchestrated drama, Mr. Grant would have discovered this third party, and with Cillian Grant’s intelligence, he should have known even if he was furious.

With this thought, Damian Sinclair’s fist suddenly clenched, the veins on his hand standing out, his phone creaking under the strain, accompanied by Mr. Ghost’s voice.

"My friend said that after examining the body, they immediately sought Cillian Grant’s instructions. But Cillian Grant seemed to have boarded a plane and couldn’t take calls, only communicating online—there was no video, just typing on the phone. They didn’t know what was communicated. The group was aggressive, saying it wasn’t convenient to take Eleanor’s body, so they left it at the hospital, to be collected another day."

Damian Sinclair’s face darkened, thoughts flashing like lightning in his mind, connecting all conjectures into an invisible web, almost ninety percent certain Eleanor wasn’t dead.

"He’s doing it on purpose. Deliberately leaving the body for you to see, so that you would witness Eleanor’s death, tell me, and I would naturally lose my composure in shock. If his father discovers this reaction, it becomes a second confirmation of Eleanor’s death."

"With three parties involved, one gets the upper hand, another confirms it, and then he sends people to aggressively pursue those who succeeded. The more complex, the more turbulent the process, the more Mr. Grant, a master schemer, would sincerely believe he’d finally bested his troublesome son, while I... I’d be guilt-stricken over Eleanor’s death due to my failed assistance; he’s torturing and avenging me."

On the call, Mr. Ghost paused in his breathing, then stuttered, "President Sinclair—are you saying—that Cillian Grant discovered our contact with the gang, then sent people to entrap us with such a long con, deceiving everyone, yet Eleanor is still in his hands?"

Damian Sinclair’s tone was eerie, with a hint of remorse, "Yes, Eleanor and I underestimated him. Now that I think of it, he valued Eleanor so much, especially when she was pregnant. Without guaranteeing absolute control over her, how could he have let me take her away? I’m afraid our alliance with the gang—"

"No—" Damian Sinclair, "No, Mr. Ghost, did your friend contact you first after you arrived in Froskar?"

"No," Mr. Ghost, "I contacted him; initially, he didn’t want to get involved. Later, it was because you paid him that he became more eager to help."

Damian Sinclair frowned deeply, "I see..."

It wasn’t an active approach, indicating no ulterior motives at first.

He sighed, having thought too deeply, inevitably making Cillian Grant seem more formidable.

If right from the start, when Mr. Ghost arrived in Froskar, Cillian Grant had contacted the gang and arranged for that friend to lead Mr. Ghost step by step, it would be too calculating, as if predicting Liam Xavier would back down, and Mr. Grant would push him to desperation.

At the entrance of the alley where Mr. Ghost parked, a Jeep roared past; he recognized it as his friend’s car, immediately starting the engine, "President Sinclair, that bastard just left again, maybe he’s going to find Eleanor. Should I follow?"

Damian Sinclair’s expression shifted, a trace of struggle, finally gritting his teeth, "Be extremely careful. Cillian Grant planned this grand scheme, and every step has been fulfilled. The only unpredictability is you; he didn’t expect you to be both rough and meticulous. That’s your advantage; don’t act rashly."

Mr. Ghost solemnly agreed.

............

Eleanor was indeed not dead.

Her and Damian Sinclair’s plan was very successful, though perilous, the gang was incredibly supportive.

As the anesthetist fastened the mask, she felt almost hopeless.

Anyone with a bit of common sense knew that trying hard to hold your breath before medical anesthesia was a joke.

But until the anesthetist declared she was successfully anesthetized,

Eleanor remained conscious.