Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 96: Mr. Grant Locates Eleanor

The other side, second-floor study of The Grant Family.

Secretary Rhodes stood before the desk, opened the file, "No progress, or rather, unable to proceed. We initially found where Miss Eleanor rented an apartment, but yesterday a hand intervened, imposing rigorous defense, now no clue can be found."

Mr. Grant’s face was hidden in the undercurrent, "Was it Cillian?"

Secretary Rhodes bowed, "Speculation, no evidence."

"That’s it."

Mr. Grant’s fingers tapped lightly on the desktop.

He had suspected before that since Eleanor could show a natural look of hatred towards Cillian, how could she have a special relationship with him for four years.

Moreover, he had never been wrong about people, Eleanor was optimistic, upright, filial, and straightforward. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Such a character base would not retaliate against the family that raised her just because of a Damian Sinclair. So her reason for hatred was worth pondering.

And this worst pondering was finally confirmed at this moment. Mr. Grant, after forty years of hard battles in the business world, couldn’t withstand a bit more.

His favorite son, his proudest son, Cillian Grant never strayed or erred, he was shrewd and ruthless, cautious in action, leaving no clues.

Old foxes who wreak havoc in the fame and fortune domain were helpless against him, and he had no connection to the absurd and dissipated wastrels of second-generation rich.

Yet he crossed a forbidden line, did what a noble family most abhors, took a risk deemed intolerable by the world.

The darkness on Mr. Grant’s face was like a thick layer of ash.

"Call them back."

Secretary Rhodes accepted, with some lingering doubt, "It may not be the eldest young master, he would have blocked it earlier, knowing before you even started to investigate. Blocking later, to alert you, isn’t his style."

"You haven’t noticed, have you?" Mr. Grant’s voice had no warmth, "These days, your progress is due to his manipulation. Step by step, whatever he wanted you to find, you found. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll sail smoothly, present evidence to me by the end of the month."

Secretary Rhodes froze.

Mr. Grant leaned back in his chair, "But he changed his mind yesterday."

Some words couldn’t be too detailed with the secretary, Mr. Grant waved him off.

......

At eleven noon, after getting off the bus, Mr. Ghost took Eleanor on a trike, chugging for an hour, reaching a small seaside fishing village.

The cement road into the village hugged the coastline, Eleanor saw the moon-like curved coast at the end, a simple dock, at some distance, mostly obscured by verdant hills, vague, only the outline extending out.

She was quiet all morning, enduring nausea without complaint, and Mr. Ghost liked her a bit for it, teasingly said, "We will set sail from there at six in the evening, you are the newly hired cook on the fishing boat, skilled at international cuisine, and can brew wine, the captain hired you exceptionally."

Eleanor looked out at the dock, adding her character, "Can brew wine, can’t drink, bad temper, curses ferociously."

Mr. Ghost paused, had expected her discomfort, the delicacy of a lady from a noble family, his surprise was not limited to the physical aspect.

"I somewhat understand why President Sinclair helped you, your character is rare among the elites."

Eleanor glanced at him, "My cursing is harsh, rare among the elites too."

The trike stopped at a piece of old mountain rock at the village entrance, with red characters engraved, Lewis Village.

Mr. Ghost helped her off, "You don’t want me to mention President Sinclair, was that a hint, next time I speak, you’re going to curse me."

Eleanor looked around, "Kids speak their minds, adults unspoken understanding."

The small fishing village was close to the dock, not many mooring spots, only five or six, a fishing boat swayed in the waves.

That must be the fishing boat they’ll take tonight.

Mr. Ghost chewed on her words, leading her into the village, "I get your point, asking more makes me a kid, not asking makes me adult, so I’m halfway, I’m an underaged 18."

The two entered a courtyard villa, the main house a small flat building, kitchen built with iron sheets on the right.

Eleanor stayed silent, once inside, handed him a box, "You have a wife, right? Does this pink sapphire hairpin hold any value, or does someone else value it?"

Mr. Ghost opened and closed it.

"Not domestically feasible. You’re evading enemies, large cash flow leaves a trace leading to capture, cash is riskier. With millions on hand, you’re a prime target, unsafe."

Eleanor took back the box, "Then abroad it is feasible."

Mr. Ghost jabbed at her, "Unspoken understanding."

Eleanor paused, is he really forty?

Childish.

Her pocket vibrated; Eleanor waited for Mr. Ghost to leave, pulled out the phone.

It was Cillian Grant.

"I’m giving you a breather, not including tolerance for refusing to see me."

......

After sending the message, Cillian Grant pocketed his phone, bypassed the rosewood screen, into the banquet hall.

The Grant Family had special banquet halls for hosting, today’s pretense was a family dinner, invited guests were only a few high-class ladies, placed in the oriental banquet hall.

Unlike the usual dining table long tables, the banquet hall had a large ebony round table, directly above the round table was a dazzling oriental chandelier, its light vintage and bright, offsetting the red rose arrangement at the center, passionate as fire, ambiguous in surging.

Cillian Grant’s gaze circled the room, a subtle pause in his steps.

Mrs. Grant’s seating arrangement was intriguing, Mr. Grant held the host position, Mrs. Grant sat to his right, on the left was Mr. Sinclair, followed by Damian Sinclair and Phoebe Grant.

Beneath Mrs. Grant were several ladies, the table had ample space, yet only among the ladies was an empty chair placed.

Mrs. Grant smiled warmly, "Today you are the birthday star, sit among the dainty guests."

Cillian Grant sat with a faint expression. He wore a black cashmere turtleneck sweater, topped with a gray-blue casual suit, unbuttoned, easy and relaxed, making him appear less severe and intimidating.

Sitting down, the suit naturally opened at the chest, his muscular chest and waist not exaggerated, a wild vigor that stirred blood, yet his demeanor was steady, unperturbed, subtly conveying a cold detachment.

Especially as he didn’t answer Mrs. Grant’s questions, making him appear colder and harder to approach.

Several ladies glanced at him shyly for a few seconds, blushed, but none dared to initiate conversation.

The pin-drop silent atmosphere gradually solidified into suppression.

Mrs. Grant’s smile faded, her tone warning, "Cillian, Indigo is your high school classmate, Ivy grew up with you, and Peach, she’s now the general manager at Jennings Corp, you even have business dealings, The Grant Family isn’t impudent, others kindly came to celebrate your birthday, do you want your mother’s dignity flouted?"

"If simply celebrating my birthday, mother invited, I naturally attend properly." Cillian Grant’s eyes were dark, "But if there’s another agenda, I’m afraid not."

"Why not?" Mrs. Grant’s patience faltered, accumulated fury lent courage to unfeigned disclosure, "You’re thirty, at this age, settling down is your due principle."

Cillian Grant, "Twenty-nine, thirty is next year, settling down next year."

Mrs. Grant sputtered, while Mr. Grant feared she’d erupt, about to assist.

From the entrance screen emerged a quick-moving figure, clinging to the wall hurriedly approached Mr. Grant’s back, whispered by ear, "Director Grant, Miss Eleanor’s hairpin location showed up outside the province, now positioned at a seaside fishing village."