Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 156: Miscalculated

"Don’t be impulsive—Mr. Ghost, don’t be impulsive—"

Damian Sinclair was somewhat incoherent, hesitating for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"The gang knows you, if you rashly go to guide Grant’s people, you’re bound to catch the gang’s attention, which would be detrimental."

Mr. Ghost, "If I don’t guide them, when will those fools ever discover the truth? If they end up finding nothing and report back to the old man that everything’s fine, wouldn’t we miss a golden opportunity for them to go after each other while we sneak in and take over?"

Damian Sinclair’s voice was hoarse and dry, "People in the Grant Family are suspicious, not so easy to deceive. Just a report is difficult to trust, concrete evidence is needed, like photos, videos, or a report."

Mr. Ghost mumbled, "Cunning and malicious, like stuffing frogs into one’s chest, none of them is any good."

Damian Sinclair soothed him, "The most important thing for you now is to first determine Eleanor’s location. If you notice that group is useless, Mr. Grant will naturally increase manpower. We also need to find backup, being prepared and qualified is essential for benefits like a fisherman’s gain."

Mr. Ghost found this reasonable, without a clear location and well-thought-out plan, he was weak, and even if there was a chance to take Eleanor away, it would be nothing but wishful thinking.

Hanging up the phone, Mr. Ghost drove out of the alley, and before he knew it, spotted the silver car of a small leader again.

The car was temporarily parked on the roadside, tail lights on, engine running, driver’s side window open, with a hand flicking off cigarette ash.

Mr. Ghost stopped the car and quietly sneaked into the store opposite the car.

The store sold hardware, owned by an elderly white-bearded man with an indifferent service attitude.

Mr. Ghost appreciated such indifferent business attitudes, pretending to pick tools while observing the driver through the window.

It was indeed the small leader himself, holding a phone, making a call,

Mr. Ghost didn’t understand lip reading, so he held his breath and waited two or three minutes until the small leader hung up and drove away.

Mr. Ghost wondered, since when do overseas gangsters follow traffic rules, like not talking on the phone while driving?

Looking up, he saw a familiar and unexpected face appear in the second-floor window of a gray-white residential building across the street.

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

On the calendar, Soldane Province entered a new year.

After New Year’s Day, the Grant Group held another board meeting.

Mr. Grant targeted Cillian Grant’s previous drastic moves with a sharp counterattack, far more ruthless than before, hitting where it hurt with a necessity to be lethal.

In the spacious meeting room, directors, unlike before voting, were silent as anxious wax figures, none moved, nearly half abstained, making no statement.

Mr. Grant sat at the head, expressionless, lacking his usual elegant strategic demeanor, waiting coldly for the voting results.

Just then, chaotic footsteps approached the door, amidst confused voices of men and women, a cough stood out, muffled by the door, particularly dull and hoarse.

Nearly half of the silent directors, shaken, exchanged knowing glances and eagerly awaited.

Mr. Grant also looked over.

The dark gray double doors were pushed open from the outside, two secretarial girls on either side holding the doors wide open.

Amidst a group of formally dressed subordinates, Cillian Grant, in a hospital gown, approached with an intravenous needle near his left wrist, bruised hand further highlighting his pallor, devoid of color.

Connor Sullivan helped him sit at Mr. Grant’s lower left, taking files from a young secretary behind him, "Vice President, the first part of the meeting minutes."

Cillian Grant nodded.

Connor Sullivan stepped back, signaling the meeting host to continue.

This time, silence tore through the shameful paper, invigorated by nearly half of the directors.

Amidst red-faced verbal battles, Mr. Grant’s face shadowed, fixing his gaze icy cold on Cillian, "Threatening your mother, can today’s situation be resolved?"

Cillian couldn’t suppress the itch in his throat, fisting his hand to his lips, still leaking sporadically, "Since you decided to take her life, it cannot be resolved in this life."

Before the words were finished, his throat itched uncontrollably, coughing violently, veins bulging on his forehead, his fist trembling.

Connor Sullivan rushed forward, patting his back, passing a cup of water.

Mr. Grant’s jaw tightened repeatedly, fists beneath the table clenched and trembling, barely holding back, "Her fate is not my or your mother’s fault, it’s your stubborn persistence and recklessness."

Cillian pushed away Connor Sullivan, his aura cold and oppressive, "So following your reasoning, the current situation isn’t my fault either, it’s your stubborn decay and madness."

Connor Sullivan silently stepped back again.

He was steady by nature, never gossiping about superiors behind their back, but Damon Sharp couldn’t resist. Damian had always gossiped about the Grant father and son, an exaggeratedly true reflection of Andy Grove’s book "Only the Paranoid Survive."

In the business world, cold, ambitious, unusually persistent to the extreme, always following one’s own views, daring to take enormous risks for a mere one percent success rate.

That’s why the Grant Family’s business is vast and unshakeable.

Yet didn’t expect, in the case of Miss Eleanor, this father-son duo was equally obsessive and mad.

If judging right or wrong, Connor Sullivan thought Mr. Grant’s fault was great; killing has always breached the baseline of being human.

Damon Sharp speculated, maybe overseas it’s a capitalist society, money works wonders. With mercenaries, Mr. Grant got bolder, opting for once-and-for-all.

"Word on the street was Sinclair Group’s follow-up investment might not continue. Grant And Xavier’s crisis remains unresolved, supporting Jason Xavier to trip Vice President, it’s as if burning one’s money on a path to cremation faster. If Vice President’s not okay, Grant Group’s in jeopardy, we’re all begging together this year." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"If Vice President’s not okay, there’s still Chairman, 70% of Grant Group’s foundation was solidified by the Chairman, have you all forgotten who you relied on for success amidst internet frenzy?"

Amidst the commotion, Mr. Grant’s eyes dimmed, frosting over.

"Our infighting invited a young outsider to put on a show. First, siding with Jason Xavier against me, upon your return, stabbed in the back, you’ve played your cards well."

After waves of coughing, Cillian’s voice was weak but fiercely firm, "You brought it upon yourself."

Mr. Grant’s chest surged intensely for a moment, at his filial impiety, and his disrespectful attitude. A deep breath later, he suddenly said, "He can’t control Sinclair Group yet, but the effort he put in for Eleanor was immense. With Eleanor dead, he can truly ’enjoy peace.’"

Mentioning "dead," Cillian’s gaze instantly turned icy.

Mr. Grant placed his arm on the table, leaning towards Cillian, "So the people I stationed in Froskar were just a facade, the real useful ones are by his side. He confirmed for me, Eleanor is still alive, kept near a hospital in a residential building."

The cold determination flowed from Cillian’s eyes, tightly locking onto Mr. Grant’s well-maintained face.

For a full minute, their eyes locked, Mr. Grant waited, waited for a concession.

He hadn’t anticipated a betrayal by his steward, known by nearly everyone, naturally leading to failure. But since Eleanor was not dead, Cillian’s hatred towards him was unjustified.

On the contrary, after using up his tricks on Froskar, Eleanor would soon be in his grasp, along with Grant Group. Control completely returned to him.

Eleanor could live, the child couldn’t be born, if Cillian wanted Eleanor well, he’d have to obey.

The next second, Mr. Grant’s calculations erred.

Cillian slowly stood up, nearby directors noticing his movement, immediately ceased their arguments, signalling nearby directors.

As silence spread, without further notification, the meeting room turned pin-drop silent.

Cillian stood straight, his gaze swept across the room, raising a hand to gesture at the meeting screen.

Connor Sullivan already stood by, plugged in the HDMI to connect the computer.

"Fellow directors, I will now present an investment plan to everyone—"