Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 157: Are You Even Human

The sun set in the west, casting its last rays of twilight on the glass.

The whole of Soldane Province switched to neon lights, clusters of light spots reflected in the rolling currents of The Zanthos River through the city center, as if wealth, fame, and things pursued by the world but hard to obtain were pouring in front of them.

The prospects of cooperating with Grant And Xavier were unanimously promising among the board members, the only issue being the high financial risk, and later the gap seemed like a daunting abyss.

Thus, the internal struggle between Mr. Grant and his son ensued, pulling them into a tug-of-war, fluctuating and swaying until only forty percent of the board supported Cillian Grant.

Presently, Cillian Grant has overseas capital, massive investments pouring in, not only solving the issues with the Grant And Xavier partnership but nearly all of The Grant Group’s existing financial problems.

Of course, the board members were seasoned veterans of the business world, not to be easily convinced by mere investment documents, but the first funds arrived in the afternoon, the numbers real and tangible, thrilling anyone who counted them.

At this time, Cillian Grant requested a re-election for the chairman position, certainly an attempt to seize power, but taking a step back, Mr. Grant was getting old; if he didn’t voluntarily step down, wouldn’t it be a mistake on his part?

Cillian Grant still sat at the lower left, his sharp face unnaturally pale, both cold and extremely calm.

Connor Sullivan carefully moved the chairman’s nameplate from in front of Mr. Grant to Cillian’s, "Congratulations on your promotion to Chairman of The Grant Group."

Sitting at the head, Mr. Grant lost his composure, the hair styled with hair gel disheveled and hanging at his temples, revealing signs of aging.

After a long time, he squeezed out words from between clenched teeth, "Where did your overseas capital come from?"

Was it those Wall Street financial giants who devour everything, or the Qatari tycoons from The Middle East who train hawks and ride dogs?

After a five-hour meeting, Cillian Grant sat upright, not showing weakness, but his pupils densely covered with bloodshot, a close look revealed his shocking exhaustion.

"Afreia."

Mr. Grant was momentarily stunned.

Connor Sullivan first glanced at the atmosphere between the two, then at Cillian’s face, the bright lights of the meeting room making his face almost devoid of color, forcibly maintaining his composure.

Connor Sullivan quietly inserted an explanation.

"Director Grant has a hunting ground and a mine in Afreia and has some deep collaboration with two local tribes. At the end of last month, the company met listing requirements and, after going public in M-Country, the stock soared."

Mr. Grant was enlightened, Cillian had previously mentioned the Afreia hunting ground, which he only thought was Cillian buying to relieve stress.

After all, since Cillian joined The Grant Group, he was busy with The North market and considering shifts in internet investments, the workload was insane and schedules packed, leaving him stretched thin.

But thinking back, when he first questioned the Grant And Xavier partnership, Cillian confidently promised to give him a satisfactory answer within three months. Wasn’t he referring to the Afreia company meeting listing requirements, cashing funds to fill the Grant And Xavier project gap?

While he pressured step by step, Cillian sped up the cash-out move, compressing the original three-month promise into a week, such an enormous cash flow—

"Did you sell the Afreia company?" Mr. Grant exclaimed incredulously, "How did you do it?"

According to listing regulations, company shares cannot be transferred within one year starting from the trading day, even if shareholders resign, shares cannot be changed within six months.

"Not really sold, preparations were made before listing." Cillian stood up, his tall shadow casting over Mr. Grant, "I told you before, if you push hard, I will take it on."

Mr. Grant’s face turned green, then purple.

"For a woman, just for a woman..." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

He couldn’t tell if it was out of humiliation or disappointment, his voice trembled, "Your mother and I raised you with hard work, giving you wealth, power, fulfilling your desires, and you forsake all gratitude and favor for a woman. Are you even human?"

Cillian’s expression remained undisturbed, from his deep brows to his straight lips.

The calmer, the more impactful.

The silence was chilling.

The still water highlighted the other side of the meeting room, board members clustered in small groups talking, their peripheral glances towards them, waiting for the father-son confrontation, maybe even ready to step in if necessary.

Cillian bypassed him and left the meeting after adjournment.

Mr. Grant stared blankly at the door, a mix of disbelief in his eyes.

He didn’t mention Froskar or inquire about Eleanor from start to finish.

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

Eleanor was allowed brief activity yesterday, but only within the room.

Today, there’s only sparse bleeding, and she tried going out a few times.

In plain view, no bodyguards, but cameras were in the corridor, and within two minutes, a servant would appear with various reasons urging her back to rest.

Undoubtedly, she was under soft confinement.

The first person Eleanor thought of was Mr. Ghost.

During the car accident, she was groggy when taken, and Mr. Ghost remained in the car.

Wells explained to her that Mr. Ghost was rescued by a kind passerby, taken to a nearby hospital, and after healing, he confused The Grant Family outside.

He returned to the country three days ago.

But now that she’s sure she’s under confinement, Wells is no longer to be trusted, whether Mr. Ghost was rescued or not is uncertain, with the icy temperatures and strong winds, if he was injured, is he still alive?

Eleanor couldn’t control her trembling hands and feet.

She was mistaken.

Tangled with a demon like Cillian Grant, she should never have involved others, Mr. Ghost, Damian Sinclair, Elaine White...

She couldn’t escape the demon’s intricate plot, whoever helped her would be dragged into the abyss.

Suddenly, chaotic footsteps echoed from the staircase outside, jolting Eleanor back to her senses, she sat up and stared tightly at the door.

Almost in a blink, the door was flung open.

Wells barged in, eyes sharp as lightning, scanning the room before settling on Eleanor, his smile stiff, "Miss Eleanor, we have a small internal issue, an unsettled mouse has infiltrated. For your safety, my father would like to invite you to stay at our Reykjavik residence for a while."

Eleanor’s heart raced, an unsettled mouse?

"I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. Since it’s a small issue, I believe you—"

"Eleanor." Wells interrupted, his tough stance barely concealed, "The car is downstairs, considering your condition, we’ve modified the vehicle, equipped with a doctor, you’re to come with me now."

A servant came to support Eleanor, and she struggled, "Wait, I need to use the bathroom first."

Wells refused firmly, "You can do that in the car."

Eleanor didn’t actually intend to use the bathroom, knowing she couldn’t resist, she just wanted to delay.

The gang behind this was Cillian Grant, her escape failed, and what would the gang tell Damian Sinclair?

If something also happened to Mr. Ghost, with two lives lost, Damian wouldn’t be fooled; he’d come to Froskar personally. His itinerary couldn’t escape Mr. Grant, who would definitely keep a close watch, and if anything seemed amiss, he’d re-investigate the hospital.

If Mr. Ghost is okay—

Eleanor tightened her grip, desperately hoping it’s this scenario. If Mr. Ghost was safe and rescued from the accident, and upon learning of her ’death,’ he’d surely reach out to the gang.

Could this "mouse" be him? When Wells entered, he scanned the room, instinctively describing it as "entered", and was so eager to get her out, had Mr. Ghost already infiltrated?

But this residential building was merely two stories high, including a kitchen and bathroom, with no more than eight rooms in total. Wells had many men, even if Mr. Ghost could hide, they’d easily find and subdue him.

Moreover, if calculated meticulously with Wells’ defense, a solo infiltration by Mr. Ghost would be unlikely.

Unless— Mr. Ghost wasn’t alone, at places unseen by her, perhaps outside the building, or on the street, people might be restraining Wells’ men, hence forcing Wells to reveal there’s an issue, hastily moving her away.

Clearly, a crisis was imminent, a formidable adversary loomed.